small miracles, big change

Moaning about what needs to be done will not make things get done. It is the sprit of those who take the step to make small things happen. To make miracles.

I came across the story of a man who using camels travels the desert with a mobile camel library. It's not much. He could be like many who sit in the sun, wondering when the sun will set. Yet he travels to bring the understanding of how the sun sets to others through books.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/shared/spl/hi/picture_gallery/05/africa_kenyan_camel_library/html/1.stm

It takes a small move. You know the story of the butterfly and the tsunami. It's for a reason that this story is told.

What's your move?

where are your dreads

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kifo cha Bee cha tangazwa...

Bee, 88, Kenyan Artist and Founder of the Women’s Center

Bee, artist, died of heart failure at home on Pemba Island on Friday. She was 88.
Born in Kenya, Bee moved to the United States in 2003. She held a bachelor’s in Social Development and a PhD in Development Studies.
Bee saw her dream of opening a Women’s Center realized in 2010 in Nairobi and later in other developing countries which include Barcelona in Spain, Madras in India, and Quito in Ecuador. The centers continue to operate under her desire for women to learn from each other’s experiences.
She was an avid supporter of soccer as a way to educate the youth and together with her husband, set up a soccer training camp in Nyeri.
“In the last week she spent a lot of time in her workshop. Painting,” said her closest friend Cirdan. “It was as if she was devoting the last of her energy to the thing she loved most.”
“She was such a simple person, by looking at her it was impossible to know that she had worked throughout her life to create these women’s centers,” said Maria DeCosta, the Director of the Ecuador Center. “Her work has changed the lives of many women, young and old in countries with highly impoverished populations of women.”
Bee also enjoyed outdoor camping, backpacking and hang gliding. "She loved nature and was an adventurous companion when it came to camping," said Mr. Bee, her husband.
Her family and friends will be gathering on Friday at the Uprising Football Club in Nyeri for a celebration of love. Come ready to dance and play soccer, at this nighttime barbeque. No flowers please. Please bring a candle. Donations can be made to the Women’s Centers in your nearest country or to the Uprising Football Club.
“Her work changed the lives of many women, in many poor countries,” said Maria DeCosta, the Director of the Spain Women’s Center.
She is survived by her husband of 64 years, Mr. Bee, among much family.

Why I love Kenya...

Because of everything. I love Kenya. I love Africa. I am feeling patriotic. Bless my soul.

And I love Kenya because of:
http://www7.nationalgeographic.com/ngm/0509/feature2/index.html
Don't be bothered by the rather dispassionate speech from the photographer. He likes taking pictures. He missed Nairobi as it is. Nice pictures though...

Stay posted for my obituary.

R.I.P

I had to write my obituary yesterday. I know, I know I have tupad workshop. No really it was for a class "Death and Dying" that I strategically found myself taking.
As I was thinking about it late one night while I soaked in the tub, I wondered how long it would take before anyone realised I had died. I have a roomate who is not often home and I imagined him discovering my naked body, probably with a nearby floating wine glass. Not the best way to die.
No, in writing my obituary I had to think about how I wanted to die. I said congenital heart failure, taking the easy way out. I had visions of me dying after I jumped out of an aircraft but I didn't think I could do that at 88 and not make it difficult to clean up after the mess.
Then I realised, that I actually do have to die. Me. I am going to have to die. Death does not infact happen to other people!

I will marry you if for Valentine's day...

Remember how I said that I want to be materialistic when I grow up. I found the man to fulfill my dreams of a fast red sports car.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/4263599.stm

Apparently all I have to do is wear a loin cloth, oil my breasts and dance. Then I may win his hand in marriage and strike gold. I love tradition but surely, the picture of a grown man, who has married a 17yr old, after lifting a ban on underage sex so that he can have sex with her is rather ah... Surely. Come on. Aii. Tsk.

Oh I forgot one thing. Sadly I am too old to get married to him.

confession of a possible school lover

I think I am likely to be chronically attending school. I love it!

I think it has to do with the wonderful ideas shared. Where am I going to get the same sharing inthe big old world. Maybe I am in the wrong field. I want to have good conversation about poverty, globalisation, death, justice, happiness, love, life...will I find that working as a clerk?

Nothing against clerks.

I love the library. I love books. I want to inhale them.

I love the feeling I get from reading a good piece. Listening to a good argument. I love thinking a problem through and realising a simple solution.

How do I keep learning as a life-long hobby?

Could someone also tell me how to fix the blog...everything seems to be going haywire on it...

fruit market

I have so far managed to keep my vent about Wakulima market to myself...BUT I can't not silence myself anymore. Fruits don't look the same anymore. Even in the school cafeteria. They have changed my concept of the constitution of oranges and bananas.

If I am a Cucu I will not choose oranges because they will give me acidity.

Who came up with that idiotic idea...oh SORRY, isn't it the cows that "lead" our country. We look like apes for it to be broken down to that level. And what maddens me thoroughly is that still, no-one knows what consititution is which and what each speaks of.

How about printing the document in simple English. Or better yet how about Kiswahili for those who don't understand English.

Then there will be no need for oranges or bananas, ofcourse apart from the bananas who are "our leaders."

For those wondering why I am going on about a fruit salad: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/4215266.stm

A fruit milkshake anyone?

Umoja

Yes, I am back hence the new post. I have a cold now from being away from my family. Culture shock has not ceased to strike me the oddest ways. As I remember how to blog, here isan interesting article sent to me by a friend...I wish I had known about this place before. Maybe I would have stayed there. Maybe not. If any of you have ever read Herland by Charlotte Perkins Gilman you will understand what I mean...

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/main.jhtml?xml=/news/2005/07/16/wkenya16.xml&sSheet=/news/2005/07/16/ixworld.html

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2005/07/08/AR2005070801775.html

JKIA

When I got onto that flight 4 days ago I did not think it would be the longest flight ever. Why does going home take longer than going to uteto?
They zimaad the lights in the aircraft before landing, saying it was procedure. I figure that it was so that the controllers at JKIA will know it is an aircraft and not a ma3.

Okay let me stop.

I'm home and that is all that matters.

Bee.

I'm a material girl

Let's face it. I want a comfortable life. And I want money to pay for it. Is there a man out there who is willing to work with me to get that comfortable life? No listen, I am not talking about a Ferrrari or a villa in Italy, no nothing like that...although now that I think about it... Bear with me, seriously. We go through high school, university and sacrifice somethings along the way. Your parents and those before you have sacrificed to bring you where you are. You are where they wanted to be one day.
I recently asked if you would agree to be a house husband, have the "wife" bring the bacon home. Ladies would you be happy with that agreement? What is the partnership in money making within the family? Is the wife's household contribution equivalent to the husband's corporate job. Does it still work in reverse?
There is no lying about it, when I look at a man and a future, I wonder if he can take care of me materially. Is this a traditonal viewpoint or is this simply the animal instinct in me? What do you admit to looking for in a future lifelong mate? Our forefathers asked for a woman to have a "strong back."
What is your thing that breaks you down to your basic?

incredibly delirious

Have you ever felt it. That happiness that kicks you in the stomach and throws you to the world laughing. The birds migrated leaving a sunny day and a joy that lifts to kiss the puffy white clouds that bear my dreams.

I am happy. Seriously.

And it happened one weekend when it became clear over, Fela Kuti's music and in the darkness of my mind. I saw the flicker of a flame. I am burning with it now.

This is how I can be happy. I can not try to explain it. I shall instead sit and let the lingering spirit tickle me. Giggling like the little girl I used to be.

I also have schoolwork to do...

Duck!

My room is tidy.

But my mind feels cluttered. I tiden my room and do my laundry to clear my mind but now I have a feeling deep within that this time it will not work. Atleast not as well as it usually does.

Listening to reggae maybe it will stir something.

I like these days and I don't like these days. I like these days because they are loaded with pockets of inspiration. But they are also loaded with lots of moments of humility. My clumsiness reminds me that I have no control over anything...as much as I pretend I do, I don't.

It is easier on this days, not to fight the rain. Not to fight the bird poo that falls on me as I walk down the street. Maybe enjoy the splat sound that the poo makes as it lands on my sleeve.

I am having one of those days.

"Splat!"

Cirdan passes the stick on the left hand side

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Central Station

So I went to a gay pub the other day to sing karaoke at a competition. My friend and I, a guy went uo to sing "You're the One That I Want" from Grease. Me being Sandy, although he would have done a good impression of her, himself. We came in second place.

I have to admit that I have never seen such large amounts of affection displayed at a club. It wasn't vulgar but on the contrary it was honest. Among the first questions asked whenever I was introduced was whether I was gay, bi or straight. The men there knew what they had come for and were not hiding it in the way that they do at a straight club. Greetings were exchanged with a kiss on the cheek or lips. And I have to admit, the tension there to compete with others of my female species for the few preying men was drastically reduced. I wasn't competing for anything but the karaoke.

My friend and I had a code word "Bananas" for anytime any of us needed to get out of a "situation." I used it several times when older looking men especially, wiggled their way across the bar to stand next to me with that sly look in their eyes. He used it too when a man in a black jacket and gelled back jet black hair, slithered past after attempting conversation with my friend.

I certainly didn't use it however, when the brown sweetie came to talk to me. Hulk of muscle, brown green eyes and a tight derriere. Oh yes. Too bad he was gay. Or as my friend says "All that toast and no jam, mmmh mm mm ( finger snapping action)."

I have nominated myself a regular there. Next week I'm singing a Spice Girl's song. Any requests?

liar, liar pants on fire

I haven't told a lie in a while. Last week I told a fib about how I had food poisoning and thus missed an early morning class. I named the food "Lo Mein," the restaurant "China Kitchen." Now I can't get it off my mind that I actually lied. No really, I thought I had fleshed out that part of me that feels chicken to tell the truth yet here I was spinning an elaborate tale. I feel betrayed.

I feel I need to confess to the world but I don't have the guts to confess to my professor.

Especially not after he said it was "probably because my stomach is not used to that type of diet." Here ofcourse he was referring to my Africaness. I wanted to pound the table and tell him to stop being a fool. We actually do have Chinese restaurants in Kenya, contrary to popular belief, we don't all drink raw blood and eat maize daily.

We do however have matumbo which is cooked blood and filled with all sorts of goodness, and we do have ugali, pounded maize made into "cake." Nonetheless these are hardly staple foods.

By the way this is the same professor I mentioned in an earlier blog... He still has not kissed the bottom of my shoe.

I feel a burning

It was in the mid to late 50's that the British were raping our women and had placed then in camps to dig trenches and to starve. Because our people wanted independence. In the 50's when the US enjoyed drive - thru movies, T.V. and had Hollywood, Kenyan women would have to steal from fields to feed themselves and their children. If they were old or sick they would not eat so that the children would.
When Elvis was alive and rocking, our women were half clothed and sometimes they were naked when they were being beaten because they refused to wake up at 4am to build huts and dig trenches. They were dying from water-borne disease because on their grid-like camps they were not allowed to build sanitation infrastucture.
I feel a burning anger because our women were being raped, sodomised with bottles and left in water overnight in the open cold while Heartbreak Hotel was being shown on T.V.

It has not changed. Lord, it has not changed.

your funeral

When you die, who do you want your mother to call "my children?" Who among your friends is worthy of your mother's love?

lets talk about

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"all my life...

...I pray someone like you and I thank God that, that I finally found you..."

Aii aii, the song has ingiad! Walalala. Remember that song by K-Ci and Jo-Jo? Yaani who the hell said that that name is cool? Ati K-Ci and Jo-Jo. Kumbe his whole name is Kilowatt Clement and Josephat Jeremiah.

Hey but atleast the song is not as corny as R. Kelly's Sex in the Kitchen. Now that is a BAD song. Cheap.

Having a party at home this Friday. An 80's joint. You guys are welcome. I was going to color my hair...decided my hair is not caucasian...if I dye it wrong, it will fall off in clumps.