Posts Tagged ‘Drama’

“We are more often frightened than hurt; and we suffer more from imagination than from reality”

– Lucius Annaeus Seneca

He turned off the alarm, pushed his black Egyptian-silk sheets to the side and sat at the edge of his custom made mahogany king-sized bed. He looked back to the other side of the bed, it was rough too. He tries to sleep on both sides now. He looked up to the ceiling

“Get out of bed

Brush your teeth

Take a shower

Get dressed and go to work

It’s a beautiful day!”

Those were the words written on the poster his therapist had advised he have made. He glued it top the ceiling above his bed so it would be the first thing he saw when he woke up. That was his mantra. He lifted himself off the bed, at least it took less time now. He walked into the bathroom, turned on the hot shower and tried to scrub the nightmares away.  He dressed up in his navy blue Armani suit, and as he fastened his tie in front of the mirror, he felt the loneliness start to creep in.

“Not today, not today, not today” he mumbled to himself repeatedly and quickly walked to his sock drawer. He can’t stop moving, helps to shut out the voices in his head. He has a quick breakfast, leaves instructions for his housekeeper and gardener on the platinum double door fridge and walks out to the garage, gets into his black, Audi Q7, opens the garage door and drives out. He is grateful for the buzz of traffic and a city awake.

Before, just a few years ago actually, he couldn’t wait to get home, now he worked overtime every day and spends the better part of the night having drinks or barbecue with his boys. They were his rock. Without them, he would have jumped off that bridge a while ago.  Therapy was working well and he had found faith somehow.  He prayed a lot. He still thought about her. Four years of history is hard to let go especially because of how she left and the mess she left behind. The mess he had been cleaning up for a whole year now.

Theirs wasn’t a story with happy ending but it had a beautiful albeit quick beginning. They had met in college where they were both pursuing master’s degrees in different fields.  It wasn’t love at first sight, far from it actually. He hated her, well hate is a strong word though that is what he felt for her now, back then it was more dislike. He should have stuck to his gut feeling but he was in a dark place back then which probably wasn’t the right time to get into any relationship but especially not with her.

He had lost his mother a few months before they met. She had died in her sleep. The autopsy said it was a brain aneurysm. There was nothing anyone could have done. At the funeral, Shaka had stayed back as everyone left for home. He fell to his knees beside the freshly filled grave and wailed. She was a mean soul but he loved her to her dying breath. His father had run off with another woman when Shaka was just 11 years old. He had left Shaka, his baby sister then only 3 years old and their mother alone. They weren’t destitute; she was a career nurse, doing well at a local private hospital. They lived in a nice house which they owned and lacked nothing, nothing but the warmth of love. His father had left him something, something Shaka wished he could scrape off; his face. Since he was a baby, everyone knew who his father was. He had his eyes, his nose, his jaw even his hairline. He truly was his father’s son. At the beginning this was something he drove great pride from because even as a child because everyone around him would make such a big fuss of it. But then that night came when an eleven year old boy’s life was turned upside down.

It was late but Shaka had always been a light sleeper. He heard his parents arguing, it was loud and pretty heated. As a curious kid of course he went out of his room to eavesdrop. His sister was asleep in her room. He walked to the staircase and sat on the top step. He could see both of them in the hall way downstairs. They were both very angry, screaming over each other like they were competing who could scream loudest. He had never seen either of them this angry.  At the time, he couldn’t really understand what was going on exactly. They would always fight in their bedroom if ever and even then, it would be in hush hush tones.

“Wacha iishe basi! (Let this end then!)” He heard his father say.

“ Sawa! (Fine!) Kwani wafikiri tutakufa ukienda kwa huyo malaya wako?!(You think we will die if you ran off with that prostitute?) his mother shouted back.

Shaka saw his father walk toward the staircase. It was too late to run to his room. His father stared at him for a few seconds at the bottom step, sighed then rushed up the stairs to their bedroom. Shaka ran to his room. A few minutes later, he heard a door bang shut, someone going down the stairs and the front door open and bang shut. He ran to the window and looked outside. As his father walked up to his car, Shaka silently willed him to turn around. Maybe if he saw his grief-stricken son’s face he would come back. He did turn around, their eyes did meet, he did see the tears fall down Shaka’s face but he did not come back. Shaka never saw his father again and his mother, well, any specks of gentleness she had left walked right out the door with that man. Shaka knew she tried so hard to shield them from the darkness that slowly crept over her over the years that were to follow and so he always tried to be a good boy. His sister tried too. They both did exceptionally well in school, did all their chores on time and essentially just stayed out of their mothers way. The hugs, the ‘I love yous’, they all stopped soon enough and all that remained when a little boy and a little girl hugged their mother was a quick pat on the back and instructions for the next day’s chores. After a while, they all just stopped trying.

Now as Shaka watched his woman walk away, he racked his brain trying to figure out what he had done to make her leave. It must have been his fault somehow. People don’t just leave, right?

End of part one…..

 

 

Advertisements

I don’t run; well maybe just from fights but nothing else. For instance:

  • When aliens invade and take over the planet. I’ll probably be one of the idiots who go out to meet them with a ‘welcome to earth’ placard. You know, the idiots who get incinerated by the huge fire-hose thingy that all aliens have. At least it will be quick and painless though. Aliens have very effective technology.
  • When our smart homes and smart homes and future robot nannies suddenly grow a conscience and turn on us. I’d probably get locked in my smart home and attacked by my smart microwave while taking a nice warm bubble bath in my smart bath tub. Of course this will happen like a week before peeps discover that the computers are taking over. So at my funeral talk will be of why the heck she had her microwave on so close to the tub and what a terrible way to go; naked, electrocuted and drowned.
  • When overzealous scientists “accidentally” create a super virus that can wipe out half the population in a matter of days. Me and my hug-loving behind would probably end up hugging patient zero and have the maniac virus melt my insides in a matter of hours before peeps even realize there is a break out.
  • When the earth decides it wants to go on another tectonic plate shift trip and all the volcanoes wake up and explode at the same time and tsunamis visit every coast line and earthquakes become a common occurrence. I’ll probably be the first to fall into a fault line or decide to go hiking on Mt. Kenya on the same day she decides to come back  to life and erupt. Or maybe I’ll be on holiday at the coast renting a beach house on the same day the ocean decides to become a wall moving at 970km/hr and take a walk along the beach.

Don’t get me wrong; I’m just as afraid of death as the next guy. If some random terrorist/bank robber person was to hold a gun to my head, I would definitely pee a little (read a lot). I would then proceed to make the worst hostage because I would skip through the begging for mercy, or planning a strategic 007 escape and go straight to the fainting.

My point is; there are things out here to run away from. We are all born with an instinct-fueled will to survive. It’s a reflex that all living things are equipped with. That’s how creation survives through the ages.

So, run, run from death when you can. Run like the wind. But don’t run from life and all that comes with it.

I don’t run so I will not let you run either. I won’t let you run from the anger  that makes you want to punch through a wall. Or from the pain that, makes you want to sit in a dark corner, curl up into a tiny ball and wish it away. Or from the hopelessness and stress that kept you awake last night and won’t let you get out of bed in the morning .Or from the scary excitement of love. You know the love that your big, mushy heart keeps running into. Love that tells you it’s perfect logic to use your one month salary to rent a hot air balloon so you could share one perfect sunset with someone. Love that gives you googly eyes and slurry speech and rents your tummy out to a colony of butterflies that never sleep.  Love is weird.

I won’t let you run form the bad stuff either; the stuff you can’t control. Sickness, family drama that just won’t go away, sudden lay-offs at work, the ‘broke-weeks’ that never seem to end, accidents; pretty much whatever sucky thing  this side of life decides to throw at you. I won’t let you run from the darkness inside you either; the skeletons in your closet, the ghosts under your bed. All those have to go. You can thank me later.

I have a sort of secret (not anymore) , selfish agenda for making sure you stay put. You really should have read the fine print when you signed up to be my BFF (Best Friend Forever). I told you the part about how we’ll be friends forever right? How we’ll be sitting on rocking chairs at the nursing home all old, grey, wrinkly and cranky (mostly you because I will be an absolute delight). How our grandkids will come to visit and we’d tell them about the good old days for the umpteenth time till they know all the stories by heart. How we’d hit on the hot nurses and attendants and when they’d fall for it we’d laugh our dentures off. And how I’d tell you later that that wasn’t nice and we’d have to apologise only to do it all over again the next day.

What I may have not told you is that you may have to save me from myself one day:

  • That when the aliens come and you see me making a ‘welcome to earth’ placard, you will have to take the damn thing and hit me over the head with it.
  • That you’d have to cancel my coastal vacation when the weatherman says it’s cloudy with a chance of tsunami because you know I rarely ever watch the news.
  • That when smart homes and robot nannies are all the rage, you would have to insist we leave our homes manual, our nannies human and maybe also insist we not get chipped.
  • You’d have to figure out how to save me from the super virus though. That’s a tough one.

In conclusion; I don’t run but if ever a time comes when we will have to; you my friend will have to make this goof-ball friend of yours run!

P.S: I hope you didn’t read this piece trying to figure out the science or logic behind it; there is none. Tell me about the fine print in your BFF agreements. The crazy/weird stuff your BFF (s) have to do with/for you. I would love to read your story.

 

She walked down the aisle thinking that was it. That was the moment she had been waiting for. The dream she had always wished would come true. The smiling faces filled the pews to capacity. The flowers, the ribbons, the tiny umbrellas hanging from the church ceiling; everything was perfect. The pianist played her favorite love song of all time as she slowly walked down the aisle. She felt like all her life, everything she had gone through had all somehow led to this moment. It had to have been written in stone somewhere in heaven. It was meant to happen, meant to be, meant to last now and forever.
She got to the front, found his hand and they knelt before the altar, before God. They went through the motions; the vows, the rings, the ‘I dos’. Hand in hand, they walked back down the aisle toward the church doors. The smiling faces of family, friends and church still filled the pews to capacity. The flowers, the ribbons, and the party rice everyone flung on them for good luck now covered the freshly polished, hardwood floors.

The church doors flung open. They opened out to a new life, a new reality…and May? May wasn’t supposed to be here. Not today. She said she couldn’t come; that she wouldn’t dare. She said she couldn’t bear watching him marry her. Not after everything that had happened between them. May was an emotional wreck when it ended and so was she. But it had to be that way, they both knew it. That wasn’t the dream, this was. And isn’t love in its purest, most ideal form supposed to last forever? Isn’t it supposed to transcend circumstance and distance alike?

As the sun rays hit the new bride, something else did too but not as suddenly as you may think. Gradually, slowly, she soaked it in. She looked around at all the beauty, the joy. She heard the laughter; she felt the warmth,the love. She looked at her mother and she could see her face change from a smile to a worried frown. Mothers can always tell when something is terribly wrong with their babies. She looked back at him, her new husband. He was the love of her life, her now and forever. That was the last time he saw her. She left him, she left all the smiling faces in the pews and no one ever knew why, and even she didn’t. Not really. He walked back through the glorious church doors and down the aisle, knew that that was it.

It was over even before it even began. 

I’ve been going through my old journals recently. I started journaling in the year 2000.  I have stacks of them now and my oh my have I been through it. Those things read like a telenovela.

Remember way back when, When you thought so and so was the best thing that ever happened in your life? When you thought you will never be that happy? When you thought you would take a rubber bullet for them? Jump on a tear gas canister on a Monday for them? Stand in front of a (speeding) Rongai mat for them? When you thought you would die if they ever left you?

Remember how you didn’t die when they left? Remember how the world didn’t stop turning when they walked away? Remember how you were still breathing when they took your heart, tore it into pieces, put the pieces through a shredder, took those pieces, put them in a meat grinder and just strode off? Yeah I’ve had a few of those.

One time it was so bad I actually thought I could compose songs about that particular human being. Get a load of this one:

‘You came back for me                                                                                   

Or did you come back for more

I gave you my all

Do you still want my soul?

I just want to know, was it that easy?

I just want to know how hard could it have been

Just to love me and care for me like I did for you and loved you?

I held nothing back

I gave you my all

I held nothing back

I lost all control then you broke me and left me to deal

Now I still have to see you, be around you, hear you

and just forget what you took from me and how hard it still is getting it back’

  • Awinja’s journal entry April, 6th 2013

Yup, I died a thousand thought-deaths that year but look at me now; still breathing.

Remember how angry you used to be after the heartbreak? How rage would boil in the pit of your stomach? Angry at yourself; angry at your family; angry at your friends; angry at your government (though that is fully justified); angry at the world? Remember how you were sure you’d end up in jail one day for rearranging someone’s face? How in any argument people around you would just suddenly start looking like punching bags?

Remember how freeing it was after you finally (because we ‘let go’ and ‘get over it’ several times before the final final final one) just let them go?

‘Dear Love (insert her/his name),

I love with all of me; my heart, my mind, my inner being. I see you, think you are totally awesome and cling onto you for dear life. Do not be deceived; I may not fully understand you or what you do. You may hurt me unknowingly or otherwise say ‘I don’t care, this is me, deal with it’ to my face. Yet for me, that doesn’t mean you deserve to be loved any less. Weird right? How I won’t fight you to let me love you because I can love you from afar? I can secretly pray for you daily, asking Him to watch over you, love you, give you peace and providence as you so desire. I won’t stalk you or email/inbox/DM you a thousand times. I won’t hang all our mess up on Facebook. I won’t post sad updates which you will know are directed at you. I won’t send sad texts, followed by angry ones, followed by sad ones. I won’t tell the world your secrets.

My heart won’t beat a different rhythm. When I remember you, the good times will still put a smile on my face and the bad times will still make me cry. But only for a time. Because I loved you once and I don’t think that just goes away. But it will. Because with time, even the heart forgets.

  • Awinja’s Journal entry 4th November 2014

 

 

As you have probably noticed, I’m all marshmallows and honey covered chocolate when it comes to love. If you are reading this then we have all survived some pretty messed up times. Weakness is relative. You cannot stay down, not for too long.

And if you’ve loved someone who you shouldn’t have or who maybe did not deserve your love or who maybe wasn’t ready for your love waterfall/rapids/earthquake/landslide. If this person took your love and fed it to Ramsay Bolton’s starved canine monsters. At the very least they showed you that you can survive heartbreak; that it’s never the end of the world; that moving on is actually a thing that can be done by you. Most of all, they showed you that you don’t have to stay.

 

P.S: we will be peeking into my journals from time to time. No need to stop this Afro cinema series now right? So if you enjoyed this, please be on the lookout for a lot more. And don’t worry, I promise it’s not all mushy.

‘When you look at me I see what you want, you don’t hide it in sweet nothings. You want to be with me, you want to get to know me. You saw something in me the first time we met and since then you just want to see me.’     

                                                                                                                                               – Awinja

I was too lost in my blissful thoughts to hear the first shot but the second one broke through. I felt something, a pang of pain then something warm trickled down my side. The panic climbed up from my toes yet my eyes remained fixed on the road. ‘What you don’t know won’t kill you right?’ I thought to myself. ‘Well except if it just happens to be a bullet’. I can’t believe I found that funny at the time. He was panicked, covering me from all sides like he had eight arms or something. I didn’t want to tell him what I suspected, I hadn’t even told myself either, I hadn’t looked. There were people running all over the place like headless chicken, I couldn’t hear their screams, but I could see their mouths moving. It was strange; it was all in slow motion.

“Dee!!!” he shouted while shaking me to reality. I heard him, though his face had become blurry.

“Don’t panic,” I told him as I slowly went to touch my side, his eyes followed my hand and it was  the look on his face that made me realize what I already knew; ‘I was in trouble’.

The vendor we had just bought gum from was hiding behind his stand, it was made of mesh. He looked so afraid. There was a woman on the pavement; she was dragging herself forward toward the pillar. She left a lot of blood on her trail. ‘Should I go help her?’ I thought.

A Black Toyota VX with tinted windows was driving on the wrong side of the road, slowing down. There was a man running ahead of it. He was limping; there was blood on his cream khaki pants. He was crying out ‘Don’t kill me! Please! I have a family! I’ll do anything!”

A masked man on the passenger side of the Toyota poked his head out of the window, a big gun followed…

“Dee!!” he shouted again calling my attention from the man on the street and back to him as he pushed me to the ground. Everything was blurry now. “Hold on please, please hold on,” he said over and over. He lay on top of me, his hand firmly pressing down on my side. It hurt worse than anything I have ever felt but it felt like I was feeling someone else’s pain, like I was looking at me from afar yet I felt the same measure of pain. ‘I was dying wasn’t I?’ I hoped I hadn’t said that aloud. I didn’t want to tempt the universe or to add to his panic.

Two other gun shots rang out. (more…)

 

I met a guy one night,

I had little cash on me, only enough to help me wait for another guy who ended up standing me up; thanks a lot ‘another guy’.  Anyway, guy number one was a different specimen all together. He came to my table, introduced himself by all three names, stared blankly as I introduced myself as if I was talking about the weather. Right off the bat,he insisted on telling me how he owns land in Mombasa and Nakuru. He made sure I knew how humble he was by constantly reminding me how he struggled in his childhood and how that if it wasn’t for God, he would not have the big luxury car he had parked outside. He encouraged me by saying that one doesn’t have to hustle at all.

“I mean look at me,” he said, “my sister now lives in a house at 200,000kshs per month.”

He did not have the courtesy to buy me a drink to help me swallow the ‘bs’ he kept spewing out but he did repeat all three of his names more than twice just in case I had forgotten. He also made sure his voice was heard by everyone in the club because everyone needed to know how the good lord had blessed him and his family. I definitely needed to know how he was no longer living in his mother’s house but that he was living in his own house (rent unknown) and driving his own big, luxurious car which he bought with his own money. I also needed to know that he had a really nice job.

He must have also seen how curious I was to know how he could spend over 10,000kshs(that’s a lot apparently) on a night out and how he can drink on credit at The Tribe hotel because, well, they all know him there. He must have also heard me enquire why the club 3 floors up treats him like royalty and how if any of the waiters from there were to see him drinking at another pub, they would immediately swoosh him up to the top floor because they couldn’t afford to lose their biggest customer. He must have also noticed how I was dying to know how his father was the wisest man that ever lived and made sure he left his children a truck load of inheritance that included land in several counties.

Of course every sentence was punctuated by ‘I owe all this to God’ because then if I scowled or rolled my eyes I would have been that girl (rude bitch) who doesn’t want to listen to testimonies of the lord’s goodness.  He paused after every few sentences to dance to a song and to think of the next thing he could brag about obviously. The Dj and waitresses, whom I know personally kept looking at me and smiling empathetically. It seemed they too had heard this story a few times. I silently cursed the friend who had stood me up; this was wholly his fault.

I’m sure he thought he was really testifying as he loudly and drunkenly rumbled on about all his riches and glory in the name of God. He finally left my table without so much as a ‘What are you drinking’ and ‘can I get you one’. If only I had carried my savings account (a sock full of one bobs) and left my politeness at home, that man would have been telling a whole different story about the girl at the pub who attacked him with a sock full of coins.

But that night I was just a girl who went to her local pub to have one drink for the road and contemplate why she had so many stories in her head and no money in her pocket.

NB: I was embarrassed to note that the guy hailed from a village just next to mine somewhere in Western so no stereotypes to be qualified here. Turns out, a douchebag is a douchebag and they come in all shapes and sizes. We are one.

 

29

Posted: July 17, 2016 in My truth
Tags: , , ,

I’m startled from my sleep sometimes by thoughts of my impending doom. Probable failure trickles down my back in a cold sweat.

29 years old…

Never been rich, never been famous

Never swam with the dolphins,never meditated with the Tibetan monks
Never eaten, prayed or loved my way around the world
Never been at the foothills of Mount Everest or on the peaks of the great Kilimanjaro
Never danced with the lions of Serengeti or raced with the cheetahs of the Mara
Living from paycheck to paycheck, heartbreak to heartbreak
Never had my name engraved on a plaque and pasted on a door, never had a corner office on the 39th floor
No house to my name, no treasury bonds maturing at the Central Bank, no millions hidden under my mattress
No stone ring on my finger, no fussy baby on my bosom spitting onto my new white chiffon blouse
No husband to cook for,waiting with his feet up on the poof
No boyfriend to pine for or throw jealous fits about, no distant lover’s photo to frame and place under my pillow

Society frowns on people like me, tells me am growing old, that I’m unaccomplished, that it’s about time,that my ‘girl’s’ clock is ticking. “Cobwebs will grow down there if they haven’t already” Haha! Wouldn’t that be a sight!

Never been on Broadway, never been cast in one of those billion dollar coca cola ads (how does one even apply?)
Never dug wells in the desert, never built homes for the destitute, never planted a forest to save the future

Still, I can’t say I haven’t lived
I have loved to the point of breaking (I think I even broke that one time)
I have kissed and been kissed till my knees grew weak and my feet swept off the ground in sheer bliss
I smile till my jaws ache, laugh till my voice chords grow sore
I have lost plenty and gained much
I have dreamt* of taking bullets for those I love
I jump at the privilege to love and care to the point of smothering, ask anyone,
I can’t help it

I write my soul out
I have written to get by, to heal, to move on from those I have loved and lost

I have written to keep the active volcano that is my emotions in check
I have written to release the fires within, of dangerous lust, insatiable desire,unquenchable rage, crippling distress and immeasurable joy
Oh and I also write to earn my keep
29 years old,
I haven’t done a lot but what I have done I am grateful for, those I have met, those who have left, those who chose to stay,
those I love with undying devotion, those I would love to hate but cannot
The sun the moon the stars and all that jazz
29 years old and I love being me even when I don’t.

IMG20141128222002