Pure Madness

My thoughts on the "behind the scenes" of life. You will find inspiration here. Share it generously


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You; The Bestseller

They are both on top of their worlds. She always seems to be the center of attention when she is with her girls and he, he is known to make friends so easily that he can chat up a statue. People often call them the life of the party and they don’t mind the attention. They are both known for their generosity. It’s part of who they are. They are confident and thrive in any environment whether in crowds or small groups. They are outgoing and social. They have an opinion but they always try to accommodate others and so they will always strive for a win-win.

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I am not a fan of interviews. It’s an environment that is often full of tension and high anticipation. Everything in that room seems like a test. The glass of water in front of you, the pen and note book on the desk even normal regular greetings always sound different. I personally don’t appreciate the question “Tell us about yourself?” I know I have lived with myself for all those years but every time I am asked this question I always feel as if I don’t know myself or I am lying about who I am.

I keep getting worried about the many bestselling books about “me” that are out there. How do they know me and why am I not the author of these books if they are about me? They tell me about becoming a better me (who said I need upgrading). They are ready to tell me about the best activities for me, the best career, the best diet, the best exercise and even the best spouse. As if that’s not enough, these books will then crown it all by telling me I how unique I am, a special order and the only model ever released by my manufacturer.

I always enjoy seeing babies discover the mirror. Naturally, girls seem to have a liking to the mirror than boys. It’s not strange to find a girl attempting to apply makeup or having an intense conversation with her twin in the mirror. These “mirror-tendencies” continue to develop as she ages and more time is dedicated every day to refer to the person on the mirror. As they grow up they seem to learn how to spot their reflection anywhere, wood, stone, mud you name it and a lady will see her reflection on it and adjust whatever she deems appropriate. .

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What I don’t understand about us humans is that even after living with ourselves that long and even after knowing what our “selling points” are, we still listen and value what others say about us.  The Bible talks about a person who looks at themselves on the mirror only to walk away and forget what they saw. Our society is highly sensationalized on what other people think. Our spending habits are often influenced by fads and trends. We even have TV programmes that discuss how prominent people dressed.

In the end, we suffer from identity crisis due to the many messages that bombard us and dictate the kind of person we should be. The light skinned feel they are not light enough and the dark skinned feel they are not dark enough. The plus-size women are celebrated for certain features while the slender ones end up being anorexic in a bid to remain a certain size why? Your guess is as good as mine.

Men, both young and old alike are not spared either. The TDH (Tall Dark and Handsome) syndrome seems to haunt many of us. That’s not all, you need to have certain well-formed abs and muscles. Beyond the body you need to dress in a certain way, groom yourself in a certain way, hangout in certain “joints” and with certain people, drive certain cars, drink certain drinks, live in certain neighborhoods, come from certain communities, talk in a certain way and even date a certain type of woman.

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Is there a place for you and I outside these “certain criteria’ What would happen if you and I were comfortable being who we are as opposed to trying to fit in? How can we ever bring ourselves to stand up and fight for others if we don’t know how to stand up to fight for ourselves first? The fight to save the world must begin with fighting to redeem ourselves from the cells of criteria and opinion. If we can accept and celebrate our own diversities, preferences and opinions, then we will accept the differences we see in others.

We all desire our children to grow up to be “great people” who will do amazing things for their generation but even before they can conquer those battle fronts, they will need to conquer their own battles to remain true to themselves first. Are you fighting yourself or for yourself?

Edited by Wanjiku Kimaru

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20 Years Later and Death Still Hurts As Much

It was August 27th 1995; we were in school for remedial tuition. I was called from class by Mrs. Wang’ombe. This was not strange since I was the class prefect and it was common for teachers especially my favorite (Miss Carol), to call and send me out of school over lunch.

Guess who that sweet baby is...

Guess who that sweet baby is…

Something was different though. I could feel it. Mrs. Wang’ombe told me I needed to go see Mrs. Mathenge who lived near the school. She asked me to make sure everything was in order before leaving. As I walked to Mrs.Mathenge’s   I thought about many childish things but I never anticipated what I was about to be told.

I found Mrs. Mathenge waiting for me at her house. She started with some chit chat about how big my dog had become (a German shepherd I gave her since my mum would not let me keep it). Her eyes were blood shot red. I could tell she had been crying for a very long time. After trying to make me as comfortable as possible she finally gathered the courage to say it.

The entire world sunk. I became numb and every second seemed like a hundred years. I stared blankly at Mrs. Mathenge as she moved closer to where I was seated. She started crying and that’s when everything sped back to normal. I wailed heavily and from the heart. “You are a man Githaiga and you need to be strong for your sisters,” she said. At that point my tears dried up instantly and I never shed another tear until the day of the burial.

Mrs Njuguna back in the day

Mrs Njuguna back in the day

The last time I saw her, I was out playing with my friends. I saw my uncles walking her to the car and I dashed to say hi. “I am fine,” she said. “Go back and play, I will be back in no time. Please behave yourself. OK?” and she got into the car and they drove off. I went on to play. Everything would be OK. I was so wrong.

Mrs. Margaret Waihuni Njuguna was a woman I loved deeply. Even though I denounced her as my mother a million times, I loved her. Mrs. Waihuini was unpredictable. She was the love and terror in equal measure. She would switch between both characters anywhere and in a second. I seemed to provoke the terror side more than anyone else.

Mrs. Waihuini loved her family and especially her mother. Mrs. Waruguru Githaiga was the world to my mother and when she passed on my mother evidently lost her zeal and vigor. She was never the same again.  She had lost her source of inspiration. It’s like all she wanted was to go be with her mum. God granted her wish a few months later.

The Njugunahs. See those socks that boy is wearing?

The Njugunahs. See those socks that boy is wearing?

I lost the two most important women in my life at that time. My mother gave me over to my grandmother when I was a young boy. My grandmother ceasing the chance tried to take me to a local school but I couldn’t learn in the language they were using and so I refused to go back. I got my stubbornness from these two women.

My mother’s death was not painful until four years later when I finally cracked. It soon dawned on me that I was always too busy trying to be a man that I forgot to mourn her. I became bitter at the world for robbing me of my mother; my life, my everything. I was even more bitter at God because of not doing everything in His power to stop death from taking my mother.

What kind of a God can’t stop death? What kind of good God allows bad things to happen good people? Why would He take both of my parents when they world had billions of people he could take. What made it even worse was that “His people” said the wrong things in an attempt to console my sister and I. “She is in a better place”, “We loved her but God loved her more”, “She is watching over you from up there. “Though meaning well, these statements came back to haunt me four years later and I was furious because God seemed to have told everyone else about my mother’s departure apart from me.

Mrs Waihuni Njuguna. Quite Fashionable

Mrs Waihuni Njuguna. Quite Fashionable

When my mum died, my world ended. I was convinced that life wouldn’t go on. I believed that was the end of time as I understood it. I stopped dreaming unless the dream was about being with my mother. I hid my heart from hope and from faith. Nothing was worth holding on to. Moving to Nairobi made things worse because I was constantly reminded that I am in Nairobi because my mother was not around.

It’s been 20 years since my mother passed on. I have lived longer without her, something I never thought possible. Even though every now and then I miss her, I have learnt to live with the scars of her absence. Death of a loved one is a language that is unique to an individual but it’s the most painful experience anyone can ever go through. It only gets worse with the unanswered questions, the missed opportunities, and the ‘if onlys’ continue to haunt us long after the world has moved on.

Mr and Mrs Njuguna on their wedding.

Mr and Mrs Njuguna on their wedding.

I scoff at people who demand that we “move on.” Yes our lives must go on and they eventually do but if we are honest enough we will admit that we left a huge part of us “back there.” All the same the longer we live; the pain becomes part of us enough to be bearable. We learn to see the benefits of being alive. God grants us “better moments” every now and then like finding love, fulfilling our dreams, having our own family, being a source of hope to someone else or making a difference in other people’s lives.

But the more “better moments” we get, the more we wish our departed ones were here to be part of the stories they inspired. It’s been 20 years since I got to the end of the road. God has been gracious to give me many “better moments” including surviving a snake bite and life continues to surprise me every day. My mother’s corrections and affirmations continue to influence the kind of person I am today.

For everyone who is still asking the questions. There is nothing wrong with you. There is no expiry date to missing someone who passed on. One day, twenty or so years from now your “better moments” will creep up on you and warm your once frozen heart.

The Njugunahs representing about 25 years or so years ago

The Njugunahs representing about 25 years or so years ago. Do not look at the feet.

Hope.

Edited by Wanjiku Kimaru


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Lessons from the Land of ‘Injera’.

#SomeoneTellEthiopians thank you for the many lessons they taught me for the short time was in Addis. When I left Kenya for Addis Ababa, there were two things I was told to look out for; spices in food because of my sensitive stomach and the beautiful ladies because of my curious eyes. Neither the ladies nor my stomach disappointed.

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It was rather easy to identify me as a foreigner the first few days and for obvious reasons. I was clearly disturbed by the beauty in Addis. Thank God for a friend who affirmed my seemingly rude and remote behavior by confirming that my reaction was not unique and that soon, I too would get used to the beauty. I never thought that was possible.

Beauty was not my only disorientation. In Addis, vehicles keep right and they are all left hand driven. I cannot even count the number of times I almost got knocked down because I crossed the road looking in the wrong direction. Something else that I could not get my head around was the number of big hotels in Addis. Maybe it’s because it hosts the African Union headquarters but hotels in Addis could very well be what exhibition shops are in Nairobi. (Exaggerations mine)

It was easy to identify that Ethiopian businessmen and businesswomen are not as aggressive as their counterparts here in Kenya. I walked into shops and restaurants where the attendants just looked at me from the comfort of their counters waiting until I called out to respond. Orders were forgotten a couple of times and even took longer to be served. We actually had to walk out of some shops because the attendant did not seem as if they wanted business that day.

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The transport industry is very similar to the Kenyan one even though the PSVs and taxis in Addis are quite old. PSVs in Addis still carry excess passengers and are driven recklessly. I still feel Kenyan PSVs are still leading in recklessness and unruly road etiquette. Ethiopia might soon catch up.

The most impressive thing about Addis was how much Ethiopians love their culture. From their food, coffee, music and dressing, it was evident that Ethiopians are proud of their culture. Coming from Kenya where we have different types of food to Addis where ‘Injera’ (Ethiopian national food made from teff flour) is served daily, it took me a while to adjust. Ethiopians love to have a cup of coffee after their meal. This is not the sachet coffee that Nairobi hotels whip up when you order. Its well brewed fine tasting coffee. I don’t like coffee because it give me heartburn but the coffee in Addis is so good that it was irresistible.(I never got a heartburn.)

Ethiopians love their music! You will hear it everywhere. What was even more surprising was how much they enjoyed listening to other Ethiopian communities’ music. I have to say, even though their music eventually grows on you, there are no adequate dancing styles to their songs. For Ethiopians, the mid-section of their bodies are seriously underutilized unlike in Kenya where every part of the body moves with more special emphasis on the waist line. Ethiopians dance a lot with their head, shoulders and feet. I felt as if I was in an aerobics studio each time I got up to dance to Ethiopian music.

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Even though there are over 7 different tribes in Ethiopia, they seldom describe each other on tribal affiliation. They don’t have demeaning jokes about each other’s cultures. To them, they are one even though they are quick to admit that the ‘tribalism venom’ is beginning to creep up on them. It is very easy to assume that Ethiopians are a single culture and tribe community because they coexist so well.

I love my country Kenya. It’s a beautiful country with very rich cultures but it’s not until I saw how Ethiopians promote their culture that I realized how much we have lost in the name of modernization. There are many cultural centers across Addis where different Ethiopian communities sing and dance as they eat injera with other accompaniments including raw meat. The audience in these places – foreigners and Ethiopians alike enjoy these acts.

Ethiopia provoked me. I was inspired by the national identity the citizenry has and are proud of. They are not busy trying to keep up with the West. They try to make what they have work best for them. Ethiopians however, do have a long way to go when it comes to political, governance and freedom of expression issues. Kenya on the other hand has a long way to go to build believe and sell its own brand to the world. We have more than 42 reasons to believe in Kenya. Today, all that tourists want to see when they come to Kenya, is a Maasai Moran – and so many other communities are learning to masquerade as Maasai Morans.

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Who are we as Kenyans apart from people living in Kenya? What are the more than 42 reasons why any tourist would leave their country to come to Kenya? Better yet, what are the more than 42 reasons that you and I are proud to be Kenyans? We almost “lost” a couple of intellectual properties that we have always thought were uniquely Kenyan (Kikoy, Kiondo, Shuka etc). How much more do we need to lose before we, like the Ethiopians find what works for us as a country?

Edited by Wanjiku Kimaru


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Get In the Kitchen

I often consider myself a good cook. I don’t know how to make fancy food but I can put together a burnt offering that tastes better than my friend Dj Soxxy. If you grew up as the only boy in your family you will agree with me that there are a few “traits” that you pick up either by force or willingly both of which are for your own piece of mind. Soxxy and I grew up as the only boys in our families. This meant that we had to learn a lot more than just kitchen stuff.

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Briefing from the professional.

In our home the kitchen and dining were “holy places”. We learnt early enough to take our plates to the kitchen after eating. Actually, you were not supposed to leave the dining table until you had swallowed your food. Talking with food in your mouth would easily land you a slap heavy enough to make you choke. No matter how late you were or what you needed to do urgently, my mother always operated on the principle “No balloons” which meant bite only what you could chew.

Beyond the kitchen, proper toilet use proved to be a difficult lesson for me. My mother made me clean the toilet every time I “missed the mark.” If by mistake I did not “shake well after use” especially because I was in a hurry to go out and play, I had to wash my shorts – an activity that was often accompanied by tears. Like most boys the first stop when you got back to the house had to be the bathroom. Sometimes you had to remove everything and still tip toe to the bathroom. If you never went through these critical steps of growth you need a refund because you never maximized your childhood.

There were two things that I was ordered never to play with. You need to understand that back then when your mother told you not do something she was not testing your knowledge of your rights as a human being. “My mother said No” was the most valid reason you could give and not have a re-battle. It was ultimate. So my mother in reasons best known to her as a mother declared from the roof top, “Thou in thine right mind or otherwise shalt not play with fire or a knife, for if you do you shall surely die and it’s not because you will hurt yourself. Far be it from you oh ye foolish son that I bore to be tempted to play with fire and/or knives.”

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Take 1!

So for a long time the kitchen was a place I was sent to wash dishes (I must have washed our knives with fear and trembling lest they tempt my curious mind). It goes without saying that the devil (who else) managed to tempt me to play with both and death has never seemed so real. The first aid I got was not medical. Eventually all these don’ts about the kitchen made me curious and so today there are few Kenyan meals I cannot cook. If that feels like a brag it very well could be. Top on my ‘to learn’ list was Chapati, until recently when the doctor banned wheat products from my diet.

I therefore don’t understand what got into Dj Soxxy to nominate me to compete with him on the popular K24 TV show Get in the Kitchen. I will not spoil the surprise for you. Watch the show on Tuesday at 8pm to find out who won. Let me also put it out there that Soxxy isn’t as fat friendly as I am. We can deduce a lot from just that. I highly advise against pitying him because of not being fat friendly. While at it, please remember the adage that says, ‘Never trust a skinny chef.’

That said, being on Get in the Kitchen was an awesome experience for all of us. It made me appreciate the effort that goes into that room every day. It is sad that we seldom appreciate the process (cooking) as much as we do the product (food). We have been told that kitchen is no place for men; I beg to differ. From the time we started to prepare what we would cook, it was obvious how many utensils we used to make a single meal. Luckily for us, we were having fun so we enjoyed ourselves as we cooked.

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Take 45!

Get in the Kitchen made me realize why my mother would get so offended when I said I did not feel like eating after she had worked tirelessly in the kitchen to put something together for me. Being a single mum, she must have worked hard to make enough to buy the food. She then had to make sure she was home in time to prepare the food for me. Regardless of how bad her day was, it never reflected on her food. My sisters learnt to cook early in their lives but when they were in school my mother made sure I had a great home cooked meal every day.

Cooking isn’t just about preparing food, it’s about planning and cleaning after. It’s about knowing way ahead what you want to achieve even before you start. You also have to factor in how to balance your meal. . When preparing the food itself you have to think about timing and when to add the ingredients. You consider the heat, the amount of water, the time, the portions and how best to present the food.

Cheering Squad!

Cheering Squad!

There are many injuries that occur in the kitchen as Soxxy found out. There are times when the food does not turn out how you wanted it to. Sometimes you are not even in the mood to cook while other times all you want is a well prepared meal by someone else. I know our culture emphasizes that there is no space for the man in kitchen but until you get into the kitchen, you will always take food preparation for granted.

As men, there is a lot that we can do in the kitchen beyond tasting if the meat is ready. If we never do anything else, we can at least get into the kitchen to keep our mothers, sisters, wives and Daughters Company. We can beat our chest as much as we want, we can complain about eating bad food or the same food for years but until you get into the kitchen we may never really understand what it means to have a good meal.

Guess who prepared this meal!

Guess who prepared this meal!

So before you complain about that meal, take time to appreciate the effort the person who prepared it for you put in. Even the simplest of foods takes effort and time to prepare so once in a while, it would be nice if you and I actually got in the kitchen whether as tourists, first aiders, motivational speakers, casual workers, chefs, messengers, spies, investigative journalists, plumbers, friends or simply as fathers, husbands brothers or sons who want to give the ones we love a hand. Gentlemen, let’s Get In The Kitchen!

Edited by Wanjiku Kimaru


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The Heart Ruin Run

I had not planned to attend the Mater Heart Run this year but Mr and Mrs Soxxy “coerced” me to sign up and buy the tshirt. After that there was no turning back. I had a week or so to get in shape and if you are like me and your CBD (tummy) has not been devolved yet, then you know walking or running can be quite a task. (Children, stay away from bacon it’s not from heaven.) I also managed to drag along my girlfriend Ciku hoping she would offer the much needed moral support.

Photo courtesy of @DjSoxxy

Photo courtesy of @DjSoxxy

The “run” (herein forthwith referred to as “walk”) started at around 9am. The turnout was great as the entire Nyayo stadium was painted green. In fact you couldn’t get into the stadium without having bought the t-shirt. I had an issue with that especially because you cannot force people to give to a worthy cause. That is a story for another day. To mark the beginning of our worthwhile venture we took a selfie.

Photo courest of @DjSoxxy

Photo courest of @DjSoxxy

It always feels nice and sort of rebellious to walk in the middle of road. I know that seems vain in comparison to what others do in the name of rebellion but I admit I was very tempted to start yelling “Haki yetu”! At the Uhuru Highway and Haile Selassie Avenue roundabout you could only see hundreds of green t-shirts. Most of us may have misread the objectives of the event because we never saw a single person running.

It was a beautiful sight to see children as small as three years walking hand in hand with their parents obviously distracted by the presence of many ice cream vendors. The youngest of them all was a few months old being pushed in a pram with not even a care in the world. Some parents seemed to give in to the tantrums of their children quite early while others managed to control their children’s thirst. They were not the only ones, Soxxy’s wife Anne and Ciku were beginning to rationalize the temptation as well. But not Soxxy and I. We knew why we were there. We were focused.

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The first water point was a few meters after the Kenya Railways Club. We decided it was not yet time to start drinking water. We were of course thinking like the professional walkers we had become. This water point however changed our conversation for the better part of the walk. It’s not just our conversations that changed, our mood and perception did too.

One or two bottles littered here and there didn’t raise much alarm at first but when the entire road was covered in hundreds of plastic water bottles and plastic seals then there was reason for concern. We initially rationalized the littering saying that there was a cleaning company whose contribution to the event was to collect the litter during and after the run. But soon even that thought became unsettling.

The first thing we noticed was that most of the bottles that had been thrown away still had a lot of water. We began to ask ourselves why anyone would take a sip or two and then throw away the rest. Was it because water was readily available or was it because the 300ml bottle of water was too heavy for them carry? Was it because most of us took two or more bottles only to realize later that we weren’t that thirsty after all? Whatever the reasoning, it was very inconsiderate and wasteful of us.

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The other thing we noticed, was that at all the water points, there were huge dustbins availed for obvious reasons. Most of us did not even notice them. We grabbed the water, broke the seal, dumped it, drunk the water and disposed the bottles wherever we deemed fit. Why would we leave garbage bins behind only to go litter a few meters away? How much time would it have taken us to open the seal and dispose it appropriately in the provided bins? How long would it have taken us to drink up the 300ml water and then disposed the bottles in the bins before proceeding with the walk? How heavy were the bottles that we couldn’t carry them to the next water point and dispose them properly?

Our conclusion was, there is a huge problem. We are not a responsible people. The run helps to raise funds to cover expenses for heart operations for deserving children. This is by all means a noble and worthwhile cause and everyone should support it. While we are engaged in changing the lives of these young ones, we also need to think about their future and ours too. What will become of our home if we don’t take care of the environment?

Someone once said we only have one earth and there is no planet B. There were many parents who by littering in the presence of their children unknowingly taught them a lesson that will probably take years to unlearn. Indeed, children learn what they live. The same applies for the parents who saw their children litter and never reprimanded them carefully explaining to them the need to conserve our environment.

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For the rest of us who knew what we were doing and still went ahead and littered, our case is sad. It’s even sadder for those of us who thought that there was a cleaning company whose sole responsibility was to clean up after we had intentionally littered. When will we realize that this is our home? When will we wake up to the fact that there is no backup environment “saved” somewhere that we can revert to?

It is presumptuous and wrong for us to think that it is someone else’s work to take care of our environment. It is my responsibility and yours to make sure that as far as we are concerned we have done our bit to take care of our environment. Only then can we point a finger on our leaders when they don’t do their bit. So we did save a child through the run on Saturday, but by ruining the environment that child will grow up in we ruined the same heart we ran to save.

We set out to be part of a big vision and we ended up being part of an even bigger vision. The Mater Heart run taught us what really matters. Now it’s up to you and I to run with the vision of saving as many children as we possibly can be also taking care of the environment that will be their home and that of their children’s children.

Edited by Wanjiku Kimaru


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Kenya Bowed.

“Kenya Unbowed!” “We Are One” and “#147NotJustANumber” were some of the headlines during the Easter weekend after the terror attack in Garissa that led to the loss of over 147 lives. Yes, one hundred and forty seven young and promising lives. This was the saddest Easter season in the history of this country.

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Photo courtesy of http://www.weareone.co.ke

The same disaster that brought this nation to its knees also made Kenyans and the world over take a stand in solidarity with the victims. I am sure that is a card the selfish terrorist had not thought about. Kenyans donated blood, gave foodstuffs and offered counseling to the victims and their families for days. The social media went viral as the world over condemned the attacks. In anger, images of the slain terrorists went viral and so did the photos of Kenya’s security elite squad, Recce as they put to an end the standoff at the university.

The Garissa attack is still a very sensitive issue to the affected families and Kenyans at large, however there is need to pause and reflect on how we are handling the entire situation. I love the fact that we are very resilient as a nation. We have an extra ordinary drive to pick ourselves up and continue with our lives. This is a good thing but only if we learn from our mistakes.

So, was Kenya really unbowed that weekend? Are we unbowed today? Who said we are unbowed? Is it the victims of the attack, their families or the rest of the country? Who wasn’t on their knees that weekend? Whose heart wasn’t shattered as the number of deaths increased every hour? Who did not pray that terrorists would burn alive without the option of death? Who did not wish that they had certain supernatural powers to rescue the innocent university students? Then how is it that our headlines were “Kenya Unbowed?”

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Photo courtesy of http://www.cctv-africa.com

I cringed at the thought of what the students experienced that early morning; terror, panic and confusion with nowhere to run for hours!Calling your parents and hearing their voices for the last time, soaking yourself in a pool of blood so that you can appear dead when the terrorist walk on your throat, hiding in the closet and under the bed for hours and hours on end, kneeling waiting for your turn to be shot as bodies drop one by one next to you, gathering the courage to save yourself and running because your life depended on it. Unbowed? We are One?

Parents must have been looking forward to see their children during the Easter season or at least hear from them. Some parents had taken loans to take their children to the university; a sacrifice worth making. Some parents had exhausted their lifetime savings so that their kids would have a chance of a better life. Their children were full of dreams and vigor to change their lives and that of their country. A phone call from the terrorist as they mercilessly shot the students is not human in anyway. Those parents will never forget the screams of their children or the voice of the terrorists. Some will forever blame themselves for taking their children to the institution. Kenya Unbowed?

How dare you and I say how unbowed we are? What do we know about pain and terror?  Many parents would not even identify their own children’s bodies because they were disfigured while others will have to live with a traumatized child without an idea of what they can do end the misery. How many of the victims have contemplated suicide maybe that would stop the nightmares they have in broad day light? Do we still think Kenya is Unbowed?

Let’s not forget that the terrorists had families too. They were born and nurtured by a mother and father somewhere. They grew up within a family of brothers and sisters who will forever suffer for the selfish actions of their siblings. Their parents are hurting too. We all probably think it’s their fault that their children turned out to be terrorist but they too are in as much pain probably even more because the flesh of their flesh went against everything they sacrificed for them to take innocent lives. They too need comforting and validation that it’s not their fault. Imagine what the look on people’s eyes and their whispers are doing the terrorists families? No one is telling their story, they too are victims but do we think they are unbowed?

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Photo Courtesy of http://www.behance.net

What about the leadership of the country? Are they unbowed? I am sure our leaders are all too familiar with the security situation in the country but none of them ever thought it would cost the country so much. Neither did you and I. We are a nation in pain. A nation with so many questions. A helpless nation not hopeless but helpless. Helpless that we cannot turn back the hands of time and save the young lives that we lost that morning. Helpless that no matter what we say or do even though important, will never bring back the lost lives. Nothing we can ever offer compares to the loss these families experienced. The lives of the survivors will never be the same again. They will forever bear wounds and scars that only eternity can heal, if it is meant to.

So dear brothers and sisters, we are not unbowed. Far from it. We are crippled by pain and questions. We are on our knees. Our hearts are full of anger, hate and we cry for vengeance. We are bowed. But just for now. Tomorrow beckons. Even though we are wounded and have lost so much, tomorrow brings hope. This hope however needs not to be a false sense of calm. This hope should be a promise to our country that never again will we (citizens and the government alike) leave our posts unattended. This hope dictates that You and I become vigilant to secure our own future by securing our country.

We are bowed. Yet we rise. We rise.

Edited by Wanjiku Kimaru


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Sell. Bless. #SellToBless

Easter holidays are no longer what they used to be. Back in our days Easter was a big deal! Unlike our days, these days all schools have mid-term breaks. During out time, it was 10 weeks of uninterrupted learning. In fact, if you were unwell, your folks would wake you up early in the morning as if you were going to school, make you wear your uniform as if you were still going to school and then take you to hospital. After “seeing” the doctor our folks would make sure you join the rest of your classmates in class.

The good thing about “the good old days”, holidays were holidays. No private tuition,   no remedial or make up classes. Holidays were what they are meant to be; breaks. The only thing you did not have a break from was house chores. We all knew that before going out to play we had to wash dishes or clear the tables. Yes there were no house helps back then. If you had one, you would still be assigned your duties anyway.

Blessed bless back

April was always a rainy season. Many other things were predictable about April holidays. There was the Safari Rally and mind you this was a family event, then there were “the Jesus movies” and not forgetting it was lukwart (lugu) season. (I still have no idea what they were called in English)That’s what they’re called! Strangely, Easter holidays always seemed to fall on the first week of April. I don’t remember it being in March as it has been a couple of times.

There were two movies that would always make you cry regardless of how many times you watched them; After The Promise and The Jesus Movie. You were never too hardcore for these movies. The Jesus movie, I am sure that was not the name but I bet no one can remember the actual name was nothing like The Passion Of The Christ. Come to think about it why wasn’t the movie called Passion of Christ? So anyway after the movie we would cry ourselves silly.

My mum being a shrewd evangelist would use that chance to take me on a guilt trip. Oh she would have fun. It’s like she was cued right before the credits to remind of my “many sins”. She reminded me how every time I disobeyed her I was re-crucifying Christ. Boy wouldn’t that make me wail and promise to be a better obedient boy from that moment on. My mum would tell me that as a result resolution I was now born again. It felt good to have a fresh start but the “devil” in my friends made “my salvation” short lived.

After The Promise (not mine, but the movie) was about a father fighting to bring home his children who had been taken away from him into different foster homes after his wife died. The story of how the lives of those children turned out was heart breaking. One of them never spoke again while the other was suffered crippling injuries. The struggle the father goes through to reunite his family and the joy of seeing the seemingly dysfunctional family become one again broke every ones heart.

Today here in Kenya there are many children who are living the “after the promise” kind of life. Some of them have a sad story of losing one or both of their parents while others have an even sadder story of not knowing their parents at all. Imagine what it would mean for you to live without your parents. Imagine not having the childhood memories that you have. The joy of getting a new dress or a new toy, the joy of sharing a meal with your extended family.

Sell to bless

We can never put a price tag to certain life experiences.  We can never trade the memories for anything because they eventually defined who we are today. We laughed, we cried, we hoped and anticipated. We were rewarded, we were denied. We gained and we lost. These experiences became a vital part of our childhood but they were not free. Someone paid the price for us to have the experience. They paid a price for us to have a roof on top of our heads and to be in good health to play with our friends. Someone paid the price for us to be in school to have the best of what we had. It was never free. It cost our parents.

Have you ever thought what a child who sleeps on a cold floor would feel the following day if he slept on a bed? Imagine what a kid in a children’s home would feel to be the first to wear a new dress or eat a meal that he has never had. To grow up healthy, every child needs to feel good about who they are and how they look. You and I have the power to shape the lives of the little angels who are in different children’s homes in Kenya. It is not their fault that they are in such circumstances and the little we do can seem inadequate and of little value.

No one ever changed the world by doing anything big. It’s in the seemingly small stuff that the world is changed. This Easter, you can do something small for the little kids in children’s homes. You can share a meal with them, you can boost their self-esteem by giving them the chance to be the first to wear the new clothes. You can buy foodstuff that will feed them for a few days. That’s not all you and I can do. We can sponsor a child through school or ultimately adopt one and bring them up under our roof teaching them the same values we were taught or we teach our own children.

It’s not just the role of the government to make their lives better. You and I have that responsibility as well. It is in our Holy Books but most of all it’s engraved in our hearts. This Easter as you make room in your house by selling items you don’t need, would you consider investing the money in a child’s life? Are there things in your house that you can sell to raise money to support a child? Sell and bless this Easter. Sell to Bless. Touch a Heart.

Edited by Wanjiku Kimaru