Daughters Of No One In Kenya

I am a daughter of no one and my siblings sons and daughters of no one

I have no godfather and my mother is a peasant immigrant.

I don’t know who my father is, my mother never mentioned him we didn’t try asking.

She did everything in her power to raise us. She toiled on your Lands(Kenya) and sweated blood to feed us,sometimes it took a whole days job on the fields to get a glass of maize and beans for dinner to be shared by all of us.

Our only hope for ever tasting bread or milk was to work hard in school or so they told us.

“Have good grades, go to the university and you will be somebody someday.”

All I wanted was to taste fresh bread and eat vegetables cooked in oil.

So I worked hard.

So I burned the midnight oil for good grades

So I made the school library my other home

So I borrowed books.

So I read every book in our school library.

“Knowledge is power.”

Knowledge I acquired.

My grades in school were flawless.

My disciplinary record flawless.

I followed the rules or took great care to not get caught when I broke them .

The first time i tasted biscuits, the ones sandwiched With icing sugar, was in an English class when Mrs.Otieno thought my composition was exquisite and i deserved a reward.

I had only read about such biscuits in Novels and tasting them felt like heaven.

I had always admired my English teacher .

If memory serves me right, I used to dream that if I worked hard enough I will would someday; drive a car like hers, master the command of English language like she did and afford mouth watering biscuits like the one she had awarded me. She even told me that the secret was in working hard,Get good grades, go to the university.

I did all that.

I studied hard.

I made it my mantra.

finally I got into the university.

I graduated college.

Here I’m five years later and I think my immigrant mother probably had it better. My papers lie under my bed.

I stopped photocopying my CV because there was no point.

Kiptoo asked me to sleep with him so he could consider giving me an interview.

Wafula wants me to be his third wife for a job offer.

Liteitei asked me to scratch his back, he didn’t even bother explaining.

My story is long and boring,nothing worth writing home about.

Someday may be I should head middle East and probably Slave for a few dollars but that Also got some scratching and backs for it to be a reality.

Another fantasy.

Another dream.

It’s like i never learn when they sell me fantasies.

I stopped telling my mom the reality am living in.

That am broke.

That I do odd jobs that pay piss to get by.

That I live with three other girls, struggling to pay rent.

That I live on a single meager meal a day.

So I send her cash often so she would think am okay.

Some nights while I lie awake, I fantasize on taking Wafula on the offer.

Then when Sunrise comes up I remember why I have to fight another day.

I think of pink lotus and how it blooms after a long period of mud and darkness and I fight to survive another day.

Hope is a dirty word than Fuck but hope has been my only faithful friend.

She,Hope, has kept me going,afterall the alternative is hopelessness

I would rather hope even if it kills me sometime.

I have heard of success stories, I tattooed a Phoenix on my belly and a lotus on my back, on the days I forget I trace my hand on the Phoenix, to remember.

Someday I will rise from the ashes but today I have to get by in the ruins my life. Abandoned ghost towns have a better chance of being Rich and famous than my life but that doesn’t mean I will stop trying.

I think of Dubai, a desert that became a dream and I fight on.

The promise of Canaan is no longer lies in good grades, not in my reality, Kenya . Maybe the promise of Canaan is in playing dirty but I was raised Christian and No matter how I try I can’t seem to bring myself to deal drugs, teachings from a tender age,keeps weighing on my conscience.

Maybe someday things will change. Maybe I will find a godfather or my father will come save me.

Maybe love will save me.

Maybe things will change.

Maybe they won’t.

I fight to see another day.

I look at how hopeful sunrises are and I carry on.

The glory of sundown reminds me that just because the sun is setting in my life That doesn’t mean it’s not beautiful and glorious, it makes a good story after all. i talk to the moon a lot. Her cycle reminds me that I don’t have to be bright or show up to called a moon. I’m still Riri even when I don’t show up.

I carry on.

I take it a day at a time.

Just another day, in a daughter of no one, In Kenya.

She keeps on.

Special Thanks To My Brothers And Sisters From The Lake

Thank you for restoring my faith in humanity. I can honestly say you people have proved to me over and over again that humans are not that far gone. That they can be saved. That humans still have some humanity left in them. It’s either i have been lucky so many times or they are just good people.
Today it kinda proved that you people are just nice. I misplaced my fare read too confused to find it. When the conductor started harassing me a girl, let’s call her Adhiambo offered to pay. When I was a little settled in and found the said money, I tried paying her back but she said I should help someone in future because things happen to everyone.
I walked home thinking how kind people from the Lake have been kind to me. My wife(or the girl I would move in with if we are forty and still single. I also don’t need to have kids because she will have enough for two). I’m talking about my soul sister or soulful as it gets…Vinerose. The only girl whom I know got my back more than anyone and she even defends my honour when am not around. she was my roommate in campus and no girl alive has got me out of the line of fire more times than I care to count. I know she can take a bullet for me but I would rather die than let the most beautiful soul die in my stead. And just so you know she is a Luo. 

My English teachers through and through have been Luo’s. Sorry for embarrassing you with all the bogus blogging have been doing. You people did a good job. Thanks for making love books. Thanks for the free books. Thanks for all the unlimited opportunities of writings y’all all separately and independently gave me. Thanks for believing in me enough to give me a chance to create. None of you teachers ever asked me to change my style. You actually made me believe in myself. I might be embarrassing your efforts online but bare with me.
Then all the times a stranger or a friend came through for me,it has always been people from the Lake. Marya and Collins made my attachment bearable. My first day was horrible but you two made me feel at home or as at home as hospitals could feel and not just another outsider that showed up late for her attachment with some lame excuse. Not entirely lame because this is Kenya and exams are legit reasons to miss anything even open court. But what do I know? You two were the safety net that he got me through the hellish three months. you had no obligation to hold my hand but you did it so selflessly. Does it have anything to do with being a Luo? 
I have walked into offices looking for one thing or another and all the time it was a Luo in office I got instant assistance. I’m not Luo so there’s no way that it has anything to do with being one of their own. 
There was a girl from our class called Jenny. I was lucky to know her in a personal level. When she loved, she loves for real. When she hated, it was for real. She was never a pretender. Then you wonder why I respect Luo’s and admire them in equal measure?

Haven’t met anyone with I integrity more than a Luo. Their pride comes with integrity, hardwork and selflessness. They don’t even cheat in exams. They don’t steal. most are not corrupt. And they are loyal as fuck. You have found a real friend or real enemy if it’s someone from the Lake. They are not beggars. They are givers. They live by what they make. They might be good with their voice and throwing Stones but it is always for something they honestly believe in. Something they have earned. They don’t steal from anyone so they wonder why someone would short change them and when they retaliate then it’s never a pretty picture. 
Respect to all Luo’s out there!!

Healing After Abortion

I was raised by very amazing women. I was taught to think for myself and I ended up being a pro choice in almost everything. I even have a long list stashed somewhere labeled ‘SHIT MY MOM SAID’. She is pro life BTW. That didn’t stop her from teaching us to be pro choice. She never forced her religious beliefs on us either, I guess that’s what makes her a great mother. She never let anything get on the way of raising us to be better human beings Maybe that’s why we all turned out mostly alright with survival skills and shit. I feel like a letdown among her kids; being a cliché blogger with a basic degree is overly cliché but at least am pro choice.

 When my friends ask for my opinion on pregnancy crisis I always go all pro choice on them giving them perspective on pros and cons of swinging either side. Only once I made someone keep the baby, I literally begged her.Maybe  I just wanted to be an aunt and baby Milan not only saved his mother from going insane but he has been a huge blessing in our life. when he walked into our life he made me believe that babies are magical and I get lost in his brown innocent eyes. He has been our anchor and source of joy. I will seriously spoil him when mama bear is not looking. When he is old enough to walk and clean after himself , I’m seriously considering kidnapping him.  I like it when women take charge of what they want to do with their bodies. It’s okay if she aborts or carries the baby to term. It is okay to bleach. It’s okay to go for plastic surgery. It’s okay to have implants. Whatever her wardrobe choice suits her, I have no fuckin problem. I guess you see where am going. I do not care what the patriarch considers sin or inappropriate or wrong or right, if you are a woman do with your body whatever you feel works for you. 

After abortion there are some things you will feel. First there is relief. Devour this feeling when you still can. It is totally okay to be relieved that you got rid of unwanted pregnancy. Then there will be sadness. Thereafter you have sadness and relief, that will leave you confused; you will wonder how the same thing that gave you relief makes you sad. Here you will spend sleepless nights awake and or even have nightmares. You might even sink into depression. Naturally, your brain will try to block it. It will automatically create a box to hide it and if you not careful, these walls will get too high even for you to scale. No one expects you to grief for an unborn you wanted to get rid of. Today I want you to grief. Weep for your unborn baby. You can write letters or talk to it when you alone or tell your best friend about it. Just grieve. Yes, I know we are supposed to suck it up and move on, after all we are the ones who asked for it. It is like losing a leg when we called for amputation,it still hurts.
 After phase one, phase two is all about sharing. Talk about it with someone other than your best friend. You could tell your online friends or your mother. Just learn how to talk about it, you will feel less alone. It is amazing how many women have gone through what you have and are willing to hold your hand without judgment. Just because you are talking about it doesn’t mean our journey ends here. When you think you have overcome it remember it’s just the beginning. There is a huge chance that the women you share with will not judge you, so it is only natural to judge yourself. This is a dangerous road, the only way out is through it. You will toy with suicide, you will consider getting pregnant again and you might start self-destruction. When you get there, it is time to reach out. Support groups and reading articles on aborthion survivors or even books will get you through it. Getting pregnant is band Aid material, DO NOT DO IT. Suicide is seductive but do not go through with it. Self-destruction, a road I know so well is good for nothing, do not walk this path
Phase 3 is all about letting go. You have enjoyed relief. You survived sadness, confusion, grief, pain and most part of the turmoil that comes with abortion. It is time to let go and cleansing. It is time to take your life back. You need to renew your energy. I know a few techniques that can help you cope. Your womb needs cleansing too. Emotions need letting go. You need to feel alive again. 

After the emotional turmoil, the next step is cleansing your womb. There are different ways you could do it. 

• You can use traditional African healing arts. Visit a female herbalist and explain to her your problem. they always have herbs and teas for this kind of thing. She will encourage you to do a blood cleansing even. Trust her to take care of you. If you lucky to have a senge or lucky enough to know one, it is time to pay them a visit.
• You can go Eastern way, Yoni massage is one of the most effective healing arts of the east end. In Kenya, I have seen several Yoni masseuse or those who understand tantric arts. Yoni massage is orgasmic and nothing deserves a good orgasm more than your womb. It has been through so much stress. Let the masseuse take care of the release. I would advise you pick a female masseuse. There is always a deeper understanding between us females. She should be able to create an environment where you feel safe. You should be able to let go of all negative emotions and self-loathing that may have plagued you for months. All negativity under the sun can be released by a good Yoni massage.
• You could use western arts, sign up for therapy or counseling. Another safe environment to let go, release and renew your energy. Your therapist should be able to guide you to recovery. Sometimes therapy gets hard but it is worth it.
• You could choose to drown your sorrows with vodka. You all know how things end here, though.

Short Hair Is The Way To Go

On the thing about being a broke jobless twenty something, I decided to keep my hair short. I would like to lie to you and say it’s a fashion statement or i look good in short hair, you might call me on the bullshit. My hair is short because it’s low maintenance, if you know me, I’m big on cheap. Cheap thrills, they say. 
After many years of rejecting her advice, I think my highschool headmistress was right about one thing; SHORT HAIR. That mama forced us to keep our hair short all through high school, the teenager in me thought that was unfair. It did make us look like boys and my late bloom didn’t do much to help. I had a flat chest, no hips,and no noticeable ass. The short hair look didn’t help, so I look liked a homeless lesbian in school uniform. My dad said that I had a figure of a post. And being tall with big ears didn’t help much. I rocked my akward looks with confidence, so it seemed cool. I was a cool girl, after all. 
Its ironic how the semi adult in me, after years of rejecting everything Maimuna(that was her nickname) said, that I finally found something we both agree on. No one likes to admit that their highschool teacher or anyone was ever right in whatever they said. I don’t like this admission either,  but, here we are! She was right all along, after all. 

After shedding most of my teenage awkward look. I use most because I kept the ears and height, I finally look good ish in short hair. But looks like I didnt shade most of that teenage awkwardness, I got me some disastrous highlight on. So basically, my short hair looks like that of a not so homeless lesbian. I like to think that the only fashion statement am pulling these days is representing homeless lesbians. It’s not my fault,my hair stylist attempted to salvage my already short hair with some highlight and that shit backfired. So, the fashion statement I’m currently making is “homeless lesbian “. I should really consider changing my hairstylist or something. I don’t hate the sunny gold colour my hair. I love it. just that no one takes anyone serious who walks around with blazing gold fire head. Now more than ever, I need someone to take me serious. After all, job hunting is a full-time employment. But allegedly, my stylist is the best in town. So, I’m stuck with that one, probably consider dying it black and see how it goes. I should go to the salon soon, I really should, instead of ranting about it here. 
And I should listen to my mom often. She has better hair ideas than the ones I come up with. 

The Ten Commandments Of A Con

1. Be a patient listener (it is this, not fast talking, that gets a con man his coups).
2. Never look bored.
3. Wait for the other person to reveal any political opinions, then agree with them.
4. Let the other person reveal religious views, then have the same ones.
5. Hint at sex talk, but don’t follow it up unless the other person shows a strong interest.
6. Never discuss illness, unless some special concern is shown.
7. Never pry into a person’s personal circumstances (they’ll tell you all eventually).
8. Never boast – just let your importance be quietly obvious.
9. Never be untidy.
10. Never get drunk.

Attributed to Lustig

Choose Your Husband Carefully

Things my mom said.

Choose your husband carefully, you only have yourself to blame if it all goes bad.

You only have yourself to Blame if he ends up physically abusing you.

You only have yourself to blame if he ends up killing you. Be weary of angry people,  one day he just might explore and turn your house to a slaughter house.

You only have yourself to blame if it ends up in Mediocre. Driving an average car, living an average life and struggling to get by. Just because he has an addiction that cuts on your income. ( sex addict, gambling problem, drinking problem, laziness etc) all the fucked up problems people need rehab or and therapy for this days.

You only have yourself to blame if it starts from the alter and ends in Court. You will be left bitter, heartbroken, and probably broke with a messy divorce on your plate to deal with.

You only have yourself to blame if you end up unhappy, messed up, fat with a drinking problem and jobless. It’s all on you if he messes up with your head and life. If you marry an asshole, what do you expect? Roses and chocolates?

You only have yourself to blame if it all ends up with STDs and all grisly infections that comes with a cheat who has no respect of his or your body. It’s not just the infections that suck BTW. We also have the emotional turmoil, knowing he cheated and he ain’t even sorry.

You only have yourself to blame if it all comes to you raising children from another woman or women. Kids who will never respect you and expect you to love them anyway. Ensure you have the skin to play mommy and not mommy before saying I do.

You only have yourself to blame if it all goes to hell. Be very very careful when you choose your husband. And let’s make your first marriage your only marriage. Let’s make your only marriage a happy one.

Inspired by stray cats.