Different Kind of Love Poem

Kya Hither

I feel for you fountains and dandelions.

I feel for you unicorns and red roses.

I feel for you like Cinderella and Beauty.

I want you like this was Disney Channel

but I want you without the hustle, 

without the need to fight and hurt 

and without the need to wait and grow.

I want you now like a hot mocha 

coupled with a blueberry forest cake;

sweet and strong in my mouth. 

I want not just to be held by you, 

to be cuddled and embraced and maybe…

maybe even done to things. 

Things that will make my toes curl with glee. 

But I love God so honeymoon it shall wait. 

I will think of you in all the wrong ways, 

and pray to God to right my ways, 

and these are my struggles in my want for you.

I have to constant, I mean constantly, 

prevent me from admittedly admitting that 

I love you

and not just with the love of Christ 

but with a pinch of Eros. 

Okay maybe a mountain,

like the salt dunes of San Francisco Bay.

I like how you make me giggle, 

and when I see you my heart races

and a deep color rushed to settle on my cheeks. 

I thought I was stronger than this, 

you know, 

‘Do not arouse or awake love until it so desires’?

One thing is certain though-

love, lust, infatuation, crush-

all are blind

and I had rather wake up from this state

than fall into foolishness and at last despair.

You know what?

This spoken poem annoys me.

Who are you that I should write about you?

 

 

Good men exist!

And no, ‘good’ and ‘men’ in one sentence is not an oxymoron 😀

Mum wakes up everyday somewhere between 3:30 and 4:00 am. Today after my devotions I was rather hungry so went down to make myself an early breakfast. As I waited for tea I noticed my mum’s hurried but purposeful movements to prepare breakfast for her husband. I say ‘husband’ because when he is not around we kids eat ji-sort for breakfast. Most of the time.

In this day and age that amount of dedication requires a grace that I feel our generations are increasingly lacking. Women are splitting chores with their husbands or getting helps to run their households. To emulate mum, I want to cook for my husband, at the very least, breakfast and supper no matter how tired I may be. However, the other reason behind this willing submission is because of Classic FMs traumatizing picture of the reality that is marriage today and not just in Kenya but the world over.

I joked that I will cook for my husband so that the help doesn’t ponyoka with my husband and also decrease his chances for eyeing the help. Mum said that that doesn’t have to be the case. If I can afford a chef then I should by all means get one. Forcing myself to cook shouldn’t be because I fear for my husband’s ability to be faithful. She continued to say, ‘He or she-‘ I cut her off right there. I said it has to be a he and if it is a she, she has to be his mother’s age!

This does seem funny but there is some real fear there! We see adultery even in the church!

Mum, being the wise woman that she is, gave the example of our pastor. He is single and has not had an affair let alone his help but with any of the fine ladies in our church. You best believe that there are some fine honeys in our church, wacha tu!. I know most of you have added, ‘yes, affairs that he hasn’t been busted for’ or something like that in your mind- I did too, but her point was that there are good men out there who are faithful to their wives not just for her sake but because of their fear and love for God.

She said a bunch of other stuff that made a lot of sense but I don’t want to get into just because.

So, good man of God out there, come find me! 😀

 

 

Have a fantastic day! Cheers.

Marriage ni Kuvumilia

‘Marriage ni kuvimilia.’

These were the words of one mother to her last born daughter when she complained about her husband. (Marriage is endurance) 

I like listening to stories and not those that beginning with ‘Once upon a time’. I want to hear real life stories because fiction, to be honest, is overrated. Not unless you are J. K. Rowling or someone who writes some seriously good fantasy books.  I spent an hour listening to our help Pauline talking about her naughty kihii (uncircumcised boy), the marital problems plaguing our gardener and the life and trials of her sister. Pauline has two kids and is divorced, but that has not stopped her from living her life. She likes having fun but all calculated; she has kids to worry about.

She is by far the most hardworking help we have ever had and truth be told, I am sure no one’s help beats ours work-wise. Yes this is me bragging. She checks in at 8:30am and when she leaves at 5:00pm everything for the day is done, including veggies chopped ready for supper. On some days she will leave at 3pm and that is because quite literally there is nothing left for her to do.

This was meant to be about my love for stories, not about how awesome Pauline is. But hey!

Back to topic!

It doesn’t always sit well with my friends when they do most of the talking about their life and I do the bare minimum- enough to let you know that I trust you but not enough to quench your curiosity. This has nothing to do with my trust issues because I like telling myself they don’t exist. I just genuinely like listening to people talk. It really is that simple.

I have those friends I will go on an entire rant, rave and minute by minute narration of an event with but once I am done, the remaiming time is spent trying to get them to talk about whatever it is that is on their mind almost like a penitence for my ‘self-centred’ conversation.

If you have a psychological analysis of what is ‘wrong’ with me, leave a note on the comments section below. Or call me. Or text me. Or something.

I like Pauline’s stories because they seem so detached from my reality. For example:

 

Kuenda-Kurudi

 

download (3)Her sister had left the husband, nicknamed Mapesa (monies), because of his drinking problem.  She got Pauline to help her move out of the husband’s house with everything she owned and relocated to Homabay to get away from the husband. He did get violent when he was drunk but it was always because she provoked him verbally. After a while she decided to move back to Nairobi and live with her sister. Problem was that this was a five minute drive from where her husband lives.

After a three months, Pauline gets home to find her once crowded house seeming spacious. Upon asking her daughter where her sister was, she was handed a letter simply saying, ‘Niliona nakusumbua’ loosely translated to mean ‘I saw I was bothering you’. She had moved back in with her husband.

When she started calling Pauline and their mother complaining about her husband and asking to be helped out of sticky situations, that is when they decided to stop sympathising with her and told her to sort her issues out and to stop complaining.

Mapesa does love her but thinks that his wife has horns.

 

This narration of events is apparently quite normal as per what Pauline has seen in her environs. Marriages break up all the time, women are given major beat downs and leave with all they own, only to move back in later. Those who stay… stay! But some leave never to be seen again. 

That is Pauline’s reality. It is so intriguing that I deemed it worthy of a post. My reality is currently little dramas within my work environment, both paying and volunteer, centred around love triangles and hexagons with crisscrossing lines, strong relationships, failed relationships and all round vumiliaring (enduring) or lack thereof. None of my close friends are married, mostly just acquaintances or people I saw while in campus. Of pregnant ladies and their supportive boyfriends, of abortions (usually friends of friends; not sure why that disclaimer felt relevant), of fornication, drunken nights and regrets but also of miracles, blissful walks with God, a new understanding of self and dreams coming true.

Basically everything that characterizes 20 somethings in this century, yah!

So stories help me paint a more realistic image of the world around me. Therefore if you have stories, offer them to me, I am here to listen. In return I promise to ask for your permission before posting anything that has a possibility of being traced back to you! 🙂 

 

Cheers.

 

City dwellers.

I never thought that Jaymo could be this good a writer the first time I met him. His praises shall be, from now on, always on my lips. Really, really great piece. Hope you enjoy it as much as I do!

In My Own Words

streets

Welcome. Sit. Have a drink
sip from my cup, fellow stranger
trade me your time for a coin and I will show you
what makes this city tick:

There is a woman: Sabina Joy
they say she was here since time began
I agree.
she is a dealer.
in hopes and quick gropes.
many a man in this town have found solace on her ample bosom.
she does not judge and
for the right price she will sell you your ego back
along with a basket of dis-ease and dis-use.
…but she does her part in building the nation; one man (or many) at a time.

Around here, is where they bury aborted dreams
in this den, you will find rusted faces that tell of stories of even darker places.
This. Is the devil’s lair, where only the lost, the stupid or the mad ones dare.
Adversity looms here…

View original post 396 more words

Logic

Prim (20) is on her bed, legs crossed. She is watching something on her laptop and has one earphone on. The door is slightly ajar. Tanya (17) walks in and sits on a chair by a desk facing the window.

 

Tanya:   You are adopted.

Prim:     So are you Tanya.

Tanya:   Whatever you tell yourself.

Prim:     Are you that bored? Because you’re doing that thing again.

Tanya:   What thing?

Prim:     Looking for a fight.

Tanya:   You are adopted.

Prim:     (Sighs) So are you Tanya. It should be on your birth certificate…

Tanya:   It was burnt.

Prim:     (Looking up from her laptop) This is new. When?

Tanya:   When the house we used to live in when I was tiny burnt down.

Prim:     Where was I? I definitely would have remembered that.

Tanya:   You were not yet adopted.

Prim:     (Looking back to her laptop) I was adopted before you Tanya.

Tanya:   That is not possible. If my birth certificate was around it would prove that I was for one not adopted and that I was already born way before you came along.

Prim:     I will not argue with you Tanya. Mainly because are making no sense. I am three years older than you and we have lived in this house since forever.

Tanya:   Whatever.

Prim:     (looking at her phone that has suddenly lit up) You need to tell you ex boyfriend to stop texting me.

Tanya:   I knew it! You are jealous of me!

Prim:     (Handing the phone to Tanya) Look.

Tanya:   (Reading) Hey love.

Prim:     (Turning her attention back to her laptop)At first it was adorable but now it is just plain creepy. I’ve told him both politely and rudely to leave me alone. He doesn’t seem to get it. Talk to him. He’s really beginning to get on my nerves.

Tanya:   Hmm…

Prim:     (Looking at Tanya) What are you typing?! Give me that phone!

Tanya:   Why is he calling your name? And what is with all the dots after? (Giving back the phone)

Prim:     (Reads message then sighs) It is because he knows it can’t possibly be me sending that. Last time we talked I called him a douche bag. Last thing I would be calling him right now is ‘babe’. Tanya go find something to do.

Tanya:   You are adopted.

Prim:     Tanya.

Tanya:   Whatever. (exits the room)

Prim:     (To herself) White folks don’t birth black kids…

 

Contentment by Force

As I lie here on my bed at 5am eating an apple because of just how real that hunger and heartburn was, I can’t help but feel bad for not thanking God for all the nights in my life I have slept like a log. I even miss the rare snoring and drooling; a testament of sweet sleep.

Nowadays I am an extremely light sleeper and the slightest sound wakes me up: from my mum’s footsteps, water being pumped to the tanks in the roof, my brother wandering into and currently, rain and thunder. At one point rain was a promise of sound sleep. In this past week my chest has been aching from all the times this weather has startled me awake. And once I am awake, status updates, Instagram and other joblessness activities follow.

Today it’s specially bad.

Because of a secret pact made between my brain and 4am, I opted to be having my Quiet Time then- on a good day. On days I have slept past 12am I require an alarm to wake me up. Often times I will wake up- to switch off the alarm. Then it is back to Slanderland. On days I have slept relatively early 4am finds me awake amid my tired body’s protests. As we speak I am utterly exhausted. And the car alarm just went off. Oh blessed rain. And thunder. Scary stuff :-\

But all this suffering hasn’t been in vain. As I was tossing and turning and tossing some more, a thought came to mind:

” Think of all the things you want to have that you do not have. Now picture yourself happy without them.”

I had to laugh.

That is my lesson for the week. Have blessed next few days to come dear reader! 🙂

Cheers.

PS: This disclaimer should not come as a surprise. Seeing as I am using my phone, the current looming headache and a twitching left eye, my typo problem may be more evident in this post.

Your body, that body.

By Kya Hither

Little girl,

Wear it as short as you like,

Wear it as low as you like,

It is your body after all.

You don’t have to listen to mama,

Heck you don’t even have to listen to Truth,

So you do as you please,

It is your body after all.

He likes you like that,

Next to weed, tapping that is his hobby,

Wolves and sheep turn to look at you,

They idolize you;

They stare and gape and lust,

You feel strong and desired and perhaps even beautiful,

But no makeup can or will mask the pain in your eyes,

When they look at you in disgust

Right after the grunting stops.

So little girl,

Wear it as short as you like,

Wear it as low as you like,

It is your body after all.

Hate men you shall.

Love will elude you.

Mama will try talk to you,

But it is your body after all.

You have the legs, thighs, ass and boobs

Oh little girl you got it all!

You love the attention, reaction.

You love it when the other ladies hate you,

They can’t have what you have honey!

And your skin, oh that silky skin…

Even I’m envious of you.

However little girl, I promise you one thing.

Your worth only lies between your legs.

But you can change all that.

You can

Wear it as long as you like

Wear it as high as you like

It is your body after all.

You will find respect, dignity.

You may even find love;

A man or two will discover your mind.

You will however fade,

Not easily noticed.

But don’t wonder of the wolves and sheep little girl!

Because,

There is a little girl just like you,

Wearing it as short as she likes,

Wearing it as low as she likes,

It is her body after all.

Let’s teach our daughters, sisters, cousins or even aunts their importance. Left to the world, the lesson always comes at a great cost.