Rightful Thinking

You make your life through your thoughts; make it well. My grandma used to say this countless times such that it became a saying that I hardly took seriously. It’s still a phrase that may sound cliché to many people until we begin to realize it’s power.

Your thoughts define your inner most being where all things are created before they are manifested in the physical world. It’s the inner most part of our lives and just as the Bible says, "as a man thinketh, so is he" Proverbs 23:7. Meaning that you can structure your life just the way you want it through your thinking. In simple terms, our perceptions and thoughts create our reality.

Thoughts are the most powerful forces in the world.

What is happening in the world today was once a thought. Think about all the powerful technologies; now think about the most pervasive behaviours in our society. All that was once a thought.

Thoughts form. Thoughts transform. Whether they transform us positively or negatively the choice is ours to make.  We all have a strong desire to achieve mega goals in our lives; but how many of us take time to study our thoughts? Because success is first achieved in our thoughts before it’s tangibly evident.

When I was growing up, my parents taught us responsibility. I grew up feeling answerable for others’ well-being especially my siblings. If we were away from home, It was my job to look after them even when someone else was doing it.

Fast forward, the constant thoughts and checks for them in a worrisome manner still beckons even now that they are adults. Their safety, their needs, their behaviour and the people they surround themselves with. I worry about everything! Sometimes.

Truth is we spend so much time worrying about what might go wrong we forget of the good around us. We worry about the future, we replay past negative events over and over and regret our deeds or laxity. We focus on parts of our lives that seem unsatisfactory. We think negative and bring it to life.

How then can we change our negative thoughts (include any thought that pulls you down)?

1)      We MUST have faith in God that He who began the good work in us is faithful to complete it until the day of Jesus Christ. Not until tomorrow, not until next week, not until next year but UNTIL the day of Jesus Christ! Until the very end. We must believe that God cares about our families way more than we do and He has ordained a great future for them. That He is in total charge of whatever it is that worries you so much.

2)      We must be intentional with our thoughts; Learn to take captive every thought that does not align itself with the will of God; guarding your heart and mind because from it springs matters of life. 2^nd Corinthians 10:5. We must acknowledge that negative thoughts exist and be intentional about our thought system.

3)      We must learn to let God be the centre of our thoughts with the help of the Holy Spirit; Learn to take charge of your thoughts through prayer and meditation on His word. He affirms us in His word that he keeps in perfect peace those whose minds stay in Him (Isaiah 26:3).

4)      Surround yourself with positive energy. Positive energy aligns with positive thoughts. Surround yourself with people who appreciate you, people who wish the best for you and wish to see you progress.

5)      When your thoughts fail you, don’t give up. Rise up and keep moving. The Bible says a righteous man may fall seven times; but he will rise again. Every time you fall back into negative thoughts; turn them into positive thoughts, rise up and keep moving (Proverbs 24:16).
6)      Focus on your mental health just as you do with the  physical because it’s equally important. Therapy is important for all of us. Psychological support sessions have been demonized to mean that those who seek them are mad. I believe in interactive sessions that allow me to be aware of my thoughts, their cause and how to take charge. Don’t be ashamed to seek help when you need it. 

While it’s easy to say the above and keep trying, it takes our willingness and God’s grace to have the mind of Christ. A mind that overcomes it all!

Mwende

Get your hands off me!

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I met Maria 3 months ago.

We’ve been talking since then. And we are on a path towards building a thriving friendship.

We next met a month later at Pizza Inn, the one next to Oilibya Petrol Station in Westlands. Obviously on a Terrific Tuesday evening because we both love food.

We had barely settled in when she began.

“When I walked out of the office that Friday evening, I was safe. My gut told me so and I believed it. So right on I walked”.

At first I thought she was reading from somewhere.

Like she was putting an inspirational quote out there for fellow readers to pick up and run with it. But no. She wasn't.

Her face had suddenly turned dull. She appeared gloomy and her eye sockets teary.

And then our conversations turned from laughter to sadness.

I was confused but she went on… “My plan was to catch a mat to Westlands right outside our office” Although most of the times she prefers to take a walk, which she embraced since day one at her workplace. Besides, how do you explain to your old school parents that you turned down a job offer because the place is quite a stretch and matatus can be rare?

“That Friday was no different from any other. It was an eventful day but I had resolved to leave the office on time. Because my mother was visiting over the weekend and I needed to do shopping lest I feed her some 'air-burgers'. She smiled fighting tears.

“I left the office at 5:30pm. I waited for matatus outside the gate but none showed up so I committed to walking.  But before I began my walk, I saw a clique of young men far behind strolling towards the same path I was about to take. Around seven of them. I didn’t mind them because they didn’t seem ‘suspicious’ in any way.

I still wonder how a city that is safe for women and girls would look like. All my life I have been accustomed to ‘advice’ of how I should behave or dress like in order to be safe.

Maria continued… “I kept walking but the same gut told me something,”

You know that feeling you get when someone is staring at you? Yes that one. Maria felt it and fear on top of it. The unsteady place where your body feels unsafe but somehow your feet won't carry you to safety.

“I had walked upto a certain point and when I turned to look, one of the men grabbed me at once. The rest circled me so that no one could see what was happening. It was the same men I had earlier seen” she quivered. “One of them unashamed grabbed my behinds and I felt a twinge of pain run up through my left thigh”. She said fighting tears.

“All these men kept touching me everywhere. Inappropriately. And all I kept doing is throwing their hands off me over and over again”.

My instincts told me to cover the pizza in front of us.

 “When they were finally done, they all left at once and I watched them walk away! Just like that!”

“I can’t remember for how long I stood there shivering while the consuming feeling of being vulnerable overwhelmed me”.

She said this with so much heaviness it cut right through my torso.

“My body felt strange. It still does till this day”. She mumbled

Up to this point, all that I remember is we both sobbed.

Her red heavy eyes now shifting to the side glazed with a gleaming layer of tears. As she blinked, they dripped from her eyelids and slid down her cheeks. She bit her lower lip tightly in an attempt to hide any sound that pleaded to escape from her mouth; my heart sank.

That Friday evening my friend Maria was sexually assaulted.

I can only pray that these wounds will one day be scars.

It’s depressing that such traumatizing experiences continue to occur every day. 

Unlike Maria, not many of us get to talk about it!

Because we (society) have a way of bashing and shaming victims of sexual violence!

While the culprits sadly get away with it. 

We couldn't eat the pizza. There was nothing exciting about it any more. 

Mwende

CHILDHOOD CRADLE

I grew up in some parts of the Yatta plateau singing and looking after goats.

No, I wasn’t convinced that it was the longest plateau in the world. As far as I was concerned, my father’s farm wasn’t big enough to contain the wild goats.

Some folks will tell you that they love nature and bushes; that they enjoy sun-downers under the shadows of the evening sun behind grass-thatched huts. No, I don’t like shadows.

All that I know is the standard here was precise. You were either an obedient happy child or a perverted rebellious crook who was squarely set for failure.

At first I detested grazing and then I realised it wasn’t my choice to make. I could either sob the entire day and still graze or be wise and find a happy place in bonding with the goats. Most of the times I was dumb. I chose wrong.

Primary school was fun. We bonded but we also shared in the pains of the canes.

If you were not carrying firewood to boil your lunch for the day, it was a jerrican of water to calm down the powdered soil in a tattered classroom. Fridays were good relaxed days and teachers had better things to do with their time than just watching out for ‘naughtees’.

Looking back, I think there is part of growing up that is genuine. The kind that childhood is.

The sincerity and unexplainable convictions that are aimed at helping out.

Mine was to be a veterinary surgeon and help my father’s sick goats and occasionally a few cows but mostly just the goats.

I gave up on it in class six when other kids made fun of how uncivilised the career was.

But then two years ago, I met Kenn_ a childhood acquaintance and neighbour.

He had proceeded to the university to pursue his childhood dream of becoming a veterinary physician. It felt like he had just grabbed my dream off my grip when no one was watching.

He was now a competent veterinarian working with one of the prestigious livestock research institutes in the country.

This news caught me off guard. I agitatedly swallowed a salty lump of nasal mucous all at once. I was annoyed with myself for not being brave enough to pursue mine.

I later learnt that primary school life was rough for him; the fact that we shared in this vessel of difficulties calmed my nerves and especially in knowing that the number of those who partook in the pain of arrogant and frustrated teachers was more than just one.

He told me school had not broken any of his bones. ‘You don’t let it break you; no matter how hard life gets’ was his catchy phrase which so far seemed to be working well.

This school roughness had not changed his unruffled, relaxed persona. He still was a pleasant human being.

His zeal was my longing at that point. One, I needed a life phrase to live by.

And two, I required the skill to shake off letdowns. Make them a glimmer that falls off and move on as if nothing happened.

Anyway, story for another day. Back to my meet- up with Kenn.

We met on a Monday evening in one of these busy restaurants in the CBD. On one of those Mondays that you don’t have the energy to work. Not when the weather is this chilly. But you certainly have enough oomph to catch a bus from Ngong, endure the pain of gridlock traffic and even more, pay for a cup of tea with a friend.

“It’s been a minute” it was him screaming from behind me. Close enough to see the goosebumps that formed immediately all over my skin but far enough not to bear any liabilities for my death in case I collapsed.

Scares don’t fascinate me; they terrify me!

“Hey Kenn, you scared me!” I turned to respond while catching heavy breathers.

Kenn and I grew up in the same village but went to different primary schools. Girls said he was cute but I guess I didn’t see it. All that I remember is that his grandma’s house was a safe haven for us when storm invaded our own homes.

He was certainly more composed than when I last saw him.

When I sneaked out of the office on this particular Monday, all that I needed was a perfectly brewed mug of Kenyan Masala tea. One that makes me bath in the kick of its ingredients. I had just moved into one of those neighbourhoods where people still queued for matatus in the evenings from the CBD; something that I found disturbing to do. So instead of standing in the cold for an hour or more, I could gladly walk into a restaurant for my favourite tea. Then end up spending more time there than if I had just joined the queue. And I was totally cool with it.

“It’s been ten years since I last saw you. It can’t be a minute!” I probed as I placed my classy miniature handbag (or so I thought) on one of the chairs on my left hand side.

I had picked a quiet corner that day not knowing that someone chose it too. “I take tea from here a lot and I kinda like this corner too”, he said in between smiles and I wondered where he had learned the 'kinda language' because where we come from, this isn’t English.  I didn’t let that thought dwell in too long.

We had deliberately joined each other for a cup of tea and that’s all we wanted. Plus I thought he was also waiting for the queue at his route stage to shorten.

The hotel was casual and not too crowded. Wide windows faced us from the other side of the room. The furniture was high-end and bespoke. The fabrics were spotless and colour coordinated well with nature. Tiny pentagon beams pointed each table from the ceiling each with exquisite contour. Sitting here for a polite conversation was easy enough to imagine. It was an amusing blend of cheap and expensive both in one bowl.  

Plus the prices were favourable for a girl trying to make it in Nairobi with no intentions of getting a sponsor even when all the pointers seemed to suggest so.

I wasn’t about to shame my grandmother who dedicated her Friday evenings to pray for me and whose supplications were clearly cut-out: to get a husband and many great grandchildren. Both at once because to her family planning is ungodly. “Why would someone destroy what God freely gave?” she kept wondering aloud.  

“These eateries can be so packed”. It’s just 5pm and this place is already full” Kenn interrupted and I wasn’t offended. He sounded too sophisticated than I left him 10 years ago but I wasn’t judging. I mean how many times in a day do you use the word ‘eateries’.

He had changed a lot since then. He now had a shiny and well kempt moustache. One that I found weird looking on his round baby-face.

“How times change!” I smilingly thought to myself remembering  just how in primary school, having signs of growing beard was unacceptable. And so was any tips that tried to show off young girls' chests.

You were not allowed to grow up. Not in primary school!

“Long time. How have you been?” I prompted.

“Life is good and God has been gracious,” he excitedly said and I figured out this is all we should talk about. Family life and work not the intellectual topics on animal insemination in New Jersey.  

“I last saw you in that pitch when you were the king of sprints”, I jokingly said not to revive long-healed wounds. His school lost that dayJ

“Primary school was hard” he interjected. Completely pretending that he did not comprehend my last comment.  I let him continue.

“And then there was the trekking bit. Every single day I wore the same black laced rubbers just for this journey. Once silk black they turned rusty white-brown with dust and tone soles”.

“Count yourself lucky; I didn’t even have shoes!” I said as the waitress walked towards our table to pick our orders after almost an hour of waiting. “I think she doesn’t like her job and now all of us will have to bear with her moods” I whispered as the tall slender waitress came closer. I still think she overheard my statement.

Her white blouse well ironed with the hotel logo easily visible from afar. ‘Because you matter’ neatly printed just below the logo on the right hand pocket.

“We might as well sip that tea two hours later” Kenn rudely looked up at her and for a moment I wondered who the audience was; I or the tall slender waitress.  

Then she reluctantly picked our orders and off she went. The next time I saw her was when I had already outgrown my tea cravings.

“Sorry where were we?” he asked “the trekking bit?” I responded. “I used to walk through the same path every day for 8 years plus two more. Yes I repeated in class one and two” he said running through a text message. I guess it was the wife or probably the kids wondering where dad was. I can’t confirm this information.

He had earlier mentioned that he married Hannah; a childhood friend too and the two were blessed with two girls. My ovaries skipped hard to the news. It’s quite interesting that they were now the third person in our conversation. Reminding me that the clock was ticking fast and mine seemed to be racing.

Is it me or does time seem to move extremely fast these days?

The last time I checked I was 20; just the other day 40 waved at me severally in an otherwise disrespectful manner!

At this point I whispered a quick prayer. The kind that most of us craft over time and engrave them at the back of our minds for those requests that God seems to constantly throw in his parking lot. Or so we think.

I let Kenn continue.

 “There are moments I closed my eyes and part of me kept thinking I was still in my bed with the obvious chores waiting for me – fetching water and feeding my father’s cows”, he posed. At this point all I was doing is nodding. “And then there were moments I closed the same eyes and I was terrified by blows of mother waking me up after wetting my bed”. It was a shift to the extremes. No grey areas”. He shrugged. “Wait a minute, you actually used to wet bed?” I laughed out loud with no glimpse of composure whatsoever. I just couldn’t imagine this huge physique in front of me wetting beds. Well of course he was a child then but it still was a difficult truth to comprehend. 

He didn’t answer that one. We laughed and let it go. “Such was school”. He said while his eyes wandered around looking for the tall slender waitress. “I need my macchiato. We don’t have all the time here!”. He screamed at someone with similar blouse as that of the tall slender waitress and for a moment I wondered, “Who is this man?”

He had the ability to shift personalities and shove away emotions. In just under a minute he had shifted from the shouting, fuming guy with wide blood-shot eyes calling out for his macchiato to a calm, collected gentleman seemingly too keen on whatever I said. I was amused. “He wasn’t like this 10 years ago!” I thought to myself now imagining that he was possibly brainwashed and recruited into one of those terrorism gangs.  I hear those groups are strange.  Then I brushed off those evil thoughts.

I guess people grow up plus situations and people change you. I mean I had also quite grown in those 10 years. The English I ‘breathed out’ now was way better and polished. So I concluded he was just stressed.

It’s like he also had a way of timing my thoughts. Every time I concluded on a thought, he automatically picked up our discussion “Plus you counted yourself unlucky if the teacher on duty had a squabble with your mother”, he continued.

The tall slender waitress was back with our orders. Now with a badge printed her name (which we will not mention here). I didn’t even care about that tea anymore.

Kenn received his macchiato calmly and I gave him a moment for a few sips just to confirm it the kind of macchiato he was anticipating.  He said no word after the sips and I let it be.

“By the way you were very active in church those days, do you still sing in that choir?” He excitedly asked reading through my eyes. “Yes I still do but it’s been a while”, I lied. I wasn’t in the choir anymore and I wasn’t about to ask for a sinner’s prayer. Truth is, I needed to score some points here. I needed him to see that I was still in faith.

At this point Kenn glanced at the wall clock on the wall right next to us alerting that time was really rushing. He seemed comfortable though so we continued. We chatted a bit about his wife and kids then continued with his childhood stories.

He mentioned that his two beautiful girls were intelligent and an apple of his eye. I could see that they melted his heart.

I hoped that grandma remembered to pray that I would melt my husband’s heart too; in waiting.

But I continued before the emotions overwhelmed me.  

“I recall us habitually practising and flexing our vocals every Saturday afternoon within the confines of the sanctuary. Mwove the young man who used to be in charge of the instruments devotedly set them up for us. A skilled gentle man who was the pride of his father and every parent wanted their sons to turn out just like him. He was easy-going, placid and considerate.

“Can I order more macchiato?, You want some?. It’s really good” he apologetic interrupted which was necessary. I agreed to have some. Plus I hadn’t tested this thing and I needed to know what it was. As long as it was alcohol free!

My culture does not approve of women drinking. It’s funny that men can.

They say a woman might get drunk and forget the baby in the 'shamba'.

It was getting late. It was almost 8:30pm and I needed to leave but I wasn’t about to leave without having a macchiato. When the two-anticipated mugs were finally brought, we agreed to be done by 9:00pm. The air was thick with the scent of the espresso coffee that I first drank into its aroma. It’s baffling I didn’t smell it at its first order.

I literally savoured it but I wasn’t regretting my brewed Kenyan Masala tea.

“The church taught us that we were only supposed to sing for God and that He heard us; and that’s all that I did”, I said laughing.

“Whatever sound I made out of my mouth, I attached it to God in faith wholeheartedly.

Faith to me was killing all the bad thoughts in my mind at that point, focusing on the song at hand and singing out as loud as I could. If the pastor was nodding, then God was listening”. I added alerting that it was time to go home.

We chatted a little bit more just to finish the macchiato and agreed to hold another date. This one would focus on my church memories.

We drained the macchiato up to the last drop and left.

By the way the matatu queue was not there at that time.

I got home late that evening too sleepy but persuaded that the things I was today were once childhood dreams.  For those that died, I let them. And it was time to be okay with it.

Did I pay for the tea? I can’t remember. Kenn paid for the Macchiato.

Mwende

Introvertedly Soothed

Introvertedly Soothed

Yes I am an introvert.

I know. Many of you will confuse me for an extrovert.

Let me just say that sometimes I become more alive when submerged into loud crowds; but most of the times quietness is therapeutic.

I do not mind cosy dinners at home all by myself and yes I haven’t watched a single episode of ‘Game of Thrones’.

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We will still show up for the party and enjoy just like the rest of the world; the difference is we will remember more the snapshots of the time we retreated to a calmer corner of the dance hall just to dive right into an inspirational book or a one-on-one chitchat with a friend.

And thereafter we will wish we were home alone in our pyjamas.

Plus we will be deeply hurt if you didn't invite us.

And no, we are not snobs.

Allow me to re-introduce myself.

I am a lover of life, I like funny stories; and occasionally I allow myself to burst out in laughter for no apparent reason.

Reading triggers my soul and thinking through things however miniature they seem is something I can’t avoid,

I love food but I still wish to retain these curves; I think I have gorgeous cheekbones.

Be warned that I ask a lot of questions but you don’t have to answer them all.

I love parties and sleepovers and frequently retrieve back to myself to revitalise and think some more,

And yes I hurt from the pains of this world and empathy does not allow me to switch off.

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For countless times I have beaten up myself for statements I  made in cliques months ago; because I think I should have done better.

And yes sometimes I fleece back to re-make the bed after him; because I think it’s not neat enough.

I pick what to wear tomorrow today because I can’t stand the early morning hustle.

“You are so many of you in here’, that’s what I whispered when I was invited to read a bible passage at a friend’s wedding sermonette. Just to mention that I had been rehearsing the chapter for close to three weeks.

I was nervously wobbly and at some point, I gasped for air.  

And this has been a phobia of mine for quite some time.

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It’s gotten better with time except for the heart-leaps every time I step up to speak_ I am still learning to calm it down.

I have had to constantly convince myself to speaking up because it doesn’t come naturally to me.

Truth is we all have something to say; just that some take longer to articulate it than others.

And while we fight, we must learn to care. Because we all are fighting greater battles that can only be fought first from our minds in a place of stillness.

Some have conquered; others still fight on_ because there is no giving up.

For why else would we be still here?

Mwende 

A Resolution

Its two days to the end of February!

How far are you with your new year’s resolutions?

Let me knowJ.

Well, this is how I felt when I set my 2016 resolutions; some of which are yet to be realised.

I felt like these three persons were holding a meeting inside my brain; and they were sipping coffee. I sniffed it.

One was as negative and dark as a demon on a toad stool. He advised against all my moves, “you will fail and then you will look like a fool” he kept shouting.

The second sounded like sunshine. Charming and reassuring. ‘hey, it’s a brilliant idea and you got the ability”. He gently said.

The third person was just a sluggish zombie. He was dozing on and off clearly disinterested in the matter. “Listen toddler, this bogus dream of yours will take a lot out of you. It is very demanding and certainly impossible” He whispered.

After they had their fair share of my time, they all looked at me weirdly waiting for my decision.

Now let’s see…

So for 2019, I dismissed their summit.

How could I let them break me again?

Then I found my harmony.

It’s a Saturday evening, exactly two days to the awaited announcement by the examinations body on KCSE results. My sister who has sustained an excellent track record in previous years assures us of success and so we rejoice.

The sun sets down paving way to tiny glimpse of stars, the air now cooler brushes through my earlobes as I hold tightly to the only torche in the entire home. It was a gift from my grandmother. May her soul rest in peace. I move it gently with every move my brother makes as he carefully skins off the goat. The light submits.

We are a carnivorous family. we love meat. Goat meat. Don’t get me wrong.

We salivate at the aroma of grilled mesh-wire goat meat miles away.

So for this particular day, father decides to roast a full goat for us to celebrate my sister’s success in waiting.

I know, stop asking ‘what if’. We simply believed in her brilliance plus we can’t just let this male-goat drift-away. We deserve meat!

So everyone is busy tightening up bits and pieces of the feast.

Mother is cooking ugali, the genius in waiting lights up the fire and gets tough logs to carry us through the night. Father obviously gets the mesh-wire from the store and aligns it for the appointed task. It’s a fiesta.

It’s well coordinated and things seem to fall in place. Because things to do with food shouldn’t flop!

With every bit of coherence, the party moves closer and before we know it, both food and bonfire are here.

We are roasted from the front while frozen from behind with the bonfire cooking us gently. There is something about the flame; not too much to burn you off, but harsh enough to shrink off your skin hairs.

The feast went on into the night, everyone more inspired than they should, and a tray of roasted meat going in rounds at the fire place. You are only permitted to pick a piece at a time and pass!

Father says he’s not about to breed greedy monsters!

It’s a family tradition.

We eat, talk, laugh and thank God for the far we have come.

We hardly touched on the topic of the day_ the anticipated KCSE results.

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But we laughed and talked and that’s all that mattered.

So we pray and disperse to catch some sleep before another day.

Then mother who has been giggling and babbling says something. The only important word that I carried from the party.

“It’s time to TAKE FLIGHT and FIND COURAGE to pursue that dream that seems too far”.

So That night, way past new year’s resolutions' time-frames, I made a resolution. And I called it a GOAL. Because the word RESOLUTION scares me. I didn’t want it to hurt me in the middle of the night reminding me of the things I didn’t do.

So I made a goal this year;

That I will smile to strangers and share in the glow of the moment.

That I will genuinely and intentionally love and allow myself to be loved.

That I will honour this girl with so huge dreams that she can hardly stomach.

That I will carefully listen to others with the intention to understand them better.

That I will listen and meditate on how God moves.

That I will take guitar classes and drink more water.

That I will honour and love my family; and once in a while sneak off for a mesh-wire grilled goat meat.

And yes I am on track.

Mwende