Little lies

You sit at the edge of something, a couch, bed, the bar stool or at the edge of the matatu seat. You want to print your life, on the counter table, or on the screen of the window that’s next to you. You no longer enjoy the flash light from the phone’s screen or that of that television screen. You are bitter, life is bitter, even lemons are sweeter when taken after a tequila shot. That is life and it’s little lies.

It’s half past six o’clock, a chilly morning, something not known in the month of February. You are in a rush, get to town before the fare hicks, get to the office a bit early, drink lots of coffee, you are hot, hot from rage, rage only you know of. Life and it’s little lies.

Seated at the edge of something, you feel you are at the edge of your life, you want to jump, tell this bus( the one in your head) to Stop, for you to get out. You are no longer comfortable in your own skin. Life and its little lies.

Its Friday, a few minutes to seven, the sun is setting, the weekend seems longer than usual, you hate weekends, you are always idle, no better half to keep you busy, so you buy something to entertain you, a drink, sour when you take its first sip, but sweet as you finish drowning it. The sun( the one in your head) never seems like it will rise. Life and it’s little lies.

You want to paint your life, or write about it, words lack, you don’t know which colors to use, everything seems grey, or red, maybe black, that will be a sad picture to paint. You take a piece of paper, an old pen that you’ve never used, you will create words, write, write something beautiful, something someone will read, something someone will enjoy. NOTHING an hour later, you’ve only scribled, life, life, life.

Maybe you should paint life, it looks yellow, with streaks of white, shadows of blue and bits of green. It looks like happiness, with touches of pink, brown, purple, something like a rainbow after a heavy down pour.

Now you want to write more about it, use words like, happy ever after.

You wake up, its a few minutes past three, it was a dream. 

Life and it’s little lies.

Cheap thrills

Somewhere on the foot of mount kenya,a day like this in the early nineties, a woman was in labour,that woman was my mother.

Before birthing me, she had endured the same pains for her four other children. She was happily married and was fulfilling God’s will. Filling the earth.

Before my birth, she had been in the marriage institution for about thirteen years and she stayed in it till death did them part.

Now I will delve into something deeper, I may not be married but I hope to be one day, so today here are my sentiments on it

Cheap thrills.

We all fancy the cheap thrills that come with sex. A quickie at the car park, at the night club at some lonely isle in town, at some cheap motel. A quick one at some party, in a friends house, or your favourite joint, a moment of untamed emotions in  public transport, or a public park. You name it. Youve tried it in the name of spicing up that relationship right?

To the unmarried ones who love these cheap sex thrills, how has the spicing been? Are you still together with your one? The one you had to spice things with? Maybe for his 25th birthday or your first anniversary as girlfriend and boyfriend?

I am guessing the spicing ended so well, that you got bored of each other and the routines to the extent of not wanting to say those vows of I do, before family, friends and a man in clothe. Be it a pastor, lawyer, judge or the old men that head those traditional rituals.

Sex.

It is a powerful tool. Kings, presidents, that beggar you saw today, the genius and that fool you know of, the mentally insane, the spiritualists they all came to being after a sexual act. So see how powerful and diverse it is.

One thing though we all use it or enjoy its pleasures at the wrong time. It wasn’t created for you all unmarried, happily dating folks.

I am no virgin so I am not writing this as some sexually starved human who is not aware of the pleasures it offers. Nor am I writing this as a sexually abused human, or one who has been hurt in the past by giving in too soon, NO, I am writing this as an experimental human, one who has enjoyed few minutes of pleasure at some back seat of a car, one who has had desires fulfilled in unknown places, and who has also lacked enjoying happiness with an individual, because to some extent happiness was derived from how long he would stay hard, or how strong his thrusts were or how good he could eat me up.

Courtship.

You probably will go out with a guy ( women and their ninety day rule) especially someone who you see as a potential spouse, and not give in because you want to see if he will hang around, past the three months and if he passes that test he becomes “bae”. And after he is bae, you become his whore, buy all forms of lingerie, let Kamasutra be your new bible, and another three, say six or year down the line, you go through his phone and then see the texts he sends you, those with all the cute names et all, he send such to bunch of other women, then you wonder where did you ever go wrong.

Or you may be this other bunch of women, you see a guy, you name him potential, then on one of those days you are hanging out getting to know each other, your emotions misbehave you give in, in less than two weeks of knowing each other. The guy is such a darling because he doesn’t run after you gave in too soon, he now becomes sweeter and better and continues to spoil pamper and calling you all sort of cute names. You are his freak turned “wifey”. Three months, six months an year,then he sees you boring cause nowadays you are not a freak anymore, you hardly pounce on him, and when you try to spice things up he says your libido is usually on the extreme.. So he looks for another woman, a bit reserved, and conservative, and you wonder where you went wrong.

Dating.

Now this is the bunch of people I want to be in. You have known a guy for as long ad you can imagine, you have been best of buddies, having late non sexual conversations, hang out a bit too often, help him critic all his ex girlfriends, meet up his new girlfriend then give reviews on how pretty she is, how big her bum is, how small her lips are, how she behaves when drunk et all. You know a couple of his family members so does he know yours, you are platonic friends. Once in a while he throws a line on how you’d make a great girlfriend when you are nursing a heart break. You tell him you like his beard a bit too often, you throw in the line of, you know me a tad too much we can never date.

Love.

“Never marry a man you love”

At the end of it, do not let sex be the “it” factor to define any long term relationship. It never goes anywhere. Grow friendship first, then love, and let sex be the cremĆØ of it all.

Use it to celebrate, to create life, to acknowledge each other, not just something to quench those desires of lust.
“Another year growing wise on sexuality”
Let’s honor and respect sex, marriage and the children that are a result of it.

Self love

To my readers,

Today I am writing you a letter. It is a new month, a month most call the month of love. Pictures of two happy people will be flaunted on the gram, and some will wonder what life, love has to offer.

So today, I share my discovery, discovery of self love. I have not yet found my one, but I am happy loving myself first, because for so long, I have not loved my self, but I have searched for a love that I couldn’t give to self.

He was born on the 7th day of january, i was born on the tenth day of the second month, the day of love is on the 14th day of february, and he died on the 19th day of the second month.

How two months so close, can bring so much joy, happines, sadness and tears i still cannot understand.

He was the first man i loved, a man i loved so much, and i knew he loved me equally as much, his gentle hugs and harsh words, could tell all, that his love, his love was the best, one so genuine and true.

And the past six years, i have been searching for a love that only him could give, i hoped that the ones i met would offer just half of his.
So in my search, i met some, who looked at me, and never saw this pretty face and smile, they saw hips and beneath the hips, they saw thighs, thighs they longed to touch, to part, yet he, the man I first loved never looked at me that way.

In my search for a love half as his, i let them touch, i let them part these thighs, and i, with all my yearning and desire to feel loved,let them in, i was moist to them, and hurriedly they pushed in, a few strokes before they said, they loved me not.

He would have turned sixty-one this year, and i will be celebrating, his seventh year with the angels, as I celebrate my first year of fully loving myself.

Self love…

I have turned away my back, from seconds of happiness derived from pleasures of the body, and that’s when I realised, that to be loved, does not mean to quench the desires of skin.

I have grown to know, that I only receive as much as I give, so moments I let lust come along the way, those are the moments I deprived my self much.

I have opened my eyes, to the fact that the tongue will deceive, and the choice to believe those soothing words lies within you.

So as February comes along, the month of love, let’s not search for a love that few can give, through a majority, let us give it to self first, and in equal measure we will receive it.
Love,

JunglegarlšŸ˜

#BringCarolHomeĀ 

The Patriot Kenya

#BringCarolHome went the hashtag across social media, mostly Twitter where it has been surfacing time and again. A quick glance doesnā€™t give much but a look into the story beckons tears to oneā€™s eyes. The sad story of a beautiful, lively, energetic, and ambitious young girl by the name Carol.


Carol a recent graduate yet to delve into the real world, is resting at home with family, she has been feeling sickly but was determined to have nothing put her down on that day. They talk, share all the while; she had been sick months before and the doctorā€™s visit put her under a steroid medication. It was hard but on this day it seemed to have caught up with her: she seized! Convulsed! The family was notified and there the hospital stint started.

Agha Khan Hospital, Nairobi Hospital, Matter Hospital and Ladnan Hospital all were hnable to diagnose theā€¦

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My land is Kenya.

Once upon a time…

In a land far far away…

Come back to reality, your land is Kenya, where corruption thrives. Where there is mwananchi, and mwenye nchi.

When i grow up, i will be mwenye nchi, loud, loud, loud,loud, then because i am a woman they will say i am always horny, because i, do not, as accepted, because i will speak my mind. They will even go to extremes of saying i was never brought up in the right way, and i am not from a certain class.
Once upon a time…

In a land far far away…

There lived people, who believed, believed in a better form of governance.

This people woke up and hustled and above that, they were good citizens, they took voting cards, they voted for leaders they believed in, people who had similar dreams.

Back to reality.

I am a kenyan youth, who will rant on sicial media, even go to extends of making noise on streets, but i will never vote. Why? The leader is chosen,” chosen by a majority” 

Have you thought of it this way… Those in power, are voted by us who never vote? Us who never bother to go to the polling station?
My land is kenya, i will be mwenye nchi, i am taking my vote, i will make a choice, i will not let corrupt humans to kill my dream, my dream of a better kenya.

Chukua hatua, chukua kura. 

She wants to set herself on fire, set his soul on fire too, it was mean, not only to her but all around him. She’d spend most of her younger years praying, praying she would meet a man half as her first love.

She believed in her dreams, in the beauty of the stars, in night skies where the bright moon shone, and in his eyes, she saw a perfection, she then knew he had been the one.

She was sixteen, he was in his late twenties. He had a beared one she only saw in movies, he had a good height, and his skin resembeled the color of honey.

He had a lean body, he worked a tad out, masculine yet femine, he was beautiful, and she assumed his soul was such, beautiful.

That’s how love stories begin, right? A girl in huge glasses and a prince by her side. The tale didnt last long.

She was twenty, he had just clocked past thirty, he needed a woman, a wife, someone to mother him children.

Four years, was enough time, for her to know she found her one. So she wore her veil, walked down the isle, said i do, and an year later a mother to two bouncing babies.

Her first love, was no where near sight to witness it all, but she knew he was watching, it’s only him that could be the brightest of stars. And so she thought, in a husband now a father, she would see more of her own, her own father.

She was wrong, he wasn’t even close, to the man she first loved. In her maternity room, he was no where near sight.

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Fare thee well


Today, 31.12.16 the last day of the year.

Tomorrow, 1.1.17 a new year.

So let us wear short skirts and expose the thighs, let us not dance today, nor drink intoxicating drinks, let us wear short skirts expose those thighs and sit, have a sigh and bid the year goodbye.

Last day of the year,

Let’s re-live the best the year offered, the partying, where boys were involved, and men we hoped they’d be. Let us wear short skirts expose the thighs we dished to whoever would ask of a bit of them, werent those the best moments of ’16?

A new year awaits.

I will wear a black veil, a short black dress, with bright pink stokins, a bit of color should do, i will brew coffee, and take it with a puff of some cheap ciggarete, its a sad farewell. So let us wear short skirts and expose the thighs.

Dreams will come true.

I will blast the music, listen to “mercy me” beautiful, i will smile, i am treasured and beautiful, i will sit on the edge of my bed, look at this thighs then curse them, i will look at the black stains in their interior and i will frown, these scars should be tanned a bit. I in this short skirt exposing these thighs.

There is hope.

Everything i ever needed, lies not within these thighs, it lies within a power i cannot explain, someone omnipresent, a God who gives second chances. So drop the short skirt, cover those thighs, say a prayer, forgive yourself. It is a new dawn, stronger, braver, happier.

Ushering the new year 

Enough with the new year new me B.S, your still the same human, just wearing a different skirt, but a happier mortal, with a better supernatural being guiding you, creating perfection. 
Wishing you all, a fruitful, happy, favoured and blessed 2017.

Love is over.

As the clock ticks, sadness fill her up. She hates the smell of rain, let alone the sun’s rays on her skin. Love is over and now she tries to forget his memories.

As dusk sets in, so does the reality of his absence. Nothing lasts forever, a mantra she says to calm her nerves. Love is over and now she tries to forget his memories.

Rainy days

I hate water, not the drinking one but the other, i am sure you want to ask me when i last had a shower, i will be true and tell you early this morning. But i might be lying as well. I did not tell you i showered less than thirty minutes ago, involuntarily, the rain graced me today.

I do not own an  umbrella, or anything close to it. The scarfs and jacket play a good role, sometimes my handbag too. This is why i hate water.

Do not get me wrong, i hate the scortching sun too, it tans my skin two shades. I am not a light skin in reality, nor am i a dark skin too. I am more of the middle colors, brown with shades of chocolate.

I did not go to the elite schools, neither did i attend the low end schools, but maybe i  just did and assumed then that the low end school was more of a middle class school.

The school i attended was beautiful, in my eyes, it had trees and the grass was always green. We had clean drinking water, but the toilets were latrines, at home we’d use the latrine when it was day time, and the flushing toilet, was for the baby and only to be used at night. I was afraid of darkness when growing up.

I still do, but not as much. Nowadays most people call me a norctunal, i walk on streets with more confidence at night, but i avoid isles so much, they might confuse me as a twilight girl.

I past by my old primary school a few days ago, it looked ugly, the gate was no longer blue, just some writings in black and yellow.

The motto then, when i attended my old school was not in english, it was in a good language more fancy than what i saw, ” study to ascend” during my time it sounded more like this, ” studendo assedamus”.

Back to water, and the reason i hate it. But i should give you a brief history, shouldn’t i? 

I hate water, more so on days that it fills the earth, and mud puddles come to life, and the drenches nolonger functional, so wreckles drivers will try splash some colored water on your clean clothes.

Today morning, i had dressed in white, i wanted to be beautiful as the moon i saw last night, it wasn’t white, but it was beautiful, and most people say, beautiful things are clad in white, that is why most brides wear white.

Now my garmet is stained. Stained in black, from teary eyes, i wasn’t crying, but the rain made my face come off.( my colour is more of chocolate than brown) but when mixed with rain water and the different creams we use on our faces (black peels off).

Not to mention, stained in what seems red and shades of brown ( matope), i nolonger look beautiful. I look dirty, like some homeless bastard!

Rain is a good thing and so is water, we all become clean, forgetting the dirt that exists from our sinful nature. Crops crow, and flowers blossom, feilds become green, and the air smells nice, but i still hate water.

Back to my old school, on fridays, we used to clean the classes, we’d have lots of buckets filled with water and we’d wash. I guess this is where my love hate relationship with water began. At the end of the cleaning session, my sky blue dress, looked somewhat different, a color i cannot explain. I would rush home change and soak the dress, then a few beatings would follow with, “jichafue hivi na ujimwagilie maji, ndo upate homa”

So when it rains, and a reckless driver splashes dirty water on me, i become angry, and remember that i hate water. 

They were wrong


I told them; want to know who? People who never cared but acted like they do. But maybe they did, maybe they cared, cared enough for me to realise all I needed was self love.

I told them that I wanted to be in love. So they asked me if I knew what love was. I looked at them and smiled, told them I knew what it was.

I told them it was a feeling, the one I felt when they were around me, when they texted me. When they invited me to their lavish parties, and road trips.

They laughed, I became sad, they laughed some more, I cried, I did not let them see my tears though, so I told them I was joking.

I told them I wanted to feel love, the type I read in books, the type they’d show in movies, the type people flaunted on the gram.

They looked at me, eyes wide and mouth agape. “šŸ˜³”sweetheart that’s not love they said”

“Stop”, I said. 

I want love, to be called such sweet names, just as you did, sweetheart, darling, honey, see you love me I said.

They laughed some more, asked me if I wanted another drink, told me they loved the other side of me, when I did not ask many questions,when I danced on table tops, when I’d tell them tales.

So, that is love I asked. When I am hiding from myself, when I am pleasing you all? When, I cannot cry in front of you? When the memories we have are those that involve a strong drink?

Maybe, it is, maybe it isn’t, they said.

So I asked them what love is. They smiled, the type of smile that has secrets.

They told me love does not exist, and if it did it is for fools. That’s why it is in books, with characters not known, that’s why it is in movies, so they may sell more.

I was sad, so love never was…
But I found it, found it in his voice, found it in the way he looked at me, found it in how he cared.

Love is, love was, love always has been, but never can one feel it, if you don’t love self first.