stop blogging and start working

There's this verse in James 4, 'let your laughter be turned into mourning' it says in normal versions. However, there's this version though which just totally watered down that to 'stop laughing and start crying', which, for people who think in pictures like me is just hilarious, and from then on Dinah, Flo and I started calling those oversimplified versions the stop laughing and start crying versions. Like Good News or the Youth Bible. Hence my title. Sorry if you have one of those. There, we can go on...

I have decided that in order to succeed in building a consistent blogging practice slash culture I must approach this from a different and totally radical angle. In addition to asking myself the all-important WWJD question in my dealings with other human beings and/or inanimate objects of any and every kind belonging to any and everyone, I must also incorporate the slightly less important but equally necessary question: CIBAT - can I blog about this?

Since one can blog about anything, I anticipate that most of my dilemmas will be solved by the answer yes, and since I want to be consistent as much as and/or because I want to be like Jesus (who was also consistent), the end result I expect is slightly over one million potential blog posts in a given day. From which I can narrow down to say, five, six a month. 

Or, since also no man is an island, or mum's version “hakuna mtu alilala kwa Mungu akajua ya kesho”, another way to be consistent is to have other people be consistent on my behalf, aka guest writers. This last one though I anticipate a few problems with eventually, since no one wants to guest blog in a blog whose readership constitutes maybe 5 sane people, and a few idle people in the US with long unpronounceable email addresses. Also, because they’ll likely be crazy good, they’ll make me look bad. Sanasana this one more than that other first one.

I’m trying to find another word for ‘blog’ since I once read here that it made the list of the ten most eeky English words there are (apparently top on that list was moist, which I have always found to be quite eeky myself, and have since desisted from applying it to any conversations). Though I honestly don’t get how blog made the list ahead of some conspicuously gross words a la phlegm and orifice. They is even weird to look at. Then I get this lump in my throat because of the cold I’ve had since a few days ago. They were right on the other nine though, so lemme imagine it was the result of a well-researched survey, and not just some idle kid with an unpronounceable email address feeling angst-y and wanting to be heard by the world in manner of Simple Plan in their ‘hit’ complaint Welcome to my Life.

It’s now 3:18 am. There has in the distance been a drum being knocked (yes, knocked) consistently for the past since I woke up. It’s 3 am, so that’s not a service, okay maybe it’s a Praise and Worship kesha, I heard people in Nairobi and elsewhere also, have those. They take their Sunday singing quite seriously, as do I (their singing). Anyway, back to the drums, reminds me of my teacher Mr. Omuhaka’s neighbour and his 4am prayer sessions that were daily punctuated by these… (searching for nice word) passionate claps every two or so minutes. In the dead silence of the night. Brings new meaning to quiet time I imagine. Anyway, maybe the prayers (I sincerely hope that's what those are) accompanying those drumbeats at three in the a.m. keep us from absolute anarchy, so I should be grateful.

Supposed to be working, soooo not working. And now I’m back to sleepy. So there. Let the drum beats sing me a lullaby…

opinions and such...

I’m seated at the salon letting my left-handed hair lady work her magic. I swear, this lady is hands-down my best hair dresser yet. Not because she does marvellous things to my head, well, they are far above average certainly, but more because it’s totally painless. I mean totally. As in I can comfortably construct a thought and type it down where in the past my head would be placed in some impossible angle, my face contorted in a labour-esque expression (I imagine) and my hands pressed tight to my ears as if that should prevent me from kuskia uchungu.

I should get this hair dreadlocked already, I keep chickening out and fearing I’d miss those two days in between undoing the hair and my next salon appointment – the crying in the shower because the comb won’t go through, the sadness as I throw entire handfuls of what was on my head in a bin and worst of all, if within those two days I absolutely must go away from the house. This hair business is a hard one. If it wasn’t that the Lord Himself called it the glory of a woman, I would have scoffed. Maybe I inwardly scoff still, those two days in between. I think I might follow this lady to the ends of the earth, if I do not lock it first, which judging by how long I’ve been dread-locking this hair inwardly, might be another few months (years, but you know).

Anyway, enough about my hair. I was hanging out with Kevin this weekend. Not hanging out per se, just those few moments in between hospital visits and getting back to town. Kevin is my brother, a nice, sensitive and incredibly talented man. Also very frank, I recently found out. Because he said something about which I had a contrary opinion and now I can’t seem to forget. Because he was not utterly wrong. Maybe he wasn’t wrong at all. On any other day, this is not strange, growing up we got along as well as any adjacent siblings, but it was something I wanted him to agree with me on. Or at least not outright and bluntly disagree. He is supposed to be the nice one. This is something on which his opinion had some bearing. So I wish he was less frank. I wish he had been a little tactful, because now I can’t seem to forget what he said.

It’s amazing how much other people have a bearing on our own opinions. Yes, we all want to be demi-gods, mutated into higher beings with no thought for anyone else’s opinion. I wager that anyone who thinks they don’t care is lying, just a little. They may not care as much, but they care all the same.

So I’m seated here ruminating over Ps 32:8, I will guide you in the way you shall go. This verse that like three years ago I picked up from our chitchats with Ms. Wami. And trying not to panic too much. Maybe allay my fears a little. It could be nothing at all; I keep reminding myself that three quarters of the things we fear don’t ever happen. Ergo, relax woman!! It is well, now. Not it shall be, it is, now. Be quiet child!

I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano, a stage...

It’s Sunday, and I always loved Sundays. And today I went to my church. Being in and out of places, moving around a lot, I haven’t quite settled on a church I am, well… home, like CITAM Karen, and now I’m too far away from it. So it was wonderful being back. 

In the course of the week I ran into these Date a girl who writes and Date a guy who writes posts, which were very interesting reads. I’m a girl who writes, but I feel like that girl described there makes my writing seem mundane almost, her, she writes the world, and makes every uninteresting fact seem so story-worthy. Me, I’m not always sure what I want to say when I start writing ergo I end up saying a little bit of everything. I hope there are people out there who are like that too.

Of late I’m being forced out of this shell more and more, and this blog is finding its way into more histories than I want. Which definitely makes me, well, afraid. Of the eyes judging those things I’m saying. The ones looking hawk-eyedly for a clue into what I’m about. And I’m afraid that I’ll change my story. That I’ll change my voice, and write for a mass I now know exists. But the beauty of human beings is that they forget. So those of you who have this link in your histories, I pray you forget soon. Not in a bad way. I only want this one forgotten. Not your entire memories wiped clean. Unless you’re okay with that too. In which case, power to ya!

Nevertheless it got me thinking, just like this post I read and it got me thinking again, who’s watching your life? Who reads your blog? I don’t know if she still has the link but mum stumbled on this blog and reads it. Does it make me sift my thoughts, you bet it does! It helps that we have an ask-nothing-of-what-you-see arrangement too… but who else? 

I was always told everyone has secret disciples you know nothing about. I am a disciple of a few people who know nothing of it. It’s something I’m quite good at, because I have this strong urge to sit in a corner, walk on the street, or be anywhere really, and watch people all the time. It’s amazing what you’ll glean just by watching people.

This writing job is changing my life, in a good way, now I’ve learnt how to use fullstops and write short paragraphs. And use words I wouldn’t ordinarily use in normal conversation, which is now no longer normal thanks to the way I’ve had to write. But in a good way. I digress, moving on….

I used to have this job somewhere near Yaya Centre, and I lived near Adams Arcade, which meant I was one of the few Nairobians who could boast about walking to and from work, in twenty minutes. It was always fascinating to watch the world pass by, because when you have the mind of a writer, everything has a story. And I knew who I’d met where, what school bus should find me where unless I’m late and stuff like that. Also I learnt to walk and spend a whole day in heels, something I haven’t done in forever.

Anyway, I’d see them and fill up their lives in my head, but mostly I’d wonder what their real stories were like. Everybody’s got that thing weighing on their mind, I always wondered what it was when I ran into them. Some because we met almost every morning and evening, we began to say hi. And when I knew I was walking that road for the last day, I looked drank in everything like a sponge, and I almost, almost changed my mind about leaving. 

This weekend had a lot of sinusoidal curve tendencies, but this is the way of life. So to those watching without my knowledge, or with, I hope I do not begin to morph into some actor, or retreat into silence as I am wont to do among crowds. I kind of like this new me, this very talky-talky, very inspired me… Which was the point to begin with.

tuesday morning musings...

I was attending service at CITAM Woodley; that must have been the last week of October last year, before I left town the first time around. I think somehow for a while before that I had not been in church, and it was for me some bittersweet reunion of sorts, that entire service. Anywho, not my point at this time. There had just ended a baptismal class, and I think, as I was new to the place, they have lunch after the fact. So this guy stands up there and says, “Many animals have laid down their lives to facilitate this meal, blah...blah…” He didn’t say blah, I just don’t remember what he said after that, but it was something to the effect of please don’t blow off the lunch.

Which begins my point. I went to two different high schools. Sort of, I went to one for three weeks before the folks came and took me to the other one (against my express instructions). Anyway, I had missed my first choice my a whisker, which is how I landed at my second, and I told the folks I didn’t want them to keep looking for a place there, if my marks got me here, that’s where I was going to (fie upon you Ciaos!) stay. In fact, they later told me they weren’t sure I’d agree to come along when they were coming for me, but blah… blah… I did and here we are. 

The girl who beat me to my school couldn’t go, something about a full bursary she got that would only work in the school the sponsor chose, and so she couldn’t go. I thought about how she felt, because the school that was chosen for her was a lesser school. So, I went in her place, took her admission number, landed in the wrong class - and how I loved it, and picked my own hostel. The school wasn’t even expecting me, it was quite the mess. Happy mess.

Anyhow, this morning I’ve been thinking about the reasons we are where we are. Sometimes we are lucky, and God just opens a new door for us, but sometimes someone has to literally and figuratively “lay down their life” for us to land where we should. The Bible is so full of substitution doctrine, you know, this happens because that other thing paid the price. Ultimately, the very foundation of my faith is substitution. He laid down His life, so that I would live, He was bruised for my transgressions, by His stripes I am healed… 

And sometimes I ask myself, those things that are mine, now and in the future, whose are they now? What and who will lay down their life for me… Until now, it’s usually been my folks, putting their life on hold for mine; I guess that never ends… There is this verse:

³For I am the Lord your God,
The Holy One of Israel, your Saviour;
I gave Egypt for your ransom,
Ethiopia and Seba in your place.
⁴ Since you were precious in My sight,
You have been honoured,
And I have loved you;
Therefore I will give men for you,
And people for your life.

The truth is that there will always be Egypts, Ethiopias and Sebas being given for our ransom. Just like the carnivore’s good news is the herbivore’s bad. And now does the grass normally feel, being eaten like that?

Inevitably sometimes, our good news will also be someone else’s bad news. Sometimes we will know them. And they will be in worse stead than us. But still, they will have to be the ones leaving to make room for our entry. And that kinda makes me sad, even though such is the way of life.

and i cry a little more...

DISCLAIMER: This is going to be one of those graphic content posts they warn you about on the news. Viewer discretion is advised.

Today was supposed to be that day I woke up with a refreshed sense of self. It was my designated me-day, and I was going to enjoy it to the max, do those things that needed doing around the house and then just stretch out on the sofa and couch potato the rest of the day away amid junk food and movies.

It’s 7am, so there’s still hope, which is okay I guess. Instead of waking up refreshed, I did that thing I almost always do: I woke up like at five thirty and then decided I’m gonna stay in bed, unasleep till after seven. So there I was, processing things from yesterday, and the last week, and the meeting I am supposed to have with this friend of mine next week. And I ended up lying on my bed, tears slowly seeping into my pillow.

I have never been one of those touchy feely types, and generally speaking I probably expect as little as I can get away with from the human species. As a result, I hadn’t as such, expected much from anyone by way of backup regarding what’s going on. I picked a group of let’s say six or so people, who I figured  I’d ride this out with, let them know what goes on, have them in on events as they unfold and know that they are not feeding me empty platitudes and really mean what they say when they say they’re praying. Maybe their prayers keep me up, because whenever anyone asks me how I’M doing, you know with that emphasis on ME, I almost always don’t know. I guess it’s one of those ostrich mechanism things – I don’t see it, it’s not there, I’m alright.

Nonetheless, turns out I did have some expectations, even of those I didn't expect much from. Not that they would just know, but that they would try to be there. But then you soon discover that hornbill’s problems are hornbill’s problems. And that at the end of the day God always sends you help from the most unexpected of sources, I guess because:

… we have this treasure in earthen vessels, that the excellency of the power may be of God, and not of us.

So that we’ll know that was all Him. But when He does that, while thanking Him for the unexpected, sometimes you’re hurt by the expected. Someone said that sometimes people pray for the inflicted, and forget the affected. I now in part understand just how much grace is needed. To meet with my friend next week and wear a serene expression on my face and say that everything’s fine. What else do you say? You suck? I know why you’re asking so I’m not going to give your conscience the satisfaction of knowing you care simply because now you ask one question and I furnish you with all you should have known? 

No, you can’t say that, you say that it’s fine. Thank you for praying. Thank you for being there. Thanks for asking. And then turn against the wall and cry out to God to make those sentiments true and take away the pain. And know that no matter what, because I was never raised to turn away my back on a friend, I’m not going to lose their number. I’m not going to pay them back. I don’t even know how to do that. But you know what Lord, the truth is that I’m hurt. So I’m telling you, because I don’t know how to say it to them. And I need to tell someone. 

The world keeps on turning, it’s just ours that doesn’t. I guess I understand that sad love song, its sentiment, anyway...

Why does the sun go on shining
Why does the sea rush to shore
Don't they know it's the end of the world
'Cause you don't love me any more

Why do the birds go on singing
Why do the stars glow above
Don't they know it's the end of the world
It ended when I lost your love

I wake up in the morning and I wonder
Why everything's the same as it was
I can't understand, no, I can't understand
How life goes on the way it does

Why does my heart go on beating
Why do these eyes of mine cry
Don't they know it's the end of the world
It ended when you said goodbye

But many more things I don’t understand. So I cry a little more…