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Morning Ramblings

It’s early Monday morning, nice and quiet, even the cockerel that crows seems to have snoozed. It is quiet, beautiful, perfect, just perfect for me to get started. But alas, thirty minutes in I have no idea what or how to write. My fingers have been drumming on the keys…gibberish, all gibberish.

What do I write? Gibber jabber, mambo jambo! My cleaning lady is hanging the sheets, I can hear my neighbours irritating children screaming, breakfast must be a hassle again today. There goes the gate again, swinging open, someone’s left the premises. Not much is going on in the neighbourhood, most people have gone to work and school. It is now 8 am, still nothing to write.

And now who is left? The caretakers, one chap who is mentally underdeveloped; calling him retarded is mean, he isn’t. He has the mind of someone with down syndrome. I don’t actually know where he lives, but he is up really early like at 5.30 am, you will find him washing people’s cars. I have never known if people pay him. I feel sorry for him.

When there’s a water shortage, he is the guy who is busy carrying jerrycans up four flights of stairs to people’s houses. I never hear a complaint; he is so kind and innocent. You say hi, he says “Hi” back with a chocolate smile; teeth brown and rich in need of a dentist visit. So kind, so innocent, he never says much after that. He sits around the vendors with grocery kiosks. He just sits in silence and listens to people’s conversations occasionally smiling or laughing, and then takes walks.

I will ask him his name today, for now I will call him Jim. I wonder what runs through Jim’s mind everyday. Why his family never gave him a chance to go to school. Is it he didn’t want to go, or was there just no school that had the capacity to manage his kind of mental functioning? Or his family couldn’t afford it? I wonder.

My cleaning lady just sneezed, I lost my trail of thought. I was listening to radio this morning. Why doesn’t it add much value to my life? A lot of laughter and chatter that seems redundant; you’ll read the same point of view in the paper, hear it on radio and watch it on TV. It is always the same panelist on every medium, who provides nothing but their personal opinion with a lot of ‘hearsay’. And the specialists in the area are nowhere to be seen, unless of course it is political. Politics, boy that is where all the specialists scuttle out of the woodwork like roaches, ready to speak their mind.

At times it bothers me that I can’t always create a story every time I sit down to do so.

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7

A letter to Me

Everyday I awake I see the regret that I have constantly said that I wouldn’t have in my life. With age I have come to understand where it comes from. Giving up. For months I pondered on what was wrong with me wrestling with emotions that were annoyingly overbearing only to realize that I had done what people before me had done. They gave up. The last full time job I had I walked in with endless zeal, and a fighting spirit. 2 years in; I had a battered spirit and couldn’t fight anymore, nothing was worth it. There wasn’t any job satisfaction and most of all I just hated people. I threw in the towel gleefully kissed employment away thinking that the a-wipes were gone, stuck in a building were they belonged. The free spirited independent, self employed folks were more straightforward and less complicated. What a lie I told myself. All.A.Lie.

The romance of the first one and a half years of working for myself came to a grand halt with a diagnose of fatigue. I was on compulsory two-week bed rest. I had made money, I was out of debt, I was saving again, I was happy. As I lay in my bed with the occasional 5 minute shift from my bed to the bathroom right outside my room, I realized how thankless my job was. Thankless to the core.

You write people read, they are moved by the objectivity of the piece, but nothing happens. After months of immersion into a new world, new perspective, new individual, different problem and resolution the story is edited, printed or posted, comments slew in,and  it ends with a discussion. I know Jeff Koinange says that we need to “keep talking so that we don’t start fighting”. But I always felt that something needed to be done with each story I wrote but nothing was happening. Not to my liking.

I initially blamed it on writing to an international audience with a publication my audience at home was not acquainted with. But even when I provide local publications with my news pieces they butcher the story and water it down or worse over sensationalize. I also get paid less, disparately less. With time the enthusiasm to work on a new story soon dwindled. I only took simpleton stories for magazines that I used to think wasn’t real journalism. Hey! The writer needs to pay their bills.

Then friends, their awards, the accolades, and there I was with nothing, once again the fat kid in school who no one wanted to play with again. There I was asking myself what was the point? There was no reward in my world. No social change, no monetary benefit. What for? I read Seli Sayan and Robert Kinda every week in the papers and I ask myself what keeps them going.

Susan Nirima, in every other newspaper and magazine, a columnist for almost a decade, what in the world kept her going all this time? I never have mustered the courage to ask her. I guess it is time to sow my royal copy to any bidder, despite doing this for four years; my inconsistency has left me in the bottom of the barrel wondering when, if at all I would ever get that big break.

Writing is my muse, yet it also is my handicap. I gave up. But now I want to start a fresh before like Nerea and Sospeter before me, I give up on life and achieving what I once aspired for. It is nerve raking once again. But I can make it right before it is too late. So World! Here I come…Again!

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Still here – Sunday 22nd February Entry

I have been really nervous lately, not quite sure what to do with myself or what is making me so anxious. When I think of what I am doing, I still don’t understand why exactly it is that I am nervous; there is nothing to be nervous about.

Just woke up from weird dream, I blame watching too much Leverage on it. It had one of my pastors screaming like a wild animal, he had been busted having done something. Wait! No, Leverage has nothing to do with it. This is all because of the lunch conversation I had with Paul. He told me a friend of his was conned by a Pastor of some church.

A pastor with a pharmaceutical distribution business (don’t even ask) had refused to pay over half of the money owed to the supplier, and now it was a criminal case. The only concern was the Pastor was going to pay off the cops and nothing would be done.

If I had the energy, I would ramble on on how rotten this country is. I am tired. I don’t understand why I have been so tired today. All I did was go shopping for about 2 hours yesterday, wake up a normal timing for a meeting, and then head back home tired. I have been tired, and I really don’t understand why at all?

I have barely been able to make much headway with anything. I met Steve yesterday, that conversation was enlingthening. That is a conversation for another day, he texted me scripture today that doesn’t make much sense to me.

I just started the year not wanting to do anything. Nothing at all, I just want to crawl in to a cave and be there alone. Nothing much excites me these days. Most of the time I am more concerned with what’s going on with Andrea. She worries me.

She has fought really hard, getting stronger, she’s back on her feet. She is an inspiration. I realize I get really upset and unsettled when she wakes up unwell. I pray that she won’t have to go through any more chemo. I hate what it does to her. I hate it.

I have been crushing on Ethan again, every time I see him I want to give us a chance again. But a stronger part of me reminds me that he wasn’t worth it then, and he isn’t worth it now. He may have changed, but like what my BFF says, “If a man really wants to be with you, he will go to the ends of the earth to be with you, distance and time is never an excuse.” It took 10 years to realize that.

It is harder being honest with yourself and knocking sense into your self. So here I am not quite in the mood to live life, or engage with people. But life has no pause button; it goes on even as you freeze in the moment. Need to go and get dinner ready, need to sleep early today. I have a long day tomorrow.

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Entry – Monday 16th February 2015

Anger and depression has been the burden that I have carried for the past few months, life hasn’t made much sense. I know the “think positive” mojo and focus on what you can fix here and now. I know that. At times I find it more comforting to wallow in self pity. I did that for a while then I got really bored of it.

I discovered the TV and TV series and that is all I had the heart to engage with. I wake up everyday grateful that I am alive, but I wonder what I really have to offer the world anymore. I am not really interested in suicide; that seems like a cop out on life. I know and understand that this is a phase I am going through. I am learning to put other people’s needs before mine, but nothing prepared me for what I was to walk in to.

Great days, horrible days, anger, frustration, loneliness and then laughter – roller-coaster of emotions that only you and God can make sense of. I prayed this morning when rolled out of bed. I just asked God for his strength and his favour. Because I have nothing else to give, I am a mass of moving flesh and spirit with no idea what direction I should move in.

Do I mind? Most of the time I really don’t; I wish I could press pause on life and nothing else will happen. I can take a 3 month pause and when I have figured things out, press play and life continues. Shame it doesn’t work that way.

Married, single, divorced, depressed, new parents, experienced parents, employed, self employed, angry landlord, threatened tenant, I see them all when I take a walk through the mall. The frustration, the joy, the confused, the apathetic, we are all there. We all wonder what the hell we are here for. Only recently I began to ask myself for how long am I here? Reminiscing on what life would be like if my lost loved ones were never taken from me. Bliss I thought!

Nothing but bliss, can I pause the present and rewind the past and undo the evil that caused me so much heart ache? Can I? Could I bring back my father and sisters? Could I? What would it be like to hug them again and hear their voices, feel their presence in a room? Only for just one minute, just one, can I steal a moment of joy and watch their faces light up as they chat?

But here I am on a bed, on a bright day with a cool breeze kissing my bare feet in front of me. I wonder why life has to be this complex, this sad, this confusing. Why? I ask? Why? I crave for sleep to knock me out of this reality into one more blissful and peaceful, where everything makes sense, and no hurt and confusion reside, a place where no obligations are placed upon me, simply because of my age and status.

Here I lie, type and breath, fighting my closing eye lids to pretend I care about career progression and elevated socioeconomic status. But in all honestly; all I want is peace and joy. The rest really are details.