Saturday 30 April 2016

THE DAMSEL.

When she walks in, she has to bend slightly by the entrance door. Stoop, if you will. Or anything that an Ostrich would do getting through human-'measured' doors. She is that tall. Like Naomi. Or Tyra. If you don't know who those are, please go read some politics somewhere. Hatuko hapa juu yako.

The way she strutted along the array of tables, beautifully arranged, that Tsavo peacock you keep praising would have had nothing on her. Her head seemed to be floating, carried along by an invisible pole. Her face is expressionless. I guess all that make-up has wiped off all her facial expressions, my kimeru mind deducts. Sometimes I pity my Kimeru mind. It's thinking that her real face may be smiling, but the make-up one looking like Laila Ali's, on title defence morning. 

As our damsel floats on, you wouldn't know if she was impressed by her surroundings or just outright irked. She sweeps her eyes around, absorbing the sea of humanity, who's attention is now firmly rooted on her. It's the reason she's here anyway...the collective attention.

One of the Governors drops his glass of champagne from of God--knows-where, and there's no earthquake to blame it on. Wow. Wow, because you just have to admire the she timed her entrance. This chic walked in, even after all those who rode on all those motorcades, had sat down....a dignitary-aide's worst nightmare, cos the boss might just ask for her number na hauna. Taabu hii. Careers are on the line, and there's nothing like like the sight of twenty 'aides', each representating their boss, now at this strange damsel's fingertips, each trying to save their careers.

But she hasn't even finished her entrance yet. Her high-heels are sinking in with every step, because its been raining and water has found its way inside this huge, dignitary-filled tent. Don't ask me what i was doing inside a tent, with all these tables beautifully arranged. Hiyo itakuwa kazi mbaya...even I, may not know. 

But when she pulls out her heels off the wet ground with each step, she has to make this slight jump to pull them out, and all her accessories have to literally clap in unison...the jewellery, the 'unsecured' K.C.C, and the even more unsecured 'sitting allowance'. And I wished she could just keep doing that for eternity. But I can't stop my Kimeru mind from deducting that she really must come from Hawaii. See, all the movies on Hawaii that they've let us see so far in Meru, are on near-naked, beautiful, flawless humans on even more beautiful beaches. Not a single beggar, not a single poor bloke.....i must go to Hawaii.

Dancers...

The traditional dancers who came in before her, wore stuff that produced that same clapping and clamping sound that her modern attire is now producing. And I feel today, tradition and modernity is agreeing on something for once. See, there's a time, when they hadn't discovered all the clothing, that they wore everything. Now, they've discovered all the clothing, and they are wearing nothing. Tragic.

Human Bulb

She's shining all over. The clothes, that is. Shining brighter than the lights up in the tent's 'ceiling'. At some point i thought she looked like the International Space Center.Hii Umeru itaniua,haki ya nani. 

Then, half way down the tables, she stops.  Allher accessories protest at this sudden stopping of movement and they clang and clatter some more.  If you've worked in some mhindi cup-producing plant, then there's a sudden power blackout, that sound of machines screeching to a halt, take it and bring it here. Then she swings her eyes around, as if in search of someone to torture, and everyone is looking down with every direct stare. Then her gaze finally swings to my direction. I want to hide but that's like hiding from a giraffe in a grassland. I'm thinking...if she's been reading my thoughts all along, then my day with my maker may have just arrived. They weren't very nice thoghtst. I breath in hard, for she has started this forward motion toward me, sweeping all aside. Behind her you will find napkins and table-cloths, traces of mercury and all. She's in this gown that seems to be mildly magnetic, and is attracting stuff on it, only to release them after a few seconds. Being dressed for the occasion,she has this huge ribbon running across her shoulders to the waist, and which announces to all who she really is. She's some beauty pageant winner, something i know nothing about......
 
Be right back..

I breath a sigh of relief when she veers off my path, and heads off to this table occupied by these black men with curly-kit hair, and who speak like a million throat infections rolled into one. And who's description will not be expounded further, for my own, and others security reasons. And these men, having had earlier been frisked, and ascertained to be posing no immediate physical danger to anyone, offer our queen a seat, and she takes it with glee. Only doing so, i felt she's swang her midriff a wee too much, like its about to move out of place. Or like its where our eyes should be fixated on. But my other mind reminds me of my only business here, which is to mind no business.  

Then these dudes embark on this barrage of their strange language that no one can understand if you ask me. But because you haven't, we'll leave it at that. Even they.

This doesn't bother our damsel one single bit, because even though they are obviously talking about her, she understands not a single word, so that's their problem, not hers. Then the waiter shows up, and the damsel will not place her order, without first studying him from head to toe.Think of it as a grown Jewish man, being stripped naked by a lady Nazi SS Officer, at the gas chambers entrance at Auschwitz. See, the fela's shoes had definitely seen better days, and trust me there's nothing as degrading as a lady staring down at your torn shoes. It feels like a crocodile staring at you, as bathe naked in some river. It's the one flaw that you have, and is privately aware of, but can do nothing about, because of 'torn pockets'. You want these people to look elsewhere but the Damsel would rather pull everyone's attention to the one flaw you'd rather hide. My friend, the world is made up of unkind people, and you're realizing it the hard way.

To proof my point,....a waiter is required by law to, instead of shooting the Nairobi middle-class brood when they come for holiday, he must smile and pretend to love their drunken antics and jokes. So our waiter is fried, and social media will certainly not be on his side if this chic posts his photo online. And data-fed middle class will rush to her defence, and condemnation emojis will overpower the National Security traffic for a day. 

The damsel proceeds to place an order, after half an hour of scorning the menu material. And when she finally does it, the disgtuntled but smiling waiter leaves, butbut  can see smoke bellowing out of his ears even though on his face.

It would be another ten minutes before the waiter returns. He's shocked to find an empty seat. The men with the strange language are too engrossed in their hearty conversation to be of much help. See the damsel, immediately after placing the order, rose and strutted to another table, half a mile away, eyes firmly rooted at the dais. The waiter is searching frantically around for her, then spots the obvious give-away that would direct a blind hippo to you;- The shiny attire. Carrying his overloaded tray, he heads to her new location and places his load on her table. Just then, another waiter shows up and places his own load on the exact table.bApparently, The damsel, in her impatience, sent two waiters, though with different orders. Now sitting in front of her, is this huge party, not a meal. And when you look at her size, the irony sinks in. Modelling must be a costly business. Taabu hii...

There is a sharp bone protruding from her back, just below the shoulders. She's skinnier than skinny. Her skin seems to be the only thing that's holding her bones in place. Yet her one chance of putting on some weight is sitting right in front of her, and shes letting it pass. One false move and she would disintegrate into a million pieces of beauty pageants. But its her turn now, to wish attention away. She pretends to type away on her large gadget, (Again, hii Umeru itaniua), but even if you don't know what it is, you can tell its clearly off. But as she 'types' frantically on it,  like her life depends on it, you can almost read the words 'Baibe, uko waapy, wananicheki vybaya, come lock them up, from a million miles away. 

Both waiters stay put.  Eachone is trying his own 'karibu chakula dada', but the damsel may have turned deaf, for she pays them no attention.

When she finally raise her head to them, it's like her Majesty the Queen of Mongolia. Then she looks at the party before her, inwardly salivating. But you are not allowed to consume unhealthy foods, if you want to remain a 'queen' in the Modelling business. The other guests must be crazy, according to her, for looking around, everyone seem to be enjoying the hearty meal. To her, if the Cosmopolitan Magazine says African food is awful and unhealthy, a 'queen' worth her salt would be best advised to believe it. So she waves the food away, with a scorn on her face,bbut not before nibbling on each plate,bas if to ensure nobody else will touch it after she is through. 

She's been on this table for ten minutes flat, by which time she's managed to irritate all and sundry. Reminding me of the day 'Miss Kenya' showed up at the site of a collapsed flat, with flowers and high heels. As others were using bare hands to move blocks of concrete and steel away, she posed for cameras, with the collapsed site and crying family members as her background. She may have had compassion on the families trapped under the rubble. But you couldn't have told that from the flowers and the high heels. She was the most unwelcome sight on site, and the most useless as well, under the circumstances.

The damsel gets on her feet. The clatter and clang follow suit. Her heels are inches deep in this soft ground. She pulls her leg up forcefully, so that the other one sinks even deeper. Then she repeats the motion over and over again, all the way to the entrance, by which time the other guest have started clapping for her ironically, for having successfully navigated through the most difficult lunch of her entire life. Hii Umeru, kweli itatuua.

Thumps up to the Beauty Queen.

Sunday 3 April 2016

OF HABITS/AND ADDICTIONS-HOW TO BREAK LOOSE.

Many of us struggle on a daily basis, with habits we'd rather get rid of. Yet the more we struggle to break free, the tighter the noose seems to get. Some of us seem to have it all, like everything just fell into perfect place. We seem to have our act together, seem to be in perfect control. The sad reality, however, is the outward picture is as deceiving as a mirror that's broken right down the middle.
Many people will smile during the day, but cry hot tears once they retreat to their private abodes, once the door is safely locked behind them. Because despite putting up this macho individual for the public, deep inside, they are broken. Because that which they want to change about themselves, is actually what they seem to be doing more and more. Sinking deeper and deeper into it. Nothing can be more frustrating than that.

Some guys will shout loudest at the bar, but instantly transform to timid pussycats when they get home. Because the guilt and the desire to be different is greater when alone. The shouting was to hide or drown the desire to be different. Others will hide behind their pride, convincing themselves that everything is alright. But no one has ever successfully ran away from themselves, and soon the truth will hit home. Half of the hapless drunks and substance addicts in the allay, actually hate the situation they are in. They wish things were different, that they were living sober, focused lives. Others are sitting somewhere with their 'buddies' in a strip club, smoking Shisha to look trendy, but would give anything to be home with their kids. The habit keeps having its way. Later, frustrations set in and performance spirals downwards. They are struggling inside, but they look alright to the normal observer. I don't have an antidote for that. I don't have a solution either. But i do have my take on how to break free.

Learn To Hate The Habit.

Let's get something straight here. Those things you hold dear to you , you keep them close. You can only break free of a habit if you learn to despise it. I don't care what psychologists and columnists say in unison but, hate it and you wont keep it much longer. Focus on how its held you down, how long its taken advantage of you. Internalize that and blame your Grandmas little spat with her goat on it. Blame the global warming on it, even Manchester United's awful home record. Blame all your financial woes on it and counsel yourself that minus the habit, it would be smooth sailing for you all the way to the pearly gates. Because its actually true. If you've made it this far with the baggage on your shoulders, imagine how fast and far you'll run without it. You can't keep holding on to something that dreadful. What your spirit lets go, its gone for good. And your spirit is too clean to cling on to a dumpsite, when it has the option of playing in a flower garden.

Identify The Trigger Points.

Every habit or addiction has its 'trigger points'. These have to be the things or situations that the brain associate with a certain pattern or behavioral change. That's why the school teacher will be all composed and collected until he visits the Sacco offices, then all drunk demons will pay him a visit. Whether he's going for his pay or not, he'll hit the bar immediately afterwards. Identify your trigger points and go for alternatives. Its murky here, but its worth a try. Is it that T.V channel or is it that intrusive little thought that the adversary sneaks in like a dart. Or is it that thing that someone says to you, that gets to you so bad, it sends you on a binge. Treat these trigger points as your adversary. Nurture an enmity with them, steer clear off them. Skip the T.V channel, avoid that website. Because you are the evidence that every time you visit it, regrets follow. Walk to the football playground at the exact moment that demands you visit that dingy den, where they sell you froth you can't see. Ignore that inviting text, switch off the damn phone if you have to. Whatever you do, this one day, do things differently. Its one day at a time, victory is on the way.

Think Positive.

See yourself free. Envision the joy of freedom, for that's where you are headed. Even if no one else on the planet has ever kicked your kind of addiction, worry not. You will be the first. No two men are exactly alike. No one has ever meant it like you do, no one has ever had your kind of resolve. Oscar Pistorius, the double-amputee sprinter without the murder case, has nothing on you. You've owned up to your pitfalls. That makes you a winner. So you are on your way, and nothing in the world is going to stop you. Internalize those kind of thoughts, own them even.

How the next guy tried and failed has nothing to do with you. They didn't do it right, you are doing it right. You will not make the mistakes they made. Plus your drive is fiercer and unstoppable. You will go down history books, by re-defining the very word victory. You have special equipment those who failed in the past didn't have. You are unique and unrivaled. Kids will study you in school, drunks will sing songs in praise of you. You've just started a winning streak that no one can touch. See yourself that way. Unparalleled and unmatched.

Ditch The Crowd.

As they say, you are a product of the first five people you hang around with. They hadn't been bribed to say so. It's actually true. So drop those so called 'friends', who keep lighting up when the last thing you want to see, for obvious reasons, is a lit stick of smelly tobacco.. You don't share the same resolve, you aren't headed to the same destination, you have no business to transact. So step. 
You can't hang around grossly tattooed outlaws while looking all smooth, clean and 'legal'. At some point, you will succumb to the pressure, and get one tattoo of your own. Before you know it, your mama is asking for her son, while you stand right in front of her, unrecognizable.
If you hang around people who see nothing wrong with sitting in an office, totally unproductive for the whole day,bas they talk about crops they didn't plant, you will be the next nincompoop in a suit and a tie. The salary is not everything. Its about how you are using that which the Lord gave you, to make your contribution to the world. And to give Him glory. 
Don't criticize the habit, as you sit in it, with your 'brothers in sin'. For then, you are part of the problem. You are the fuel that makes the fire stronger. Step out, and the fire will subside. Its going to be lonely out there at first, yes. But eventually, others like you will locate you. And you will make a formidable strike force. Then, and only then, will you have located true friendship and companionship. The other kind, was only sustained by the slavery you shared. Once free or if you express a desire to be free, this kind must despise you. 

Rediscover Your Hobbies.

God sent no one to the world empty handed. Each of us was equipped with all that was necessary to ensure we lacked nothing in this world. Talents to earn us a living effortlessly were distributed equitably by the wisest being there is and there ever will be. But along the way, the habits and the addictions came and those 'equipments' were effectively buried. Hand the adversary a resounding defeat, by picking up that shovel and scooping all soil off that 'grave'. Its marked, so you can't miss it. You are gifted in it so there's no one else who's quite like you. You are the best. But only if you do it.
At exactly the same time you would have joined your friends for a fix of weed, read that book. Follow the news on Sky news, for you always loved current affairs, before the addictions blurred you. Write, if that's what does it for you. Sing all your favorite songs, for you have a great voice and soon you'll prefer singing to gossip. You are a natural. Draw that sketch. Love it. Its what you love doing so who cares if the world takes notice. Do it anyway. Because had you been the only one in the world, you still would have done it. Have fun, pal.Have fun, by rediscovering yourself. And enjoy every moment. For the true owner of your gift, walks before you. 

Use Your History To Your Advantage.

Your past reads like the original script of a horror movie, written by a proven psychopath. Fine. Turn it into a stalk reminder of what bad habits can do. Beat your past in its own game. Defeated souls will scoff at your attempts to change and make fun of it. But in actual fact, they are scared of of being one man less, in their escapades. 
They'll say your type can't break free and toast to it, while all along throwing glances at the door, hoping you will troop back, head hung down. Your history has no power to define you, unless you buy the lie. Rwanda's history is genocide and murder of unprecedented proportions. Now as we grapple with tribal numerical counts, that pass for elections, she's turned into a jewel that glows in the dark where nations previously far more prosperous than her, go to learn a few things on good governance. 

She was there before us, so she knows better than, say, play around with tribalism and class divisions. She's embraced reconciliation and brotherhood as the way forward. We have a more colorful past than hers. But i wish i could say the same of the future. Your past is defeated and buried. Treat it as so. It failed to put you six feet under when it had a chance. Now you are the one to bury it for good. That alone, calls for celebration.

What a joy!

Act Different. 

There are things about you that defined you as your previous character. Eject them physically. If for nothing else, the message this action will pass on to the subconscious mind. Begin by taking down that Tupac Shakur poster you've hang in your room for a decade. Because you are through with 'thug life', this poster is of no use to someone as conscious as you. Throw it into the trashcan, and walk away feeling triumphant. You have a right to feel that way, because you are well on your way. Throw away that C.D. Its of no use now. Go through your ward robe and do away with all those 20 centimeter long dresses, for the unpopular modest skirt suit. Your friends are going to laugh at you. Worry not. They know not your resolve. They think you enjoyed walking around half-naked in sophistication's name, bearing all the cold goose bumps. They have no idea you were living a life you hated,ba life that didn't define who you really are.

Ignore their gasps and the 'oooh!'s. They are comfortable in it, you are not. Please don't expect them to join you down this road. You made an entry into the world alone, and you'll exit alone. Its all about you now and what's best for you. Time to be you is here. You've lived for them long enough. Its now time to live for you and the one who made you so flawlessly.

If your friends 'don't do church', and you feel inclined to join the church choir, that's alright. They'll think you are making a fool of yourself, dressed in those flowing costumes like you work for the circus group. They'll think you are after the handsome Pastor, if your history is anything to go by. But its your calling, not theirs. They aren't feeling what you're feeling inside, they didn't hear the voice you heard. Somebody actually thinks you sound gorgeous and that's whom you were meant to touch. Your seed is different and special.

As i said i do not have the answers. Or the solutions. I don't even know why i did this. But it feels right. No matter how deep the hole you are in seems, once you begin the uphill climb, rest assured eventually you'll be at the top. That's when you'll realize the uphill struggle was worth every effort. May the good Lord, He who created you free and unburdened, see to it that you get exactly that which you wish for-; Freedom.

Shalom.