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

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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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WE ARE ONE

Ever reached a state in life where you cry and laugh at the same time? Tears of joy are on your cheeks but the pain in your heart is just so much? As I write this I’m an emotional wreck…wreck because I am torn between patriotism and something else. (Forgive me Lord, for I don’t know what I am doing).

 A few days ago, Westage was all we Kenyans could speak about. Some terrorists (suspected or otherwise) came and for a few days, our lives (excluding mine) were at a standstill. Then a great inventor, who I know not, added a new phrase to our list of national phrases. We all know about the “We Are One” concept, or is it the newly acquired synonym to patriotism. Well, I was recently involved in a heated discussion (more of a debate) about this new concept.

I remember so well those four days when our dear ones were held hostage, woooooooh Kenyans became really patriotic. From the social to the antisocial (yeah, I call it as it is; antisocial is the face-book, sister twitter and cousin whats-app) media, Kenyans really poured their hearts out. Wait! Before you judge me, I was also in the group. Oh how we changed or names on (anti) social media, how we changed our profile pictures and cover pages. You should have seen the number of text messages I received from “concerned patriots” asking me to say a prayer for those affected. And pray I did.

Oh, did you see how even network providers provided accounts for people to send money free of charge, and even some public service vehicles ferried people for free, how Kenyans gave blood donations that all blood banks are now full; wow. My favorite was seeing members of parliament, senate (name them all) came out from their hide-outs to give blood, contribute money and (annoyingly) visit west gate to “assess” the damage. I commend us Kenyans. Anyone who did not do any of the above listed was viewed as un-patriotic and inhumane.

 

Then it hit me. What happened during the Eastleigh bombing, the Baragoi massacre, the Sachangwan fire, slum fires, when hundreds of people die in attacks, were we “two” then? Didn’t such things also happen to our loved ones? The cases were different, you may argue out. Could it be that “We are One” only when “bad” things happen to the rich? Who was there to donate cash and blood when these other disasters happened, were we not one even then? 

Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against Kenyans or the rich. I am just saying that our oneness should cut across social classes.

So, till the next tragedy that affects the crème de crème of our nation, “We Are One”; or are we?

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MASHUJAA DAY TRIBUTE

Happy Mashujaa Day!! Well we all know today is Mashujaa day (in Kenya that is). Allow me to shed some light on this for those of us not in Kenya or Kenyans. Mashujaa day is the 20^th of October, a day that Kenya takes time to celebrate the heroes who fought for the independence of our nation. Mashujaa is a Swahili word that means hero. It was previously known by the name “Kenyatta Day”, named after the founding father of our dear nation Kenya. Mashujaa day is the day we celebrate not only the heroes who fought indefatigably for the independence of our nation, but also the heroes in our lives.

Having said that, this is a special tribute to a hero in my life (what? Wipe that smirk off you face, I have the freedom to! If you didn’t write your hero a post; well, it’s your loss!). Born a few years before me, he is the one man I have looked up to all my life. As a toddler, I watched him play with other children with envy. I mean, before I could walk, he would leave me in the house in the morning and occasionally come back to eat with some sweat on his fore head. He made me want to go out and play so much that my parents claim that I started walking and talking so early, thanks to him. I can also boast that the few soccer skills I know, he taught me. Yes, he taught me to play with my left foot, which we all know not many people can do, which helped me play for the teams I have played for, as a left wing striker. (Yeah, I’m bragging now).  He trained me those days when I used to do track events in primary school. He is still an athlete, in a way, and plays soccer for a local team.

 Ever since I can remember, he got prizes every prize giving ceremony for his hard work and sharp brain. I remember in primary school, they would award pupils who did excellently with chocolates after each exam; and guess who would have more than twenty bars, and guess who he would give half of them to? (If you answered “you”, as in, me; you are right!!). Watching him being awarded at every prize giving, from primary school to high school inspired me to work really hard to (if not for the goodies) make it in life. This, he carries on till today in university. He is the only man I know who has been scoring high academically since nursery school. (And he doesn’t study that much; darn!!) He inspires me do my best when it comes to books.

He is the first person who introduced me to poetry, art and music (he does not know this). Being a poet, artist (sketch artist and painter) and designer, he keeps encouraging me to explore art and occasionally asks me to accompany him to various art, music and poetry events (whoop whoop).  He speaks and writes English so good that even I at times cannot understand; I have to constantly consult my dictionary (those who know him can bear me witness) if asked, I would say Patrick Lumumba tries to impersonate him. 

He has always been by my side. He has the strongest spirit I know of, despite all he has been through (which is a lot). His life is an attestation that hard work pays. He is the only person who has been on and by my side since I came to be, my greatest fan. He has never missed any of my performances.  He inspires me to be me in so many ways. I have always looked up to him and I turned out good (if we don’t count my retarded nature). He is my Hero. He is my brother, Murimi Kareithi (or as his peers also know him “Croemaestrus”). The pioneer of the Kareithi Empire; the first of Kareithi’s offspring and the duke of Kareithi’s Monarchy. This is a tribute to my brother. You are my Hero.

As he keeps saying to me, so do I say to you on this day;  “Think, and let live; or die doubting” (don’t ask me what that means).

Happy Mashujaa Day!! Celebrate your hero today!!

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I STOPPED WRITING by @wanjiru_wanjiku

I stopped writing
when you left my world,
For how could i write,with my world
crumbling...

I stopped writing,
when on your face fell a frown,
For what would my words play with,if not
your smile....

I stopped writing
when your back is all I saw,
for what would I scribble,when the radiance
of your face was gone.

I stopped writing
when all I saw was anger in your eyes,
for how could I write,with guilt saw-milling
my heart.

I stopped writing
when there was no longer you in us,
for even though my hand held the pen,my
heart wrote the words

 

©MaggieWanjiru2013. All rights reserved

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A CONVERSATION IN THE DARK.

At 3 am she rises, despite the fact that a few hours ago she was awake, making ready her family’s clothes for the following day. In the next one hour she will be busy, talking to a friend, her lover, a ruler. After that she will go back to sleep, sleep for another hour before her day starts.

She delights in this habit that she developed while she was young.  Many, even her husband, are not aware of this. One might think she’s in an affair with this ruler. Coming to think of it, she is. So as is custom, she awakes this particular morning, goes to the call line and dials a number that she is too familiar with, her lover’s. Their conversation goes on well, she thanks Him for who He has been in her life and that of the family, then goes ahead to the business of the day. Her husband is in trouble; their children are not turning out to be what she hoped for. 

In the middle of their conversation she breaks down, it is too much for her. Yet, the ruler does not hung up, actually he never does.

As she cries and opens her heart, He listens, carefully. Their conversation is filled with tears but she does not mind because she knows that at the end of it all a burden will be lifted. She knows too well that this conversation at this time of the morning is what will determine how the day will carry on. These conversations hold so much. It’s this conversation in the dark that ensures that the day is full of light. As the rib of her man and the source of the fruit that is her children, she knows if she does not have this conversation; their affair will be in vain.

She was taught and she knows about the power of having this great conversation in the morning, particularly at this time of the morning. As you see her walking about in the streets, or at work or in her car, you see her smile. She replays their conversation in her mind all day long. She smiles. Amidst the pain, the harsh words, the wounds, she smiles; a real smile. God, I love how people envy her. People say she is strong, she is a fighter. What they know not is that the conversation at dawn is what gives her the strength. She vowed to continue with this affair, 365 days of the year. Occasionally, her husband and children join her in this conversation.

  
I wake up with her at three and eaves-drop as they hold their conversation. I enjoy listening to her and her lover chat. I know that I too will be holding similar conversations in a few years time. Actually I have already started. No, its not an affair that I am involved in, but a conversation with the ruler of the world, our God. Because of this conversation at dawn, she is sure that her family is protected, no matter what happens to her husband, to her children, she holds them firmly with prayer. She is the strength behind her husband’s success. She is the shadow that no one ever notices when he stands in the limelight. But she takes pride in being his rib. And when things go wrong, she worries not, for she is a warrior, a prayer warrior.

The strongest woman on earth is the prayer warrior. She fights battles (spiritual or otherwise) on behalf of her family.

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