There are childhood memories, then there are childhood lessons… lessons that will forever reverberate in your system. One of those I remember was a stern warning from my mom, “Valia slippers!” Though an obedient child, I defied her. You know, those moments you really believe in your abilities to be careful, that you don’t see why people are making a big fuss out of everything? So I jumped outside, hop-scotching around the compound and joining my sisters for a game.

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But the Devil paid me a visit; where and how a jigger got into my toe, I have never understood. All I know is that somehow, my little toe was in dire need of itching. And Mother Dearest made a banquet out of my stupidity. “Siku nyingine ukiambiwa uvalie slippers, utaskiza.” To this day, I believe she intentionally exerted more pain on my little toe as she scratched that jigger out with a hot needle. But isn’t that how we learn best?!
Growing up with a very stubborn younger sister, I came to appreciate the “It is fine. Do it if you feel it is the best idea” philosophy. I understood that sometimes, it is okay to allow people to learn from their mistakes. We warn them, and if they don’t listen, we ought to sit back and let them carry on. Afterwards, we should be there, to correct- not ridicule- their mistakes/choices.

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Remember the warning about knocking on closed/wrong doors? And how it makes us not see the open doors? Haha. Let’s be honest. We’ve all knocked on some wrong doors at least once. And today, I choose to laugh at my stupid choices. They made me who I am today.
If I was God sitting in heaven and watching human beings, I’d freeze the earth for a day, just to rewind to those scenes where people were just so stupid. Then I’d laugh and laugh at them. But I ain’t God. I’m a human being who’s made plenty of stupid mistakes. I knocked on wrong doors and kept knocking, until some of them opened. Then I’d brag about how persistent I am. (@#& *&%$!!!!)
We are the products of our choices. The difference is what product we choose to be… a bag of bones just existing in a not-so-functional-body, or a people who have embraced their mistakes and made something positive out of themselves.
Bottom line is we will always encounter doors. None are labeled “The Right Door. Please Enter Without Knocking”. We MUST knock. But will you keep knocking until it opens, or you’ll move on to the next door?
PS. I do not know where the line between “being persistent” and “forcing issues” lies. All I know is that some doors, we ought to knock and move the hell on. It isn’t giving up; it is being realistic and smart.

Photos Courtesy



I choose this font, so you might get attracted to read this. No, it is not a rant, or another string of abusive sentences. It is neither a diss letter nor a please-have-me-back-now plea. No, baby, this is a Thank You Letter. Knowing you, your heart is racing right now. Is she getting crazy again? Jeez. Has she seen another happy couple and wants to reminisce our happy times?
Well, honey, I did see another happy couple. But this time, I did not think of you holding my hand as he was her, or think about how much I longed to be looked at as he did her. This time, I smiled. I smiled because I knew then that I am in the best place I can be for now. ALONE. And for that, honey, I thank you.

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I thank you for helping me believe in love. I was capable of love, and for the short period it lasted, be loved back. I thank you for the happiness I felt at that time; it was genuine. And nothing beats genuine love. I thank you for making me feel special. No, scratch that. I thank you for REMINDING me that I am special. Because right now, that time gives me wind for my wings.
Thank you for the angry times. For the times you insulted me and attempted to make me feel undeserving, the guilt trips and ill treatment. Thank you for the gazillion times I ran after you, begging you to have me back. Thank you because I now know that a Queen will never have to beg for affection from her King. He gives it to her freely.
Thank you for letting me go. Who are we kidding? Haha. Thank you for dumping me. I may not have shown it then, I may not feel it now, but thank you. Thank you because right now, I know you were Mister Then. At the time, you were but Mister Right Now. My Mister Right is coming. Soon… When we will both be ready for each other. He is having his ears done- so he will listen, not just hear when I speak. Thank you for giving up this fine lady. I am sure he will be the luckiest guy alive. Why? You taught me well… through opposites. I will be the best girlfriend.
But baby, one more thing-
I love you.
I hate you.
I miss you.
But I am not coming back…

The hottest girl you ever dated, and will ever date.


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For some very legit reason, I thought about omena today. I love food. I have no evidence of being a hog, but oh well, it will pay off someday. Hopefully. Campus can make you hate food. No? Picture yourself continually eating badly cooked chapattis and you’re a chapatti lover. Trust me, my friend, chapatti drops on your food list.
Omena, like sossi, happens to be one of those meals you can hate or love by the first taste. Heaven knows it took losing a bet to eat sossi for a second time. However, thanks to the cook of the day, my good friend Esther, I was able to eat sossi again. She made it so well I wondered what the unga-tasting thing I’d taken in the name of sossi was.
Almost all my friends hate omena. Jeez. Walk through some hostels in my beloved university and you will never visit the lakeside. The foul smell from badly made omena is just a turn off. I remember my mother (and Google) coaching me on how to make good omena, so when I come across omena that makes stomachs churn, oh well. Sigh.
Isn’t it the same with men? It is all about the washing and sieving, careful preparation and meticulous cooking. You will never get a perfect end product, but there will be just the right one. Right in more aspects than just the way he texts. So as you cook that omena and it is staring back at you, this “mboga” must be something you will sit back and enjoy eating. What you tolerate and let pass through that sieve, will be what you will ingest.
In case you were wondering, omena gave me a fetish for lakeside men. I’m happy to be receiving good feedback. Okay. Bye.


We live in a generation where our whole life story is narrowed down and narrated in photographs. Digital generation- as we love to call ourselves. But in reality, we are but a photo generation. A generation of self absorbed, narcissistic show offs- all trying to fit in. Hate me or love me, we are all in this together. We want to show the world how amazing our lives are, to the extent of downloading photos from Google to drive the point home. Oh, bless my heart for apps like photoshop!

So what? We cannot run from this. We have to face the reality of the current world- photos are our life story. A super wise person once said that “A photo is a secret of a secret; the more it tells you, the less you know”. How true is this? Oh, hail Queen of Selfies. She will never let you know how broken and lonely she feels. Neither will the King of Selfies show the world just how much he suffers from low self esteem. He hates his body- but his face looks awesome so what the hell? That sells it.

The greatest disaster though is RELATIONSHIPS.


Honey moon phase is clogged by the numerous photos the lovebirds take. From selfies to photos of each other to professional shoots. The world must see just how good we look together… And the greatest lie most often, how happy we are together.

Then soon, the photos reduce. You begin to realize your spouse has lesser photos of you in his or her galleries, and more and more of others. Somehow, the photos got “deleted by mistake” or their “phone is low on space” or obnoxious excuses of how their “mother may find them”. Make a fuss about it and a can of stinking worms of how unappreciative you are gets opened. “Do you not understand? I am with you, not them.” Or the stupid “See I have two photos of you in my vault”.

Sell this at an auction; our galleries speak volumes about us. You want to know what dominates a person’s mind- check their galleries. Let alone their messages. Our galleries are what we turn to when we are feeling mad or happy or bored or I-don’t-know-what-my-mood-is. We will reminisce and get nostalgic based on what is in our galleries. If your spouse’s photos are less than those of your crush or ex or secret fantasy, something is definitely wrong.
Yeah! Phone out. Let’s confirm the ratio.


Perhaps happy or sad.
Perhaps at peace or in turmoil,
Perhaps content or yearning;
Longing, hoping for more.Image result for pen on book

Perhaps disillusioned by the past,
Perhaps still in love with a memory,
Perhaps waiting for it to get here-
The joy, the perfection of what was.

Perhaps it’s all a dream,
Perhaps it’s just a phase,
Perhaps it’s just a faze;
Who knows if it’s ever really true?

Perhaps someone will have an answer,
Perhaps someone will tell us one day
Perhaps we’ll stop wondering;
Stop guessing, know when it’s for real.

Perhaps… Perhaps..


Kenya’s newest yet faceless celebrity, Mollis, took the country by storm. Brave man, we may say, uploading a sex audio, or as speculation has it, a rape audio. But brave without a face? He would have, could have, been Larry Madowo’s guest next weekend! As the hundreds of memes and voice notes got circulating, I couldn’t help but imagine my own version of Mollis.

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Mollis has been every big thing in my life. Mollis has been the fears I tried to tell enough but they kept sinking me deeper and deeper. Mollis has been the obstacles I called out in surrender but they danced to the beat of my heart. Mollis has been the problems that thought I asked for them, and blew up in the end. Mollis has been those unending issues that kept recurring, gaining momentum as I crashed. Mollis has been the thorn driving way up inside me, reaping glory and satisfaction from my gazillion predicaments.

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Have you not been there? Things, diseases, issues- even people- which and who just won’t get it. You are tired. You need out. But they just keep going, keep pushing, keep destroying you. “Misery never comes alone; she brings her two sisters along” is a saying I often ignored, until one morning when everything went crazy. I woke up late for work, found a crazy annoying text from my Mister Then, it started raining, there were no matatus to town, Kidero drums with their unending traffic, my stocking ripped in town… and getting into the office, three hours later, my intern self had forgotten her spectacles.
But that is but a drop in the Pacific. See the gazillion mega problems that we face and we don’t have a way out? Those are Mollis. They will take plight in knowing you wanted to give in to some temptation and take advantage. They will please you then begin eating you up. They will drain the life out of you and turn into succubus; draining the life out of you to feed themselves.
Some problems, we have a way out. Some, we have to hang in there and wait for the storm pass. They say that battles are won and lost in the mind. Stay positive, plan for a way out, play your hands well. And when, finally, someone comes up with a blue print of how to overcome Mollis, let me know.


I am an avid football fan. Not the ‘my-boyfriend-loves-football-so-I-do-too kind’, but genuine love for the game. The male players are just a bonus to the watching. I mean, the EPL players look like magazine cover models. Models pretending to love sweating and running around a field, chasing after one ball for ninety minutes. Well, I cannot say much about our Kenyan players. Those are just built and born for such games- to say the least.

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The kind of emotion portrayed during the games is genuine, pure and raw. As such, the kind of treatment given to rival teams is one that is from the heart. Even as a fan tells a rival “Your team played horribly today”, the words are, in most instances, genuine. Words said from the goodness of the heart, asking you to consider revising your loyalty.

Every single day we interact with people. Every waking morning will bring with it a new challenge demanding our attention. Our friends and acquaintances may turn to us for help or just struggle through, waiting for someone to reach out. Hoping, expecting that someone will notice their plight.

However, we are in a generation where everything we do must bring some sort of glory or gratification to us. We give to charity or help our friends in the hope that we will get noticed, and most importantly, get remembered. Is this really genuine help?

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As we reach out this week, as we offer advice, as we talk to those around us; let us ask ourselves if we are indeed reaching out, advising and speaking from the goodness of our hearts. Or it is merely from the “goodness” of our big hearts. What is the end game? What hand did we play? At the sound of the dong, will we have helped others up, or stepped on them on our way up?


August has forever been considered the “month of death”. I personally know that every year, I wish that I’d jump from 31st July straight up to 18th August (to celebrate my Gff’s birthday) then boom to 31st August in time to usher in the month of expectancy. Too far-fetched a dream, yes? Having lost three people in the last two weeks, I feel convicted to have a different view this year.
August 2015 must be different. It all starts from the mind.

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I will take August as the spring season. Goodbye cold, hello sun. Believe me when I tell you I look amazing in dresses. Haha. So yes, I will enjoy this “spring” month as I wait to usher in Sunny September. August 2015 will also be appreciation month. I will take time to contact as many people as I can; people I know I would feel a pinch if I heard they are no more. August 2015 will be the month I build myself. Into the woman I want to be… the woman I should be.
Why not join me? Even in our super compact schedules (why do we even say we have those?) spare some time every day to go through your contacts. A simple “Hello, just checking in” could go a long way. Let us feed our month with love and appreciation. Because one of the worst things in life is regretting things we didn’t do. Even proud ones, like myself, know this.
Life ends, but love lives on. Share the love while people are still alive.
May the souls of those we have lost rest in peace.


“It’s beautiful that God created us to be nurturers and emotional. However, we are too quick to give away our time, body, money and emotions to men who have not EARNED it.” Every time I read this excerpt, I want to press the rewind button. Jump back to age twelve, when my biggest regret was not lending my crush an eraser when he asked for one. Fast forward. A couple of years down the line and all I wanted to do was buy a few liters of petrol and burn down some specific houses. Houses of all the people I gave my time and emotions to but they messed me up. Relatable?
At least once, we have all been stupid enough to pour ourselves out to men- and girls- who messed us up in the end. We were the “loyal chic” and “loyal friend” but got stabbed in the chest instead. We gave up friendships and crushes and seemingly worthy admirers but our Mister Then took us for granted. We gave our time and emotions and devotion to men generous enough to share theirs with six other girls. Relationships became committee meetings. Hold up- haven’t girlfriends also taken advantage of us? Most trusted friends who became agents of destruction? Let’s not even start on family members who forgot what blood is. Saitan is real, girls.
Let me introduce a new concept to the word “bitch”. Forget the definition of bad girl, super proud, snapping fingers Shanikwa style, six inch heels with attitude of a goddess from space. Ladies, meet The New Bitch. She is the woman who isn’t afraid to say no. The woman who can stand up for herself and say, “That’s enough”. Who knows when it is time to walk away. Who carries her crown with poise and dignity and class despite the crazy happening around her. The woman who uses her pain to make something good out of herself, instead of dwelling on thoughts of revenge…
Be warned. She is not a favorite in society. Why because the world wants women who will mistake oppression for submission… Women who will hush up despite wrongs done to them… This is no excuse to succumb. Will we get hurt again? Probably yes. But next time you look at yourself in the mirror, remind yourself that you are a woman. Women are strong. Women are Queens. And Queens don’t beg for attention or gratification.
You don’t need a man to rectify your existence. You are a woman. Whatever you will to do, you can do. Why? Because women can. Never be too busy to be beautiful; in and out. Strong women- the new bitches. Hello?