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…

i close my eyes so i can see...

It’s Friday, and I am up in arms. It’s also Friday, and I’m sated.

Let’s start with the sated, naturally. The beauty of being in a small town is I think the concept of the market day. I used to read back in the day those old African writ novels, talking about women really psyched up for market day. Come the day, houses were cleaned extra early, food for the kids prepared way in advance and at sunrise the journey began to the local marketplace. I think that still happens na huko ndani ndani… Me, I wait for 10am when the sun is up and scorching. Not too wise a move of course, but oh well. 

So in my hometown our market days are on Friday. Well, and Sunday, but that Sunday one is for food, and not at all as interesting. So Friday, like Friday needed any help getting awesomer… Anyhow, I went to the market today for the first time since I got back, it was hot as hell, but definitely worth it. And I got to do a few other things I’d been putting off on account of the heat. Yes, it’s that serious. No, I must not be joking. Or yes, maybe I just dislike leaving the house. It was worth it though, I got to buy a few more clothes I don’t really need with money I don’t really have… Ah!! Gotta love life….

Now unto the up in arms part. Here I am, totally minding my own business finally browsing through my newsfeed, still sated. Now, I am generally skeptical about most things I see on the internet, because many people will say anything for a million likes (I’m looking at you, those who tell us liking a photo will raise a dollar for whatever. Is that usually true? I feel like it should be a lot harder than that, getting a dollar, but what do I know right?) Anywho, so I see this totally horrifying picture of a man burnt to death. You know how after an accident and  they want to show the footage the news anchor somberly warns us that some photos may be really graphic? Yeah, those warnings are for me usually. 

I wish I could unsee that picture. But then I also don’t want to. Because I’ve kept silent on this gay human rights issue for too long. Maybe because I’ve got gay friends I’d give my kidney and part of my liver for. I refuse to think about them as gay I guess, I just don’t see that part of their lives. It’s just a thing in the air I don’t at all register. Would it be simpler if they weren’t, I don’t know, I guess… it’s always easier when you don’t have a face to attach to a concept, so that it’s just something you abstractly know about…

Anyway, last year Uganda’s parliament passed that controversial ‘Kill the Gays’ bill, it’s just awaiting the President’s assent, which assent he seems reluctant to give for some reason. I don’t want to get into all that; I wish to not thrust my foot into my mouth at this time. :) :) :) So that’s what captioned the offensive photo. Maybe he was burnt for other reasons; maybe he was burned for being gay. But Christ, HE WAS BURNED!!!! with people watching!! Who does that? It’s a human being; it’s a human being, goodness… What did he do that was so bad you’d stand there and watch him burn? 

(exit outrage, enter normal)

Nonetheless, I think: homophobia is a load of hogwash… you can’t put me right up there with racists and xenophobes, simply because I’m not comfortable with same gender PDA… I’m not a homophobe, I’m normal, jeez!!! Though I suppose if I burned you to death or passed a law to imprison you, yeah, I could start to believe you have a point. I think those activists may be being counterproductive towards themselves, calling everyone who doesn’t raise their banner and laud them a homophobe. If you kill, hate or ‘correctively rape’ another human being for being gay, you’re a bad person. Like how they did all three to Eudy Simelane. If you just prefer to not have it shoved in your face, not so much. There’s a big difference.

The beauty of writing for no one in particular is that there are no deliverables. You can just stop, without concluding, or making all the sense in the world. Though I suppose this might count as some conclusion. Well then, Beracchah rests.

our hope endures...

P.S:   I don’t know whether it’s the New Year, or the writing gig finally releasing my words from the confines of my head, but, hey, I’m writing chronically, and that’s always good news…

Tonight I got into bed, sat down and did my usual pre-vigil rituals, and decided that maybe this should be one of those days I sleep early. I’ve got no writing to do, which is most of what keeps me awake till wee. So I should sleep early, do tomorrow some service by being well-rested. After the usual running around the bed, lying prostrate on the floor, nodding eight times, spitting at the ancestors  :) :) :) and the full spectrum of my customary dealings, I was ready to go to sleep. 

So I’m one of those bad people who sleeps with the laptop next to the pillow, and today was no exception, except this time when I took it up to take a last lap round the necessary in-trays, I remembered this sticky note I’d placed on my desktop to look for this “Jesus to the World” song I’d heard on One Gospel a ways back. And it had just sat there… yesterday I couldn’t find a downloadable .mp3 version, you know, saving the bundles. I found it today, at the exact place I looked yesterday. Aunty Beaty would be pleased to caption this moment, she’s always telling me to “tafuta vitu kama girl”. I never do. 

Anyway, so here’s the song, Loyiso Bala is awesome. I literally have it on replay tonight, the whole night. Talk about self-hypnotization.

Nevertheless, this song reminds me of some devotional I read by this 19^th century guy, Oswald Chambers. “And the Lord turned the captivity of Job when he prayed for his friends.” And he was saying that there is no better time to pour oneself out for others than when you things aren't working in your life and faith as you hoped. Hhhmmm… some paradox. When you have a sick person in the family it’s easy to forget that outside of you guys life goes on. Your view of life compresses to them, a day at a time. Because if you count the weeks turning into months, it’s easy to feel like there comes no end in sight. 

But life goes on, other people hit bumpy patches on their road too… my friend’s mum is in ICU, another is sick, another’s mum suffered a heart attack… Others are hitting bumpy patches. Life goes on. So here’s what Loyiso says:

Because our hope remains,

As we receive we freely give away

As we are filled we are sent out again

Taking Jesus to the world

Jesus to the world, Jesus to the streets

Jesus in my hands, meeting others’ needs

Jesus to the world Jesus breaking chains

Because our hope remains

I’m taking Jesus to the world

Rather than fixate on what’s going on in my life, I should be doing what I can for someone else. So there, we have watched, we have prayed, we have almost lost faith, we haven’t… Still we stand… and now I’m taking requests, :)))))))))))) anyone who thinks I can be an answer to their prayer, ndiye huyu mimi, ready and at your service. Lol!!! No, seriously though… There is much gain from intercession. 

My mum is a staunch believer in herbal remedies, meaning over the years I’ve seen some ‘interesting’ concoctions, the best of which has always been aloe vera. When I have anything from rash to woman pains, there she comes with it. I promptly remember that I can manage the pain after all, coz that stuff is magic, lakini…. She just smiles and says “When you’re in real pain, utaikunywa tu”. Anyway, this one time it was so bad I woke her up at 5am like I was three all over again. As usual, she sent for the herb, which she has conveniently filled our backyard veggie garden with. When it came, I drank it, no question and no hesitation. She’s right, again.

My point, sometimes when you’ve tried so many things and someone tells you this will work, you do it in a heartbeat, just because it might work. This is where I’m at. So if God says look out and be a blessing, I’ll do it. Help me Jesus…