The Adventures of Savvy Kenya

I learn, I live.

Some days I get through the day like a zombie, some days I achieve something.

I can’t wait to finish classwork and embark on my research. Research should be interesting. Especially if I can get a research grant!

I hope by December I can say goodbye to schoolwork. I want my mind to be free, to devour novels and books like I used to.

I have exams in about a week, assignments, and a proposal to be done by then. I have my usual job, which I could say is currently ‘freelancing’.

I never lack ‘plot’; that’s a plan to have fun, every weekend. My friends are always there, for that cup of coffee, random shopping stint, one drink for the road, movie at the IMAX 3D theater on Mama Ngina Street. Truth be told, I’m looking forward to hanging out with my friends more than watching Men in Black in 3D.

Meanwhile, I have to get through Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday…

Friday is a holiday: Madaraka Day. They day we got our independence, though we were still under the Queen, in 1963. It wasn’t until 1964, December 12th, that we became a republic.

Binyavanga Wainaina will launch his book: One Day I Will Write About This Place. Just A Band Will perform. He will be there, so he better sign my book. The venue is the Railways Museum, which I have always wanted to visit. I will wear my black dress and heels and long coat (it’s cold in Nairobi, I mean about 20 deg celcius!) and I will enjoy myself.

Monday is almost over. I still have evening class to attend, but in my head once daylight is gone, then Monday is gone with her blues.

Damn, a healing tattoo itches like a motherfucker. 

I’ll come back to finish this post later.

I have mulled over this post several times. I have walked in the night these past few months, every weekday. I leave class at 8:30 and the bus drops me home around 10pm. Then I have to walk for 10 or so minutes, past silhouettes of houses in the moonlight, past the few shops masquerading as a shopping center, past the sleepy butchery and beer selling point, past the remains of buildings that are yet to be completed, past the tall estate lamps (named mulika mwizi) that light up the area, past the creepy corner where neither moonshine nor mulika mwizi can penetrate, past the flats with their water tank, before I can reach home. It takes me 10 or so minutes, because I’m never in a hurry.

Usually, I get off the bus alone, and walk alone. *Cue for Greenday’s Boulevard of Broken Dreams*

I walk a lonely road
The only one that I have ever known
Don’t know where it goes
But it’s home to me and I walk alone

I walk this empty street
On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams
When the city sleeps

And I’m the only one and I walk alone 

I loved the walks in the night, except when it rained. Sometimes I listened to music, but most times I let the silence of the night cloak me. The only sound was my footsteps and beating heart, my thoughts above all. The only sight was my shadows, 2 or three depending on the moon and the mulika mwizis.

Once in a while, I got off the bus with some people and we’d walk in the same direction in silence, and part ways as each branched away from the main road. We spoke sometimes, and it was always with the men.

One is a lecturer, he teaches evening classes at a college in town. He’s a nice man, tells me about his family. He always ends the conversations with “God Bless You and Goodnight.” We discussed politics, the state of security, water supply, roads, Kibaki and his succession, accounting, universities etc. We always met on Wednesday nights, and almost always took the same bus. I haven’t been seeing him recently, maybe his classes are on holiday. Now that I have moved out of home, I’m not sure I’ll ever see him again.

Another one is a man I met only once. He was struggling with heavy Tuskys paper bags. He was a big man, perhaps 6ft tall and not-so-slim. I wondered if I should offer to help then thought that since he looked energetic he might get offended. After a few paces of walking, he asked me “kwani mtu huwezi saidia” (Can’t you help me out?) so I took over one of his bags. He told me about himself, but I don’t think I was listening. He told me to take him to his house, then he would escort me to mine but I refused. He told me we can go to my house first, but I declined the escort offer. As I have him back his bag, he asked if I could kiss him. Surprised as I was by the request, again I had to turn him down!

I met an old guy one time, except it was during the day. I walked with him, he was stooped low because of old age. At one point, I wondered if he knew where he was going but when he mentioned the primary school in the area, I realized he did. He told me of his wife who had passed on but they never had any children. He called his nieces and nephews his kids but he wish he had his own. He said it is never too late to have some and would I marry him? I smiled and wished him bye, I had reached my turning point. I watched his figure fade into the road in the distance and wondered if I will be lonely in old age.

There was the army guy, you could tell by the authority he carried in his shoulders. I must mention here that we live within a few kilometers of GSU, AP and army (training) camps. A lot of men in uniform around the neighbourhood. Our immediate neighbour is a cop. It was quite late in the night when I met the army-guy and he told me not to worry, the neighbourhood was safe. If I wanted he’d walk me home but I told him I’d be fine. We talked a little and he asked for my number. He’s never called me.

One night, I walked with someone who also goes to Strathmore, yet we’d never met in the relatively small and quiet neighbourhood. I also met a teenager who is a friend of a cousin in the area and was quite aghast when he asked for my number. 

In the end though, it is always just me walking the last 3 or so minutes alone. When everyone is asleep, I walk in the night.

Lemon tea. (Cuts half the lemon, squeezes it into the cup of team, puts the un-used half of the lemon into the fridge. Closes fridge. Sighs)

Vodka with lime and a hint of water. (Stares at  bottle of vodka. Pours a little amount into the glass. Stares at tattoo that’s still ‘crying’)

The former is the last drink I had at home. The latter is what I’m having now. See, I have left home. Packed my bags and moved out. At 24, I feel it is late. Given a choice, I would have moved out at 18, but then I had to go to campus first. After four years at Juja, I went to Rwanda for about 3 months, a story I have documented on what I’d call my mainstream blog. I even met Paul Kagame, true story!

I rinsed out the cup, stared at my packed suitcase, two backpacks and a handbag and thought to myself, this is it. I am starting life. This is independence.

Breaking away is not easy. It takes a toll on you, on your parents. My parents were reluctant to let go of their first born and only daughter. I think my mum had plans for me: to get one of those high-flying jobs, stay at home until I’m 28, and move out only into my husband’s home. She doesn’t understand why I had to move, and we are living in the same city! I know she will come round since my parents are now home alone: my younger brothers are in campus and away except for holidays.

I had a limited budget so decided to move into some hostel near Strathmore University, where I am doing my evening classes. Masters of course, I dispensed with undergraduate two years ago with a first class degree *bragging rights never end*. The only problem is that everyone in that place is not older than 20. I feel like a grandmother there! Of course I don’t look it.. 18 till I die! I don’t intend to stay there more than 3 months. I just didn’t want to move to a house and only have  a mattress on the floor as the only possession! So this is my stepping stone as I save up for my own place.

It’s exciting taking this journey to independence. I’m taking care of my expenses now, and will only go home for weekends sometimes, and holidays etc. As I stare at the near-empty glass, I think about the roller coaster 3 weeks I have had, starting from April 23rd:

Monday 23rd April 

It’s my 24th birthday and I don’t have a phone! My S II has its screen crashed in coast. It’s possibly the worst birthday ever, ends with a lecture from my dad asking me where I’ve been, even though he knows I went to Mombasa to watch my team play Tusker. We had lost 2-0. I sent some guy 5,000 MPESA instead of 500. So many things had gone wrong! Then before I sleep I get my bro’s phone to check messages. I get a friend has sent me 4K MPESA for ‘wine’, I use it to get a Nokia C1-01. It’s the best of days, it is the worst of days.

Saturday 28th April

I spend the day with someone I like, though it’s one of those days you know you will never have again. I attend a wedding with him even though I know no one else at the wedding. I wear a blue dress.  I lose my blue dove earrings. I fall in love again. I make promises I will never keep. I think of the song, “We Are Young”

Monday 30th April

My contract at work runs out. That’s it, I’m jobless. I spend the week waiting for my pay so I can move out of home.. I have decided this is it! I finally get paid on Friday evening and I skip class to do some shopping with my BFF. I get a blue dress, she gets a black dress. We both get black coats. We gotta rock it during the bloggers’ event on Saturday.

Tuesday 1st May: Labour Day

I realize he’s decided to stay and there is no future here.. I still have hope.

Saturday 5th May

My team, AFC Leopards, encounters its second loss this season. To a lowly ranked City Stars. It’s not just any loss, it’s a thrashing. A whooping 3-0 loss. I am hoping my other team, Liverpool, can beat Chelsea for the FA Cup. It doesn’t. Chelsea takes the FA Cup after a 2-1 win. I’m a the bloggers’ awards having fun. It doesn’t matter if I don’t win anything, but a win would be a consolation. I don’t win. This was not my day. I find my brothers. We go home. All I have had this night is four glasses of juice: two of apple, one cocktail, one mango.

Monday 7th May

I inform my parents that I am moving out. It’s a mixed reaction. Emotions run high but I am determined. 

Tuesday 8th May

I move out. I’m independent. 24 years later. I finally end it with him. No further communication. It’s time to move on. It’s sad. I can get through this.

Thursday 10th May

I get inked for the second time. On my mind is my topic for my masters thesis. I gotta ace this. I’m an academician. I love studying, it doesn’t require much effort from me. Oh, I get a job offer, starting Monday.

From this coming Monday to Thursday, I have an invite to Tsavo East  and West national parks, a trip for bloggers by KWS. To help promote visitation of the parks online. However, the job requires that I start Monday, no compromise. I do need a job… but I looove traveling and I have never been to Tsavo(although I have seen elephants before). Dilemma dilemma. Let me take a sip of my V&L. Maybe I will find a solution.

The African Adam and Eve Story!

typicalugandan:

Long long ago, Kintu was the only person on the earth. He lived alone with his cow, which he tended lovingly. Ggulu the creator of all things lived up in heaven with his many children and other property. From time to time, Ggulu’s children would come down to earth to play. On one such occasion, Ggulu’s daughter Nambi and some of her brothers encountered Kintu who was with his cow in Buganda. Nambi was very fascinated with Kintu and she felt pity for him because he was living alone. She resolved to marry him and stay with him despite the opposition from her brothers. But because of her brothers’ pleading, she decided to return to heaven with Kintu and ask for her father’s permission for the union.

Ggulu was not pleased that his daughter wanted to get married to a human being and live with him on the earth. But Nambi pleaded with her father until she persuaded him to bless the union. After Ggulu decided to allow the marriage to proceed, he advised Kintu and Nambi to leave heaven secretly. He advised them to pack lightly and that on no condition were they to return to heaven even if they forgot anything. This admonition was so that Walumbe, one of Nambi’s brothers should not find out about the marriage until they had left, otherwise he would insist on going with them and bring them misery ( walumbe means that which causes sickness and death). Kintu was very pleased to have been given a wife and together they followed Ggulu’s instructions. Among the few things that Nambi packed, was her chicken. They set out for earth early the next morning.

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Am I one of those people destined to be alone? I like to think so. Relationships have just never been my forte. It’s not uncommon for my supposed relationships to last two weeks… Have you ever felt like you’ve found the one? Me neither.. except of course, for some brief moments of what I’d like to call insanity!

I thought I had met the one. He fit my character description of what I’d want in a guy. The chemistry was great. The conversations could be on any topic, it wouldn’t matter because it would be interesting and time would fly when we were out together. He had the same passion for traveling, we were supposed to see the world together, dammit!

I fear I let myself think this could be a forever thing. I did picture our life together, for once I actually thought beyond dating to the wedding to the marriage and traveling together seeing the world dream. To settling down with two kids, a boy and a girl, but it wouldn’t matter their genders if it came down to it. We’d get married in 5 years; I’d be 29, he’d be 32. I opened my heart to what could have been love. Honestly, I’ve never done this before.

And now it hurts. A coldness descends upon my heart. Memories bring tears to my eyes, what was.. what would’ve been. The sadness is heavy. It will not show in my face, in my laughter, in my regular writing, in my work.. but I know it will always follow me. In every wedding picture I see, in every couple holding hands across the street, at night alone in my bed as I wait to fall asleep… and I will try to forget and move on. I will listen to sad rocks songs and write sad posts, and with time this will all pass and you will be a shadow in my past and maybe the future holds better prospects, who knows?

To let hope die must be the worst thing for the human spirit. But there is hope for the future, isn’t there always?

On Labour Day, I relaxed. I woke up late. I took my time getting out of bed, lazing around with my phone. I checked my facebook for updates, I checked twitter for mentions, I checked my emails for anything important…like an exciting job offer. 

My mind then drifted off to that perfect Saturday. I sighed with the pleasure of my memories. I thought about picking up the phone and making the call, but I thought I should wait.

I left home with two items on my agenda that day: visit my friend who’d been a little ill the previous day, and perhaps attend a meeting of some AFC fans, after which I had a dinner invitation and then back home. After the usual housework, I was off. I arrived at my friend’s place at lunch time (perfect timing, huh?). I raided her fridge for some githeri which we warmed for lunch. We were supposed to discuss some assignment (yes, I’m still in school and it sucks) but since we didn’t have psyche we decided to watch some movie. The Four Musketeers. Needless to say, to this day, we are yet to finish it.

Redds. Crisp, pure, apple taste. Now top that up with Famous Grouse, or is it the other way round? The stronger liquid gets to be at the bottom? Anyway, this is the perfect labour day cocktail. We continued watching the movie. I was expecting my ex-employer to have put some money in my account, so we decided to get chevdas (a mixture of chilli, crips, groundnuts) from Capital Center as we checked the bank. There is that short moment of anticipation as the ATM tells you ‘Processing Transaction’, before the machine prints out: KES 46 bob. I was yet to be paid. Not to worry though, I’m used to being broke.

So now it was back to the house, R & FG, chevdas and the Four Musketeers. We passed by a neighbour who’s a friend and invited him over for chevdas and the movie but he was watching cricket (yaaawwwwn, that game can take over 4 hours or go on for days!). Later, we joined him for cricket, by this time it didn’t matter what was on TV because it reaches a time when everything is beautiful. It was raining, like it does in Nairobi these days, and it was nearing dusk. I finally made the call.

*ring, ring*

*Hello.*

“Hey.. are you busy?”

“Yeah, kinda, lemme call you back.”

Me: “Okay, cool.”

Later, he calls me back. And we have the conversation. The long pauses, the loud silence, the sad sighs. I knew Saturday was too good to be true, possibly the last time you see someone so you give it your all. Time to drown sorrows. Bottoms up.

Cards are brought. Loser takes a shot. Fags light up. Cards are played, amidst much hilarity. Music is played. A friend joins in. During the card playing, fines are dished out for any inane reason. You ask, which card is on top? And get a fine for that. You laugh too much, it’s a fine! You sing along to music, you get 3 extra cards as a fine! It was hilarious! When you are the one giving others too many fines, you also get a fine! The game of cards was obvious falling apart. We needed an extra bottle of F. G to get the party going!

So we each removed a little cash and sent two of us to get the extra bottle. The game of cards continued, the stakes were upped to ..er.. clothes! Good thing is, noone misbehaved. When the last bottle was emptied and no answers were found at the bottom, when the phones rang no more and texts went unanswered, when the weather turned too cold for a game of strip poker, when the host was yawning and dishing out sweaters, we knew out time was up. Time to hit the sack. Labour Day was over.

Reblogged from Aria’s Coolade

One from the Archives….

by Aria