Seduce Me 

Seduce me. 

I don’t mind the cliche romance we see on TV, my god, am a sucker for slow walks under the moon and chasing setting sunsets. The reason they are cliches is coz they work!  

I am sucker when it comes to silly games by the beach and getting high by the beach, scratch that last part, I like getting high anywhere.

I am a sucker for efforts! 

A well planned dinner, breakfast in bed, unexpected kisses….. 

That kind of thing.  
But when I say seduce me this is what I have in mind. I am a hopeless romantic, of course. 
Kiss me like you mean it. 
Hug me like you want to 
Look at me like am the only girl in the world, like I put stars in the sky and the moon is my best friend. 
Darling, I am not a hard girl to please. 
Text me random smart shit to make my day, shit like why you think the sun goes to sleep so that the moon can unleash her brightness or what you think vegan zombies eat or what you think of event horizon and space theory…. I promise I won’t indulge you but that will fucking make my day  
Talk dirty to me, try seducing me with science, use physics, the appalling theories,a seductive language forged from physics will definitely get you into my pants, I know I won’t  understand half the things you be saying but I will be so impressed you wouldn’t have to try. 
Undress me with your beautiful mind and baby, I am sold. 
Seduce me.

Broken Hearted 

It’s been a month now since I last tasted you.  Our unbreakable relationship was breakeable, after all, I didn’t see that coming . I thought you were my forever.  The one that gets to stay till am old and senile and stay some more till my last breath. The one I get to taste every bitter cold morning and sweet sunny morning alike. You were supposed to be the kind of love I get to write cheesy blog post and post pictures on instagram with cheesy captions like “I love you to the moon and back” or “I love you to infinity and beyond , you are mine “. That kind of thing. My person. Well, this is the twenty first century, and we show affection through social media, our version of PDA. That is also how we officiate  relationships,by god, you are all over my timelines. The twenty first century is full of lazy pricks, seriously, we are lazy. Love translates to silly captions on selfies and status. I think I like our version of love, superficial , no depth, zero effort. Look at me writing you off  with a single blog post even though our relationship had depth and seemed solid enough while it lasted. I thought we were inseparable all these years,but then again, shit happens, all the time. 
I will give the internet a little history about us and how we became an item. We met long time ago but in the year  2012 we became an item, official even. If memory serves me right, 2012 was the year I had a crazy transition. I was fresh out of highschool, applying for college and all. Getting into college,  my then boyfriend cheating on me, hormones were all over the place,basically,being me was unbearable .  The world was supposedly coming to an end, we all can agree that  2012 had a few weird shit going on, some call it the year of jubilee, and not in the Kenyan version of poltics but more in the line of spiritual BS.  In all that madness, our long term relationship began. I mean,i knew you were awesome she’s you also, got me through that terrible year and many more that came.  

Since the day we became lovers,  my life has never been the same. You did kickstar my day with a good jolt, when my sleepy lips met yours, I knew in a few minutes I will obviously be ready to face the world. I was strong as long as I had you.  On the nights I needed to stay up and study, you were there,you kept me company.  When my depression kicked in, every taste of you on my lips reminded me to be strong.  You cheered me on.  Held my hand . On the days I was too tired to do shit, I did reach out for you, you always showed up, we would  sleep in and watch bad TV or read a book or basically do nothing. You also kept me well fed, or as fed as your limited capacity could manage. If I needed to deal with humanity, you gave me all the patience I needed. If I wanted to see my friends, you were always ready to give a  helping hand.  Then when our relationship was going strong, I discovered that you did  mix  better with whiskey and friends. 
Basically, you were my lover, my friend, my sponsor, my best friend,  my social adviser, my social manager, my therapist and the reason I had a social life. You made my life awesome.  You made me a people’s person.  You made me feel human, most days. Of all my past lovers, I bet you  be missed the most. 

Our relationship was bitter sweet, then we evolved  to bitter awesome. I never liked you with milk, even when you obviously tasted better, straight up black and strong . Our love was addictive, at least for me,you were fucking addictive. The type of love poets write sonnets about- perfectly imperfect covers it. I did cheat on you you severally with unworthy beings like;milk,  water, chocolate, tea, juice…….. I also did cheat on you with beings, I wouldn’t say they were in your league but on their own level they wereworthy, this included; whiskey(sloppy lover ),wine(such a good lover ), vodka (good for a night ) tequila (good for the nights you don’t want to remember ), and beer( they say that one is an acquired taste, I agree with  them,sadly) . my dear coffee,  you were always there, no matter my other indulgence,you were my person, my one true lover. You were there for me,always. Cleaning up after the likes of alcohol most times.  We weren’t perfect together I know.  Like you ruined my skin, dehydrated my body,  addictive and all.  None of us was perfect for the other, but love, love wins, always.

Then last month something broke.  I had food poisoning and just like that we were over. It must have been the fact that I had you that morning like every other morning and my mind can’t stop associating you with that horrible experience or it could be the fact that you didn’t mix well with my prescription drugs. Either way, I can’t seem to be able to have you.  I now ppget a gag reflex every time I try so I stopped.  I guess this is goodbye. Till we meet again in future, maybe it will be in Paris, and the city of love and lights will get us back together. 

Be Your Own Boss

Every millennial wants to be their own boss. I like the sound of that, scratch that, i FUCKING LOVE THE SOUND OF THAT. More bosses, more job opportunities, my god, we all know Africa needs jobs more than we need relief food.More bosses with their hypothetical more jobs comes with better services, better products, driven by forces of demand and supply(assuming our new bosses fail to think outside the box and over flood our supply industry) which creates competition and,maybe,perharps, the best products and services wins or it could get better,we get to pay less for more or is it get more for less?But then again, things might not turn out like I imagined. Like some people still pay more for less.Humans are unpredictable like that.
I didn’t go to businesses school so I have no idea how forces of demand and supply might reflect on the economy but someone I know once explained that shit to me in layman’s language,”more bosses,more jobs.” That’s all we care about,don’t you think?

So I took matters into my own hands and started my own business, again, she says. I sell handcrafted shoes,designed by some good people,you should see them sometime. Maybe I should write a blog post on my shoe business someday. Since I joined the shoe industry, things have been crazy and awesome. Like my big brother placed an order a week ago that I haven’t delivered yet, because of one reason or another. I have made some clients happy. Some are not so happy. I have encountered challenges, unforseen, for that matter,that I soldiered on. Some days I want to walk away, get a job and let someone else worry about my bills but my momma didn’t raise a quitter. “Things have a way of working out,” I remind myself everyday. Then there are days I just sleep in and I ignore my clients and the shoes stay in the workshop BC I need to have a day or two to myself because I don’t want to be a zombie, burn outs are real my friend. But that’s my story of trying to be my own boss. Its my journey and I intend to enjoy the ride,learn to dance in the rain,and take a break when I can’t survive another day without taking a break. It is part of the process. Learning the ropes of the industry, the art of money, the rules of gold, the art of customer service and taking care of myself enough to survive the madness.
 
So,imagine if all millennials, especially recent graduates who are jobless, they all decide to start their own small hassle instead of blaming the government of unemployment or generation X for making things worse for US. Well,it is true generation X fucked us up;they did tank the economy with money, pass policy that doesn’t favour us and all……. I know, I know. But we are millenials, we can fix their mistake. Turn lemons into lemonade or is it see the opportunity in the tragedy and spin these around to our favor. We did invent things that didn’t seem possible ten years ago. We started selfies, social media etc. We can take the business of being our own bosses serious and make the world a better place. We can take the hashtag #BYOB  from just another trending hashtag on social media to reality. Stop looking for a job, start your own business and if you really want to be employed, you can as well start by hiring yourself. How about that? WE CAN DO THIS, MILLENNIA LS, YES WE CAN. We can actualize the dream of being our own bosses.

Until next time friends!!

An Apology Letter To The Internet


I’m sorry for abandoning you for a while now. I have had a few hard months myself that blogging and writing for the internet was the last thing in my mind. I switched towns and with that, it came with it’s own type and level of madness. I have been trying to adjust,the city is a mad place, believe me.It needs a lot of getting used to. I started my own business and that too came with another level of madness. I have only tried to survive long enough to see another day.

It’s hard to find inspiration to create anything when you are tired all the time from all the chaos that is your existence. But now I think the madness is manageable or at least I delude myself. A perfect illusion is all we have,you know. In my perfect deluded state, I can now say that am ready to start creating more or at least try. Trying is all we have you know. From now on, you’ll be seeing more of my posts or so I hope.

From the experience I have had, am back with more stories to tell,stay tuned. You should read my blog often. I am back to telling the twenty something’s stories and my personal survival tricks. Tricks forged through experience, of course.
Sorry internet, for abandoning you. Real life has a way of getting in the way,sometimes, you know.
Namaste!

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.

The Girl 

I’m never going to be the girl who is half loved 


I’m never going to be the girl who apologises for her feelings.


I’m never going to be the girl that gives up on herself 


I’m never going to be the girl that gives half love.


I’m never going to be the girl that forgets to let her hair down and chase the moon.


I’m never going to be the girl that chases boys.


I’m never going to be the girl that cries herself to sleep.


I will be the girl That bleeds diamonds and runs with the moon.

Blessing Galore 

Finally we hit 200 posts.

I feel blessed. 

Now that Easter is here, I would like to thank The Guy above for his unending love and blessings He sent my way and for The gift of life .

 Thanks to my readers for your constant support. For reading my work. For validating my struggles by commenting and e-mailing me. Sometimes all it takes is to hear from you and I know I don’t have to stop writing for the internet 
Thanks to my friends, family, strangers and beautiful glorious sundown for inspiration, sharing moments with me and your stories.

 Thanks to insomnia I get to write at night. 

Special thanks to my hormones, that girl, surely, makes me bleed words and literally.

Today it’s all morning sunshine, coffee and gratitude. It’s truly during Easter weekend, just  after the glorious ecclesiastial full Moon. The universe is all awesomeness and gratitude.
It wouldn’t have been possible without y’all sharing your stories and life with me. 
It wouldn’t have been possible without the glorious beautiful sunset that inspires me to want to create something beautiful.
It wouldn’t have been possible without conversation with the moon. She inspires conversations in my head for the book I will never write.
3am is a beautiful place. It’s where my favorite pieces come from. 
Thanks to bloggers for supporting and editing my work. 
My hormones, she is the best. 
Thanks to everyone and everything that made blogging worth the work, vulnerability and the pain.
Thanks to WordPress for giving me a platform to project my life. 

It wouldn’t have been possible without the internet community. I may never meet y’all but surely you have been the best. Your support, hate speech, spam messages and constructive criticism has been for the best.

I hope my words have not been in vain. 
Keep the love. Keep the support.
Yesterday and other days from yesterday I have had moments of walking away from writing. The vulnerability of sharing my thoughts online sometimes literally hurts. But it’s the posts that leave me most vulnerable that matter the most. It’s the posts of my struggles that make a few people feel less alone and for me that’s enough.
Namaste.