My truth (I)

I won’t come on with the “sorry I forgot about you people” cliche,no am here to call myself out so if you don’t mind,excuse me.

Until I watched Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s “The danger of a single story,”I was lying to myself ,my mind and to literature itself.

Ask me about books written by African authors like Ngugi Wa Thiong’o,Chimamanda,bloggers like Bikozulu,Binyavanga…

What do you think I would tell you about this people?Truly,I would tell you they are all wonderful people,wonderful writers with beautiful creative minds and I would name books like Coming to Birth just to make you think I have actually read the whole book.Sorry I disappointed you.

It’s true,I grew up reading books written by white people who are overjoyed when the sun comes up,who go out and play in the snow,have blue eyes and straight hair that forms ponytails.I didn’t read a lot of African literature and neither did I imagine that people with kinky hair could exist in books,speak fluent English,a language I fell in love with as a kid.

My writings reflect a lot on what I read as a child ,growing up and adoring American literature,beautiful ladies with blonde hair and emerald eyes,blue eyes.

Reading a lot on wattpad during high school and adoring my fellow students that wrote so well.I just wanted to be like them so I did my own writing, both poetry and stories and posted them on wattpad.

Coming to university,almost a sophomore now,I have come to terms with accepting and loving African literature.For one,because I have to read about 43 novels for my unit on Kenyan literature and second,because Chimamanda motivated me to.The reading and criticisms that come with this…

But just to confess,a lot comes with American literature;words that I use as slang and a whole new revolution of romance,it disturbs my mind.I know people who would die for these kinds of books.I understand how you feel.We still love the well explained sessions and the good number of pages that come with it.

So if I hadn’t listened to Chimamanda’s speech I would still be struggling to match my writing to that of Anna Todd not knowing I could be me, a black girl with a passion for literature and that a person like me with kinky hair that frustrated me when I looked at How long and straight Troian Bellisario’s hair was,could also exist in a well written novel even though I wasn’t dipping my legs in a pool but in a river with omena😂.


Letter to my daughter

Dear future daughter,

I will start with the name I will give you.
Most probably Gekondo…in my natives,gekondo means a monkey…I will give you this name or another so that when that handsome boy winks at you and starts saying hi every morning,he will remember your name and leave you alone.
They will most probably laugh at you for having a name like that and I know you will want to change that name to Kerubo or an English name that you would want.

I don’t know,I should choose Teresa for a change.
Teresa is a sweet one.Can do for both English and Gusii right?
I wouldn’t give you a choice.
Like your grandmother,you will be strong and very strict,still,just like me you will learn through a writer’s point of view or a poet or am I insinuating things?
Like your cousin,you will learn to be humble,modest.Did I forget meek?
I cannot promise you that I will not discipline you,my dear I will let my mother write a book about discipline and lend it to me for starters.You haven’t lived till you live with her.
I am sure that you will be petite,very smart and well spoken.
I will leave out the charming part because I don’t want you to be proud.
I am not a good parenting advisor because I am not yet a parent myself.But for you,this I write.
I hope you have a tenor voice and white set of teeth and a weird laugh that attracts not the boys but the literature.
For sure your father must love these qualities …the voice and laughter because whoever loves them will be your father.

I will wake you early for school and warn you that I won’t do it again,I will hide your mobile phone and disable your internet,change that WiFi password and make you eat”rikuneni,”our exquisite vegetable.
My daughter,you must know about your culture plus your native language.

Your grandmother speaks good English but still,I will want to hear you speak ekegusii like a pro.

Goodbyes are like bile…Bitter

“I am glad that there’s something that makes me sad when am saying goodbye.”This is one common line people say these days😂.
If I don’t get emotional it only means nothing good happened that is worth being called a memory.
There are times I cry when I say goodbye to people or maybe things.
There are many things I hold on to.I am a hoader.
I get so attached to a lot for instance characters from a whole lot of series movies,lines I will live to remember .
I may cry after I board that cab and sit at the window reviewing every detail,every memory.I will hold my chest and sob as the tears flow and I feel like my salivary glands are giving out bile.
I will watch the trees and smile through the tears.Look at pictures and remember the smallest things.
These are the best moments of my life.But at the same time,this is saying goodbye to things and people I got so attached to and it hurts.
Some of these people,you might or might not hear from them.
Some relationships end and some begin.
We later come to live with the fact that all may not be the same again.We move on…from our fears and from what used to be our strengths.
We find new places to dwell and feel our hearts swell again.
Something about goodbyes ,they come with forgiveness and forgetfulness.
We forgive those who wronged us for example through high school;the bulllies and the mean.
We embrace the forgetfulness fully.We lose contact with those we were so close to.
We embrace that change and people become different.Some get more sophisticated,some are humbled,others wisen up.
Some like me,grow to cherish and keep their friends close.We learn how to connect and as well forget about other people who don’t really want to be remembered.
I am good at remembering people I have stayed or interacted with,unlike my friend who doesn’t remember who she stepped on when fetching water during her last year in high school.
We become ambitious and forget that there are people who care about us and those that we should look out for and some of us don’t really look back to see what happens.We don’t check to see who got hurt or who got lost.We just keep going ,because we care about “us.”
Keep track of your selfishness sometimes.

How can this get more cliche’?
Like how many more times can this actually go on.
I ask myself the same question for the umpteenth time as I walk down the Same road I have walked for the last six months.
In those six months,this was still the question that made my brain spin except a few times that I walked with friends and had ice cream to cheer me up and laugh the hurt out.
I have not quite grasped the meaning of people saying “don’t date writers,” …I have not said I am a writer but I manage my feelings better on paper than while talking to someone face to face.Here I falter.Did I get that word right?
Writers are the best people to date sometimes.
I actually feel a lot better after reading books,poems all that written stuff.I feel like I exist in this other world that I am so familiar with and I don’t want these moments to end.
I cry and laugh and smile,scoff,huff… you mention it.
I can write stuff all day when I feel angry ,disappointed.
I think I have too many feelings to dispose of.
Maybe I am too interesting when we are actually chatting and seem very boring when we are together and actually talking face to face or let’s just say mouth to mouth.
Oh well🤷🏼‍♀.

I am nearing my place when a warm tear wets my cheek.
I let it flow ,let the emotions flow.(This is the part where you should comfort me).
I sit on that balcony near my room and check my pockets to find a hankie and blow my nose but I can’t find it.
No tissue,no handkerchief.
Tell me what to use,hands or my trench coat?Fill that in for yourself.Am happy with your choices too.

I have never had a suicidal feeling and this is not going to be the first.I take off the wrist band and walk back to the pond at the back of the storey building.
I stand there for a long time as if am waiting for the one person I want to show up at this minute but doesn’t.
I throw the band into the water and hope it doesn’t float.
Well of course metals don’t float and since this is stagnant water am hoping to only find mosquitoes on the banks.Unless there is a mermaid or merman watching and waiting to place it back on the banks.
I put my hands in my pockets and walk away.
This got a lot more cliche than I thought but oh well!Have it.



So about today, am sitting under this kibanda with a plate of chafua in front of me.
Chafua is a dish of chapati that is cut into sizeable pieces,with a touch of beans and bean soup…a touch of beans means ten countable beans😂😆
Am lifting my full spoon to my mouth when I see this guy.
I think my jaw dropped.
My spoon literally hang in the air with drops of hudhurungi soup hitting a piece of chapo.Like splash erosion,the soup forms a pattern on my white sweatshirt.I know I mentioned this sweatshirt the other day.I just kind of wore it today again because I was,well just forget about it.
I didn’t realize how long I stared until my partner at lunch today burst into laughter.
You still want to know how long?
The desires of the heart,the eyes,the body and the mind…they make us do ungodly things.Don’t they?
Forget I said desires.

The guy orders his plate of chipo (chips/fries) and adjusts his leather jacket as he starts walking to the opposite table.
“Heyy” he murmurs.

Did he just say heyy?
That was the flirty type of “hey” right?I ask my partner.Her name is Mary.
She rolls her eyes,for one,that is a yes.Like she actually agreed with me that that was a flirty type of hey.
She rolls her eyes a little bit too much and I tend to think they might be stuck in some state someday.
Second,she didn’t want to tell me that the guy caught me staring at him with a suspended spoon in the air and an open mouth.
Am I a dork?
I don’t know what’s with boys or men in this school.They eat more chips than the ladies do.
Africans tend to think men should eat something heavy?not that light.That should be a snack not lunch.
So I expected him to have a plate of ugali and matumbo,with kachumbari on the side.
Look at me,planning people’s lunches while I do the same menu everyday.
Don’t dare laugh at me.School menu is just not so appealing
“Did you answer the cute guy?”
“Am sorry what?”
“Stop stealing my lines.”
“Yeah well,you are not the only ones who picks lines from the movies girlfriend.”
And no,I am a dork so he can’t possibly acknowledge another dorky stare from a girl like this.Not to mention a wave.
“You mean he might lose his appetite?”
“You are just being mean.”

I stand up from the table and start walking to the lecture hall.
In my mind,am planning out my perfect life with handsome guy.
And then you say I don’t have dreams?
It’s not the dreams taut you are thinking.
Just slap yourself first and think straight🤷🏼‍♀
I haven’t told you about the part that my friend described as the crucial undressing part.
She said that he looked like someone with six packs,a little bit of chest hair,smells of good perfume maybe Chelsea …I haven’t yet decided if I like chest hair or not.
He would look more like Zac Efron if he had bangs on his head…zac from High school musical?17 Again?Does that ring a bell?
Okay you had bad teenage years if you didn’t watch that.
She went ahead to describe how he would look in a vest clinging to his chest due to his being sweaty after the morning run…I don’t want to imagine any more of this.
She told me that he would pull his pants down…his torso…brothers and sisters,you might want to be a queer or gay.
I haven’t mentioned that gay guys are actually handsome,have I?
There you have it.
Should I continue to his well tonned thighs?or his…

“So what do you think of religion and society according to Chinua Achebe’s Things Fall Apart?”
This is exactly how the lecture came to an end.
With me stuck in either side of telling you guys the lunch story or Chinua Achebe’s …either way both fell apart plus everything I was planning on telling you

Book break (book heartbreak)

I am back here again…you know,about that heartbreak stuff I was telling you about.
This time,I am telling you it’s for the love of books.I swear it is.
Like any other student at this time of the semester,last night,I slept at one.I didn’t really want to sleep but the fangs of sleep were biting hard into my eyeballs I could feel my pupils dilating.So I let my guard down and set my alarm for three forty five(the fifteen minutes were for snoozing😂)
Any person can tell what happened after this.
Of course I drifted into my sleep,sweet sleep and drooled in my thoughts or dreams.

Three forty five…Jesus take…the hand that was limp moved,involuntary response I think,and put off the alarm.
Three fifty…Jesus take the
Jesus please,the sleep is just getting sweeter and better,do you really have to do this?
The involuntary response comes again…off.
Three fifty five…Jesus take the wheel,take it…
“Oh my goodness Beverly,can’t you just shut that thing if you can’t get your ass out of bed?”

Okay that’s it.That is what I needed,for someone to call my precious phone a thing.This is my baby for goodness sake,how dare she?
That is how I lost my sleep,crawled out of bed and stared hard at her-the girl who refers to my phone as a “thing.”
I took out my Sociology notebook and then it hit again,yeah the alarm.I grabbed my phone and shut the alarm.It was four.

I have been regressing for the past one hour and so I ask my friend to explain to me what she has been reading.

I was only hoping that she wouldn’t feed me with wrong information because this is that time of the semester to be selfish and pay back someone for not lending you her charger😂.Am not the selfish kind😏

This is that time when scholars feel important.
They walk down the halls with books tucked under the arms like Lawyers and some with pencils on their ears like a carpenter.
Nobody really bothers to carry that fancy bag that they bought at Westside so that they could slay all semester.
Everybody wants to blend in to the litters of white and ink and the mood that is easily sparked during these days.
It is eight in the morning,I pull out that white sweat shirt from my locker and pull it over my head.I want to believe that this is my lucky cloth and so I tie my hair in a ponytail and put on some perfume.
I pick my pen and identification card and walk to that lecture room ready to squash those questions.

“Hey Beverly,can you hit me with some answers on Ethnology and Ethnographic research?”

“Hey,yeah sure.If I know what that even means.”

(That was the quiz sheet talking to me😏)

My book break,heart break.

Egerton university scholar bookbreak😏

Paper Hearts😂😂

My alarm screamed minutes ago but I kept snoozing it,hoping it’s not morning,that it’s not another dawn for my dark eyes with bags and a heavy heart to go through suffering all over again.
I can’t stand the light when I know it’s too dark to see through those rays ,I can’t stand seeing people live my dream all day long.
I can’t watch that,I can’t read this,they hold too much of similar memories to mine.
So I cry all day,and whimper,sulk…Most of the time when I haven’t drifted to sleep when I am out of strength and tears and I have a splitting headache.
I can picture myself enjoying a piece of chicken in that restaurant,kfc or maybe kempinsky.Yeah,he was much of a “showy” person but caring enough to grab my chicken out of my plate.I know right?
He said he wanted to give me the best
I think of those times when we sat at the fireplace and he held me.
I moved closer and closer and then just like that,I am under him and I can’t spell PLEASURE the damn correct way
I hit rock bottom with this one.
Kissed me once ,twice ,thrice,several times,got under him ,on top of him and vice versa.
Under him once,twice,thrice,God,even fifty times. How many times really?I cannot recall a place that isn’t “sacred” in that room.You understand right?
I never got tired of the crap.
My muse.Haha my muse.
Screwed me over severally.mostly with pictures of girls and him sleeping around.What that ego can do!Yeah well,am not surprised or are you?
I cannot really talk about heartbreaks,mine last longer than any I have seen or heard of.
The pinch comes back sooner when I see an uploaded photo on instagram,or Facebook or that sarcastic tweet.Oh my!And then when he texts,I think I go all the way back to stupid and naive and then flood with regrets after.
To be precise,he’s never really gone,he’s gone and back to stay .
You still don’t understand ?Cannot blame you.I am also thick at doing explanations.Couldn’t get any better.
Walk through the corridors at night and bump into that couple making out and you feel quite out of place.Of course I am out of place.
And yeah,growing old and less attractive everyday.Am not Julie Gichuru you know,I don’t age like fine wine.
Damn!You should see this lady.
When I was a kid,I sat closer to the television set and watched her,not the news,she sounded perfect to me,maybe still does.
I loved listening to her.The way she spoke that Kizungu,it got me drooling😂.
Who never had a dream of being a newscaster?Not everything works out our way most of the time☹☹
My life wouldn’t be any different you know,I wouldn’t change a thing because I have had the best of both worlds,mostly sour but I also lived a little ,enjoyed to some extent and appreciated those moments that I still long for.