The show

I am going to be very honest with you. Sometimes I don’t understand what the story of my life is all about. The plot is so twisted it’s almost equivocal. It gets worse when I don’t know the role I should be playing. The lead star? Well, I feel like an audience right now, sitted next to you who’s reading and from the cringe on your face we can both agree that this show is pretty shoddy.

On some days I feel like a soldier in the field waiting for a curtain call from the headquarters, but the intercom is condemned to eternal silence.

So I am a decorated field officer, trained to catch bad people in a world where bad people don’t exist, you feel me? Wait, are we still talking about the story of my life? Yes.

A good friend of mine called it ‘looking for a life’s manual’. Are there such books that have our entire life’s schedule drawn on them, explaining what buttons to press to make things go our way and a troubleshooting page in the end? You may jump in to say the Bible. No, lol. I disagree without a better answer of course.

What are we doing here again? Living. Yeah right. And how are we- am I (sorry for dragging you in) supposed to do that? Because I know how to breath blink and eat but it still doesn’t feel like living. How am I supposed to get good grades, drive a good SUV,

make good films, write great books, compose good music, treat people and animals right, be a good daughter, a great mother, a good wife? Good ,great right, mere English words but are deathly contraptions. Walking to work everyday of my life doesn’t sound like a better option either, in a world people strive to thrive and survive. I have seen people get good rewards after making great moves. But everytime one side of my brain remembers that the other side is into this good great and right thingie, I start feeling like I am stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Now this is the best part. When I am doing nothing, absolutely nada (hakuna, Nichts, gútire). I have not even dreamt flying a plane, I haven’t desired Lupita’s Oscar, I haven’t longed to meet the love of my life in a books store or even desired to celebrate Christmas in Melbourne.

This is the time the stupid feeling of inadequacy crawls in and rests in my stomach like a demon. ( A pastor once told me that demons and all sorts of spirits live in the stomach. That’s why possessed people puke during exorcism). Out of topic again but I thought you should know. The inadequacy that makes you walk into an interview feeling unqualified and you walk out feeling like a complete ignoramus because you didn’t even get the job. The kind that makes you go to an audition all your muscles tense and you walk out feeling like a paralytic because you didn’t just not get three stars, Simon also told you that you are the worst Singer in the world.

It makes you feel uncomfortable in your own skin -those are the times you fear that your teeth might bite your tongue and start sleeping with your tongue out. Then wake up with a very dry mouth and feeling like an idiot, because you are actually one.

It is a weird show. No script, no director and one actor who gets tired of being on stage and goes to sit in the audience. Constantly whispering to neighbours how the set is poorly designed and asking them who on Earth has such bad taste. Then their teeth finally bite their tongue when life’s demand to do good, great and right shouts in their ears that whatever they are saying is wrong.

That’s my show and I am the actor standing at the end of a cliff with a sword on my neck.



On one chilly Friday night in the month of June 1999, a bouncing baby girl was brought into this shithole we call world. The exhausted maiden held her 3.5 kg bundle of joy close to her chest as wise men and shepherds flocked in( no pun intended) with myrrh, gold and frankincense. Fat baby with one hell of a mother. I mean… It’s like tying 3.5 kgs of corn flour on your tummy and living with it there for like 5 months.

Everyone was fighting to carry the baby except the 4 year old sister who found her too heavy. She grew up plump and when kids called her fat, she had a perfect come back: malnourished. What everyone didn’t tell her was that growing up was walking into a trap of persecution for the sin of being a fat girl.

And she found that out when she got to highschool. Girls’ highschool is some times not a place for people like us who have a double chin, round neck, belly fat, fleshy arms and thighs, beefy fingers. No. We are ever assigned to scrub the roughest of floors, ever punished to run around the flag post and sleeping in class is a taboo for us because they expect us to fart aimlessly. In drama…we get the role of the ugly antagonist who dies because of an exploded tummy maybe? And during the festivals, boys from brother schools don’t stop us for a chat . We are never included in the class big ups because we don’t know anything about boys . And if we are smart and don’t fight back, we are bullied.

At 15, our 3.5 bundle was already baptised by the fire of teenage slay queens and the only voice heard was that of giddy teens calling her kimama. Friends were warned about her you would think plump is a contagious plague. Everything about her became shameful and most of her classmates became the prophets who foresaw doom in her academic and social life.

She would skip lunch and spend the time running around the basket ball pitch to cut some weight. By evening she would be very hungry and eat too much to allow any fat burning. It went on for a really long time. It was not until she left highschool and became comfortable and high esteemed that she began toning down to a pretty good shape. Not yet skinny.

It’s alarming how girls starve themselves to get that desirable body. Doing squats to get a round butt and sit ups for a flat tummy all for their demanding boyfriends or to fit in some gross bikini photoshoot with girlfriends. Sweating on the outside while ailing from low esteem in the inside.

Oyaa!! People. Desirable is a very personal opinion which can never have specific examples. Those who can’t stay in your life coz they think a double chin or belly fat is undesirable, please let them walk out. A good friend or lover is able to look through your body fat or meatless bones and see a beautiful soul. They should help you realise the best in you and not make you sick in a bid to please their constricted taste buds dammit!! Unless it’s you who wants Huddah Monroe waist, or Nicky Minaj bum, don’t drink the slimming tea or hit the gym for someone.

I am not saying obesity is okay. I am only saying being fat or plump is fine. For as long as you have a healthy BMI,slay girl. Dress your body appropriately and rock the world.

Spoiler:The economy is sinking into depression and Earth is becoming a desert. You will need the fat before we save Earth.

10th October

You know that feeling you normally have when you can’t wait to unbox a pleasant surprise for your special someone? The unfathomable pleasure that threatens to choke you if you don’t speak soon enough. Well, that’s the feeling I had when I left my room on this particular day heading to his apartments with the box carefully wrapped and settled in my backpack.

How fast the feeling subsided and got replaced by something else I had never felt before, I can’t tell. He had a different kind of surprise set up for me.
I had a perfect life. I believed I was either special or lucky to have every girl’s fantasy for a boyfriend and to be the trophy girl guys would have wanted. Our relationship was barely flawed.I had a great long holiday job as an office assistant in a private company and the hostel room I shared with two others was all mine for the five months. I inadvertently had no close friends and I used to go for months without calling my old ones.

And on that very normal day, the sun rose everywhere else but my home or rather, the cocoon I had called so for the longest time . 10th October Dan’s birthday, and the day all Kenyans we’re celebrating the reinstatement of Moi day. At the gate, the security stared at me with pitiful eyes and inside, his neighbours prolonged their pleasantries a little bit too long. Whatever was boiling was brimming and I never saw it spill until I walked into his sitting room and saw her and him. She a vogue model and my drop dead gorgeous Dan. I dropped the box when I asked how long it had been going on and he didn’t answer. My life was falling apart in the seams and all I could do was walk away. My walk of shame. I ran into the celebrating streets as wind blew againts my ears like a flute played dirge. The tears almost drilling treches on my face. And when I stopped running I turned and walked back to Dan’s. To make sure the wide smile I had seen wasn’t his and the sweat on his back was maybe water from the shower.

For a week, I never talked about it. I hoped he would change his mind and tell me it was that one time or a misunderstanding but he didn’t. He grew distant, his sorry more of a retort than an apology. The day he slept on the couch, I called in sick at work. When he left for the gym where he allegedly got fed and came home too full to eat my supper, I wrote a long letter and left for my hostel. I could have called my brother, but I chose to face the shame alone.

In the morning, my body was limp and I called in sick again. I kept staring at my phone. Nothing. I lay awake hoping he had read the letter and was too distraught to call but would eventually. Nothing. I called in sick again and again until I received a termination email. It crushed me. I called Dan and his buddy picked. Wow! so life was moving on in town without me. So everybody knew what had been going on for days or months and they were cool with it except me. Gradually,the room started feeling too small and at times too big. The flute dirge was audible now in my breathing. As I lay in bed one afternoon, I installed a dating app and by evening there was a hot guy for me at the reception. I wanted someone to talk to but when he walked in carrying a box full of latex, I called security and had him thrown out. Lord, the audacity!

My music was no longer fun. I could lie on all three beds and still get no sleep. I had no job no friends no boyfriend and lots of silence, with the voices in my head that begged me to put my beating heart out of it’s misery. I fantasized with my burial and I wanted to see the look on Dan’s face when he saw me lying in the casket in all White, whiter than the wedding we used to plan in whispers early mornings. I set a date and gave my pulse a deadline. Then I started going out with neighbors and my former colleagues, with almost all my make up on my face and the most skimpy of my roommates’ dresses. No one asked about the ever visible black lines beneath my eyes. I sent loads of drunk texts to Dan and the bastard replied to years of a beautiful relationship and emotional investment with a crying emoji and never called. Wtf??!! When the day came… I climbed to the roof top wearing Dan’s favourite dress ready to sky dive for the first and last time in my so fucked up life. At the second count, my phone rang and I decided to Check who it was so that I could remember the m.f even in my death only to see my brother’s name flashing on the screen. That kid has always been annoying and he bursts all my plans since childhood. The guy was at the lobby asking for my room number. The next thing I remember was sitting at Doctor Maryanne’s couch with my brother smiling at me reassuringly through the window.

Depression is a demon that preys on your fears and ignorances. You are there wondering if the black dome of hopelessness will ever give way to light? Googling quick ways to die? Get up and talk to someone. Before you swallow those pills or hang from that rope in your bathroom, let a friend or a counselor know how it feels to be where you are. It is not up to you to decide when you die. God put you here for a reason and for as long as he has not wiped you out, He is not done with you. And this applies to any deity you believe in. You are amazing, don’t put out your light!




Lately I have been reading so many books. I am much of a book warm so it may not be a surprise. But maybe I am looking for something, answers,I guess? Maybe the inner me wants to know things I don’t know or I just want to plant myself into those characters and just be a Sydney Sheldon or Danielle Steel creation. With a life where things seem to go wrong, romance gets sour and on the last chapters the strikingly handsome dude knocks at my apartment and I let him in or we meet at some Street on a rainy night of the full moon and kiss ourselves to a happy ever after.

What other explanation would suit my obsessive reading of books? Oh, and after each book I close my eyes and try to curve a future for myself and it’s all so exciting. Sounds goofy, right?

photography of person walking on road
Photo by Leo Cardelli on


You know , I stopped watching telenovelas back then because I felt my love story was way better than what those guys show us. I just found out that I have no more of a story leave alone a love story. And I am thinking of going back to telenovelas by the way.

I also think of cutting my hair and then I remember I am kinky, the afro may not go well with my chubby face. So I think of dying it red or purple, changing my entire wardrobe and buying myself some fake eye lashes and acrylic nails, if at all I can’t chop my hair, quit school and move to a new town, rent a cheap bedsitter and work at an mpesa shop.

affection board broken broken hearted
Photo by Pixabay on

On other days I don’t think at all by the way. I just go on with my duties like my life depends on it until the next day comes. I have amazing friends and I love to think they love me so much. Their love life is very active , just so you know. Mine is active in books.

Do you know that I have always wanted to go abroad and study there and I already have a school in mind?Of course you wouldn’t know. It never really bothered you what I wanted. Bfrgts!! scratch that.

I have lost interest in so many things and I love to think it’s because of the antidepressants I am using. That means when I am done with the dose I’ll be a sport once more.

I talk too much. Why am bothering you with things that are not yours to worry about?Do not even answer that… Oh ,you don’t usually care. I don’t know why it keeps slipping my mind. I would apologize but we both know I stopped doing that months ago and there is no point in going back there. I don’t know, I just thought you should know.

The Boy Next Door

“Give thanks for the ordinary that you have for to another it is a luxury”

There is this kid in my neighborhood. I get to see his house everytime I look through my window. I hear his voice every time the music is low. They say he is cute,that I wouldn’t know- I stare with my eyes closed.

Yet I see. His hair worryingly white, credit to the ringworms that have made home his scalp. A dry mouth armoured by cracking lips. Lips too tired of sucking mucus for a snack.

When the music is low,I hear. Sounds of his dirty nails scratching at my metallic door. Nails that accidentally scoop his rotten turd and mud find their way into his mouth. The haunting clicking as he suckles his dry thumb.

In one swift motion, I raise the volume of my music so high and shut my eyes that it hurts. A disobedient tear falls. And I curse a little bit too loud. A client knocks at at my window, the same window I hate looking through. I attend to her, a dutiful smile plastered on my face. When she is gone. I see. The unsightly sight that erupts a fervid volcano in my stomach and breaks me into a cold sweat.

He lies on his belly( a belly that stretches out, skin so taut and ribs poking out like a concertina). He lies in a silence too loud. Eyes glued to road, the direction his watched his mother leave months ago. On his bottom a yellow mound. A swarm of quite too healthy houseflies settle there, making his backside look like a fluffy mat. He stares into nothingness. A little boy too tired to cry and too young to be alone.

Finally I find someone who hates Mondays and loves Fridays more than I do. Friday. The day his Grandma comes home with bread and milk from her place of work in town. Monday. The day she unwillingly leaves the boy under the care of anymore who might care.

I stagger back to my seat with a queasy concoction of mixed emotions settled in my stomach. The poop and flies too nauseating but the guilt greater. I walk away like a coward. In my defense, I got just a slice of cake for today , sympathy for tomorrow and a ‘ God watches over his own’ for the day after. With your permission, I think the boy needs more than that.

I lay awake slaying demons of my own which I pray may depart from me ,now that I have spoken for the voiceless.

He is not the boy next door, for one day he will be a man but for now he is a baby, whose eyes are full of a longing. A longing to shout for help but all he can do is hang in there, crying ‘mama’ for he believes she will return one day with breast fuller for him to suckle and hands stronger to give him a bath.( Maybe the index finger more straight to point out his father for him)

The motherless child.

Letter to God

Dear Lord,

I know not how you work, but I am afraid that the plan to save us from the fires of hell is of no use. Your children have completely lost the way. Is it fine that we are only humans possessing the inhuman nature and common sense is no longer common?

Greed has barricaded our souls from practising the common good. “Me myself and I”, that’s how we say it, right? That is why men on spongy swivel chairs and pregnant with expensive wine and meat steal billions while people in the same country with not even a hard place to lay in the night, die everyday. With their ribs sticking out like the strings of a musical instrument. Playing the sad Melody of hunger and unfathomable lack. All they do is preach political ambitions in churches and funerals of dead men.

That Is why a young, strong and healthy woman runs away from home leaving a baby or more crying, unfed with a trail of both stale and fresh mucus lingering under their noses. In just a little baby vest that only covers half of their chests and discoloured not by age but negligence. To chase cheap money while your own flesh staggers in the neighborhood half naked?

That is why men move around sowing wild oats but will never be bothered to harvest the crop leave alone watering it. How I wish the mere recognition of your undoing could give you some restlessness and deter you from using that coin to buy beer for your mates. You will still be ‘the man’ don’t worry.

Spouses are cheating on each other in like every second totally unashamed of the emotional traumas they cause leave alone suicides and homicides. Father, your people walk around with desires to skate their human mates with axes, chop off body parts stab to death and burn others alive in buildings.

We have become animals. Our hands drool over killing mauling stealing cheating destroying and abandoning. We are far worse than beasts,they that kill to survive. Humans kill for pleasure!

It is just sad that churches temples and school assemblies,oh and not forgetting blogs preach and preach sermons that have no listeners but onlookers. Washing a hen’s legs, or playing guitar for the goats to dance. The music remains a mystery until what we do to children of other mothers is done to children of our own mother. That’s when the social media overflows with… y’all know what (spare me the agony). Shall we give people their dues because being human qualifies them and not because they could be our siblings or parents. And when they are not, they become less human?

We are gods and gods exude love. Can you try that even in it’s shallowest form?

Father, that’s how bad it has become . Love is no longer a command but a strange word that we request people to try and see if they can manage. We have even given ourself the option to quit!

Father, I know not how you work, but if you still see the need, save us from the fires of hell, especially this hell that we are fuelling for each other?

Your child.