Friends & Benefits

What do you think of when you hear the word ‘quake’? More of that later.

2BF5 turned 18 yesterday. And W turned 21 on Saturday the 2nd. Welcome to (the much vaunted but really quite ordinary) world of adults, 2BF5; don’t worry if the difference is the same. W, now you can drink legally in even more jurisdictions in the world. Bliss. And the world ages yet again 🙂 Those two are some of the best friends a girl could ask for. But this post is (surprise! Surprise!) not about them. It’s about what happens when one girl lands a job that involves computers and cigarettes. And the stories that grow from that occurrence. Not necessarily in that order.

@ partners with various entities that support it in one way or another. On Wednesday of last week, I benefited from one of those arrangements. I got to attend an exclusive event that commemorated the awarding of $1million to a Kenyan tech firm for a mobile phone application (read the story here & learn more about the app here). It drew quite an interesting lot. Journalists, techies, dignitaries (yes, I said dignitaries. Like senior government officials & such) and the crowd that keeps Nairobi interesting (sometimes called bloggers) as well as twitterati (don’t I just love such words. In a few years, Oxford University Press shall publish it in an edition of its much-beloved Advanced Learners’ Dictionary. Poor learners.)… I was, quite honestly, just a lackey (with the quaint little title that is ‘usher’) but I earned ca$h mone¥ and met all sorts of interesting people.

Speaking of interesting people, I joined a UN agency committee that seeks to improve the lot of youth in Kenya and influence national youth policy in the country. Our first meeting was on the same day as the aforementioned job. It proved to be quite a busy day. Now I know how those jet setters who work myriad jobs do it. Sheer planning and determination. I feel blessed. All these opportunities that have been made available to me are cause for celebration. Joy. Rumination.

I would never have got the job (and money) were it not for Lionel (who I spoke of in my last post) and a drinking event that occurred that involved him, our overall boss at our @ chapter and our workmate, a certain MarkTM (that’s tracking manager, not trademark, thanks for asking). He jocularly asked me if I wanted a paying job and next thing we all know, your woman is at an event that rocked. So thanks, Lionel; with friends like you 🙂 🙂 That drinking party resulted in my drinking KK(Kenya King), a Kenyan spirit with 39.5% alcohol content. This being me, the 14% (woohoo!!) wine drinker., it was an experience like no other. A sweetness in my mouth, burning sensation in my throat, and warmth all over my body. But I liked the taste, that I shall not deny. Once I stopped taking it neat and threw in some soda called Krest Bitter Lemon, I was on a roll.

KK made me hyper-active. X, Mo, Marie, and yes, you, Magaribina; stop raising your eyebrows. I am not hyperactive. I went back to my room and did a ton of laundry till 2am. You read right, 2am. Couldn’t sleep. Oh, well, it’s better than being stupid and drunk. So, I guess every so often it’s good to go out of my comfort zone and experience what happens on the other side.

I’m a geek, it seems. That’s the reason I use, and like, Linux. And is that fact, I was asked, a mark of class? I was quite amazed by that question. Class, you say? I think not. I miss my friend L (aka Best Friend). She was around for the summer and we had a sleepover and weekend-over while she was around. It was great seeing her again after so long. Either Canadians have no accent or she didn’t pick one up. I was so happy to hear her voice when she called me the day after she arrived. It was a great summer for me. And she likes Linux, too. My friend Z, whose family so kindly opened its door and heart to me, was also in Kenya. I didn’t get to see her but I spoke to her; too. Did I say earlier that I am blessed? I shall say it again here. These girls remind me of the power of love and friendship. Continents away from me and yet we know that if we pick the phone, the other shall be on the other end ready to speak. Now that is love.

I joined a Bible Study (BS) group last month. I went for the first few meetings with X. I’ve missed only one meeting so far. Which meeting I missed because E & X took me to the students’ clinic as I threw up and had a migraine. The GP thought I was pregnant (only the second time that has happened in less than one month), as had another GP when she saw me knitting. Yes, knitting; how folksy. I’ve tried to get X to let me ask his mum to tutor me but I sense some reticence & being as my BS leader warned me against having relations that were too warm with the mother of my boyfriend, I shall probably never receive any lessons from XM. Oh well, the best laid plans of mice and men often come to nought (read Robert Burns’ poem here). The way that came out, my BS sounds like a cult (my leader said not to….) but we are just a motley collection of sinners. Some redeemed and some, such as yours truly, just doing what they can to be on the right side.

The job mentioned above. Myself, the Queen (so named by J because of the stunts he pulls) & a guy whose @ name is Member (who, I have realised, can do quite a good job of excluding one from @ activities and creating a members-only feeling) & D. We all, excluding Member, stood together after the job and smoked D’s cigarettes. What bliss; to be able to partake of cancer sticks among friends. The Queen & I had a chance to speak as the event wound down. He is a most interesting character….and a friend’s friend. Which is always a compliment. And the rest; I got to see new sides to them. Interesting, likeable sides. If @ continues like this-friendship, opportunities and,yes, money-I’ll enjoy the ride. Opportunities, I said. Because of another ushering job, I got to attend an amazing event (granted, I had planned on attending either way<<<‘granted’ is such an X word 🙂 There goes Miss Girlfriend) where I got to learn all sorts of intriguing things that will help me influence my family and community.

I might get to be a witness at the officiating of my friend’s union sometime next month. I say might because it’s an Islamic ceremony and I might be disqualified by my non-Muslimness. I’m excited for her. It takes guts for someone to make that sort of commitment. And the fact that she’s chosen to make it is a source of hope for me. It is possible to be happy in a marriage even if you are a member of our jaded generation. And I say jaded under advisement. We have seen the marriages of our parents and loved ones descend into chaos or be revealed to be shams and yet we take that risk ourselves. My brother was delighted to hear the news (being as Miss Lady is his big sister’s big sister) and, during our last conversation; asked after her and how the wedding preparations were going.

My brother. He is part of the reason I disappeared from the blogosphere. He had a stack of drama at school. And being like a child of mine, it threw me off-balance. He was out of school for a month during which I spoke to all sorts of people in an effort to reinstate him in school. Do these things only happen in Kenya or are they the scourge of developing countries? A month out of school because of a few teachers’ vendetta against one’s parent is enough to demoralise even the strongest child. But my brother is not just strong. He is the child of my parents. And my father and mother have not surmounted all those odds for their child to be beaten down by injustice. He still maintains his enthusiasm for education (thankfully, he’s known education and school to be divorced for a while) and now that he is back in school, he looks forward to high school with renewed dedication. Alliance High School; here comes The Shaboozle’s brother, T.

My brother. A delightful child who once drew X aside to advise him to treat me well, with respect, and not to cheat on me. T at 9. Indeed. I reminded X of that the other day. That infidelity would mean the end of whatever we have at the time at which it happened. He said, later, that my statement sounded like a dare. To cheat, to leave, to whatever. Honestly. I thought it was just a statement of fact. And after Tuesday of this week, I think it’s stretching it a bit to not want me to make such a statement. Tuesday, when I went to this opening where my friend J was showing one of her pieces. Before I lose focus, please go see it if you can. Tuesday, when X stood me up. Tuesday, when I [stupidly] called him to fish out an apology (sometimes I behave like an abused woman). Tuesday when he told me a story where all he kept doing was digging his own grave. He & my friend had taken over his cousin’s Facebook status update. This is a common happening, something I have done in the past myself. Then they had proceeded to talk of something he owed her with him explaining to his cousin (remember him?) that he knew her through ‘a friend’ (that would be yours truly). Ahem. I was explaining to 2BF5 today what really irritated me about that incident. In the conversation where he gives me an apology that the Swahili would describe as ‘shingo upande’ (literally; from the side of the neck to mean done grudgingly), he describes how he charms a girl in a public forum in which I am referred to as a ‘friend’. I have seen, in my life, the way a cheating spouse usually doesn’t lie from day 1. He may tell you all the story but as the story grows elements are removed to protect one or whatever notion crosses his mind. He has it in him to perpetuate a conversation with the friend of his ‘friend’ in a public forum where he sometimes does not deign to speak to the said ‘friend’. He repeats this story to me after telling me the reason why he didn’t even think to call me to cancel was because he had been derailed by his @ team. Well, thanks for making me see how the land lies; Mr Man. As I have said before; part of the reason I’m in college is because I’m smart. I get it.

I was bought a wonderful book by 2BF5 called ‘Notes from an Exhibition‘ last week. Hence the question at the beginning of this post. The story revolves around the loves, lives and losses of a group of people who are all influenced by a woman who dies at the beginning of the book who has bipolar disorder. It hit really close to home because my maternal grandmother was put in a mental institution several times in her lifetime before her death when I was 6. Like the central character in the book, she was quite a character. And strong. I laughed and cried in equal measure as I read that book. Never before has the content of a book spoken my truth so clearly. And it showed what I have always believed-that the human experience is universal. The differences are just those of location, names, race. But fundamentally, we are all the same. And I want to thank X for giving me the courage to say the words I have just said. In this post, he speaks his truth and in this one I speak mine. A lady in the book expresses her fear of pregnancy because her child may be mentally unstable. But the lady’s death gives her courage. Pregnancy, childbirth, rearing a human being; these are acts of courage. And the book also affirmed my admiration for my grandparents. My grandmother for living with a disease that has none of the glamour of most chronic diseases and raising well-balanced children who are adults anyone would be proud of and my grandfather for being a great dad and having the courage to live with her and stick by her side.

The book spurred me to attend a meeting of The Religious Society of Friends. Sometimes called Quakers. A group of people who, in the book, were calm and loving and welcoming. Sitting together in silence, contemplating God. No creeds, no chants, no hard and fast rules. I spoke to 2BF5 about the group and we ended up going for the meeting together this last Sunday, bless his multicoloured socks. Both our mothers were quite flummoxed by our choice of experimental religious group. His, especially. In Kenya, each church assumes a tribal profile, and that of Quakers in Kenya is a Luhya one. My mother, married to a Luhya, was quite aware of the Friends Church. Awareness doesn’t mean she took the decision to attend lightly; I have been known to have attended a church that, it later emerged, was a cult. 2BF5’s mother, on the other hand, was concerned but her concerns were similar to my mother’s: What draws you there? And our answers were similar: This group seems to have what we, as young people, so greatly desire. At this point, I want to thank my friend L for helping me know meeting times so 2BF5 & I could attend and 2BF5 for coming along with me. X was not impressed by 2BF5’s presence; saying he’d go with me to the next meeting. This is to be seen. Though in this one instance, I can’t be said to be choosing 2BF5 over X who has always declared his allegiance to his preferred church…

I was attacked last week but one. The only people I have told bar you are X, 2BF5, E & my Twin. E was the first I told as I went to her room after the occurrence to regroup. The Twin was not impressed by the fact that I didn’t tell her till the next day (religion and varied interests have pulled us apart, you can’t blame me…) The man was walking towards me one minute and the next thing I knew, there I was, on the ground with your woman being muzzled. Wrong move, buster…. I screamed my heart out. I had these thoughts running through my mind during that time: >I am being attacked >>I shall be raped by this man. These thoughts coalesced into >This man attacking me shall rape me<. Which made me scream so loudly that the cars that were on the road next to the scene (this was a major junction, close to midnight) stopped and my assailant fled. A man opened his door, asked if I had been robbed (no), hurt (no, again) and advised me to run home. Which admonition I obeyed readily. I have never been so afraid of the sight of a man that when one asked me if I had been the one screaming, I couldn’t get the voice to say; yes. I have become fearless; but maybe I need to be afraid. Had I not been fearless, I would not have been in that situation. Isn’t this what always happens? The victim blaming herself? I did not ask for it; I am stronger than the coward who tried to scare me into fearfulness.

X lost his grandfather less than a month ago. He spoke of his sorrow and his loss. And wrote about it (read his reaction here) and showed me new sides of himself. Such as the fact that he thinks of loss as a private thing. That he acknowledged my attempts to be there for him, stand by him at the funeral but politely declined. The fact that he wants to speak and yet your woman is always talking, talking, talking. If I just, well, shut up; he’d say his truth. The fact that he takes his role as the strong man seriously. That family really does mean a lot to him (this is nothing new but he reaffirmed his devotion to family); his love for his mother. What his grandfather meant to him and how men mourn. Differently from women; privately. That I count for something. Yes, I know what I said up there. But the fact that he spoke of his loss said something about how he feels for me. I remember how I pushed him away when my uncle passed away earlier this year. And yet the one person I wanted to hug me, to touch me, to tell me we would all survive….was him. I looked at my parents and how my father comforted my mother and I thought to myself, “I wish I had that.” And yet I did-he had offered to be there for me and I had said no. Because that is how I mourn; almost like self-flagellation. And so seeing him reach out to me said he loved and trusted me enough to believe I would be there for him. I care about him, I admit. And while, as I said, I may sometimes act like an abused woman; I have seen sides to this man that remind me why I stay with him…

Benefits: my assailant thought I was male. This happens to me a lot. I don’t wear gender-defining clothes and don’t have a very shall we say, female body. So I, in a sense, disarmed him when I started screaming like a girl (ha!) when he attacked me. It’s always been unnerving to be thought of as a boy. But because he was confused, I took advantage of the situation to defend myself. I don’t want to think about what would have happened to me if I had been visibly female. Rape? Death? I don’t want to fear walking the streets, being alive. I want to not have to think of my womanhood all the time; factoring it into every decision I make. I want to think of myself first and foremost as a person and secondly as a female person. Why, I wonder, did I think of rape so fast? Maybe all those messages I have received growing up (never from my parents) about how my husband will ‘wonder where my virginity went’ on our nuptial night have gone to my head. My hymen has risen so high in my list of important things that it has acquired a life all of its own and floated to a place where it has lodged itself in the part of my brain that reacts to danger.

Benefits: the strength of women. E was there to listen to me as I told the story of my attack and as I reacted to the book by going to a Quaker meeting. My twin was glad to allow me to join her BS to be able to claim a fellowship of friends and like-minded people. L aka Best Friend allowed me to see parts of my country I had never seen and to meet her sister. I am blessed. L going the extra mile to let 2BF5 & I know when the Quaker meetings were. My aunt L who has been there for me. And especially my mum who taught me the virtue of drawing from the strength of women; a lesson so well learnt from her mother. I am a stronger person for all the women whose presence has been felt in my life.

For all these and much more, may I always be grateful 🙂 <<Such a Rotaract thing to say (I got inducted last week, yay!) but so true, too.

Advertisements

Fuzzy Lumpkin

You know the guy; from Power Puff Girls. He hairy; he so hairy he don’t got no skin (speaks like that, too 😀 )

I’m through with shaving, really I am. I’m going natural. OK, I’m not being honest. I’m kinda going natural. That is to say some bits will remain artificial…he he he…like my accent (as if, I’d be working for Nairobi’s Capital FM if I had one of those)……while my hair stays well away from a salon. Eh, how will I survive? It’s hard going without processed hair in the wonderful city I shall soon go back to called Nairobi…I mean, seriously, who will accept me…Neanderthal female that I shall have transformed into? The Good Lord help me (religious references are high today, what?) and keep me from salons. Amen (resounding like those televangelists who keep you glued to your TV screen, you know they do)!!! Preach, The Shaboozle, preach! Mmh, Imma testify (I’ve moved from redneck to black in one post….too much American TV, I’m going Brit…he he he).

Eh, but white people make not-shaving sound like a crime. Oh, my mother’s friends chose not to shave etc, goes one Obama (the president, not one of the girls….I said white people)… And they died. No, seriously, they did! Of being hairy…Obituary went something like this:

Obama’s Mum’s friend…loving mum, friend yada yada yada… No flowers. Please donate to the End to Anti-shaving campaign.

And there was a nice ribbon on the side as were once popular for people who passed away from AIDS. Really, people, you can survive with body hair. And let’s not even talk about J’s friend N who’s a religious waxer (hail the order of the waxed); the universe help her when her hair grows back (God forbid); her skin shall itch like you wouldn’t believe. Not that I’m speaking from experience, you see. I’m highly perceptive, and a voracious reader. That’s all my information 🙂

Got a letter from X on Friday. It’s coming to a close soon, that relationship of his with The Shaboozle, I tell you. I have seen the writing on the Facebook wall. I realised his value system and mine are so different that we were going to be at war soon. He has a weapon of mass destruction distraction that he’s not using. It’s called technology. He said [in response to the message I promised to send him in this entry] that I ‘mean a lot’ to him & he won’t let his issues get in the way but updated his Facebook status to say he’s only human (hence can only do so much etc) so I was pretty pissed (I love me some alliteration) when I saw that. [Aside: his mum was unwell at the time & my mum & I agreed message was a bit un-empathetic. Apologising turned out to be a ticket for him to resume previous behaviour. They always said not to apologise, he he he]

And then he’s willing to tell me things about himself he would do well to keep to himself. Today the voices in my head were talking to each other (the voices of Me, Myself & I can get loud at times…especially when I am asleep and they contrive to masquerade as characters in my dreams…I’m on to you, Voices In My Head) and they were telling X that I wouldn’t be able to tell my our children about Justice & Fairness. In this, I think the voices in my head were watching Al Jazeera English along with me as Al Jazeera’s Riz Khan interviewed Hanan Ashrawi [get a life, you voices! or your own programmes to watch for Pete’s sake] Reason: he got his internship through his mum’s contacts (it had to be done because he’s so daft someone has to arm-twist someone else. Chief reason I’m going out with him, his IQ is soo high). And in his letter, he tells me about how his aunt enabled him to be bumped ahead on the queue when he went to his chosen hospital’s A&E (pompous new way of saying ‘Casualty’ but oh, doesn’t it sound classy…say it, you know you want to 😀 ) being as she worked there. Odd, I thought it was him I was telling that I loved England for the fact that everyone there respects the queue. Here, in Kenya, to ask someone to join & respect a queue is seen to be an act of courage. Oh, look at me, I’ve walked in Baghdad during bombings…and asked someone to respect a queue. Where is my Nobel Peace Prize, already? More importantly, when did we get children? Someone is becoming a girl…eh! Save her from herself…

I was told, quote, I have ‘hiyo maneno yote’ (translation for my readers from the non-Swahili speaking world [usidharau Swa, it’s a UN working language, eh] : all that jazz) on my blog. I wonder if the person in question had in mind: what I say or how much I say. Idea: I could ask the said person [my brother W1’s mum L].

Unrelated news: I’m going to Lamu in November. Of course the lovely people at my university will give me 3 days off school for the Lamu Cultural Festival. I have organised accomodation at one of my best friends’ (my desk-mate in Form 2 and room-mate in Form 4’s. Wonderful school I went to. Friends in every corner of the republic…and beyond…) house. Thanks, Z. She’s an awesome friend, she is 🙂 And I’m set in terms of funds for the trip there & gifts for my friend’s family (whom I’ve never met…true friendship, I say) plus I’ve become a mini-expert on Lamu. Of course, I have. You don’t have to go somewhere to be an expert. Who goes to, say, Iceland…he he he [nothing against Iceland, I should visit]? It’s a joke, all you Icelanders looking at me with menacing eyes!

I am looking forward to a great week. For some reason. A good one; I think. Enjoy yours 🙂

Recommended author: The New York Times’ Donald G. McNeil, Jr. Terribly witty, he is. And a wonderful, wry sense of humour. Try him 🙂 [I’m not forcing issues, am I?]

Stop talking while I make love to you

Yeah, I said it… some people just need to keep quiet…really.

My brother, for one. He obviously didn’t read that bit in the Desiderata about the peace there is to be had in silence….the boy can chirp away for ever…but I forgive him, he’s 9. It’s adults that just grind my gears entertain me to no end.

Like the guy who walked up to me at the bus stop and proceeded to involve me in a wondrously beautiful conversation that consisted of one party…the other was reading Turgenev’s ‘Fathers and Sons’. Yes, it is a nice book, and no, I’m not trying to impress you with that party’s literary accomplishments. He he he… That was supremely edifying… should put it down as one of those ‘Day to remember’ composition candidates (for when I’m bereft of ideas….Yes, it happens to the best of us *slaps forehead as she realises her modesty has disappeared….again…*) I seem to attract such interesting guys…price I pay for having a pure, innocent face.

Aii, stop waiting for the blog title to meet the blog (I mean if ‘When rubber meets the road’ could be a Firestone slogan, humour me…); it’s not always like that. Sometimes the title has got everything to do with nothing. Did I say that right? Yes, I did. And you might as well check out Mr Ernest Bazanye’s blog while I’m still saying things right. Right fun, it is 🙂

Said brother is my only ‘real’ brother… The rest are…fake chosen (along the lines of the knights that did all of the awesome deeds we attach to King Arthur…) just so it’s clear. You might hear about him (T) from time to time; might as well introduce him. T minus 10 seconds….

This wonderful blogger makes a case against those people who feel the need to scream at the top of their lungs (cue this song)

in one of his earlier blog entries. His moralistic tone aside (let he that has no sin, [ahem what am I doing blogging during ‘church time’?], cast the first stone……I’m saving mine 🙂 ), he goes against all the wonderful things Ms Eve Ensler taught me about (see vday.org for more info) moaning and being noisy when umm, being intimate.

Now you’ve probably had one of those moments… You know the ones. The person who, just as you were enjoying the sunset, feels the need to speak on its wondrousness. Now, really, you don’t say…no other reason for me to have been enjoying it, now is there? Jeez, I don’t know…maybe because it’s wondrous? I’m just saying… Or the lover who just wants to talk when you’d rather be quiet. He he, stop being coy, you. I’ve had experiences like those in London, England; Kampala, Uganda & Nairobi, Kenya (the talking when I couldn’t be bothered, not the lovers…on the celebration of my chasteness)-goes to prove that being in a capital city doesn’t guarantee a capital experience. He he…

There is peace to be had in silence, joy to be found in solitude…but the world we live in is so full of the noise that we have taught ourselves to seek (admit it, you just refreshed your inbox (e-mail or Facebook), Twitter page, Al Jazeera/BBC World/CNN page..) that we feel odd, not sharing each and every one of our thoughts with our friends/followers. Not taking a photo of this and that and immortalising it on Flickr. Not letting the world know that yes, the person you just saw on this street/that road is, indeed, me.

Try a little silence

[on the occasion of the end of my iPod-free week]

Healing myself…and other such whimsical tales

Healing Yourself is a wonderful concept promulgated by one Louise Hay and bought by many. Not me, I would have hastened to add a week or so ago. But now…that would be to lie because this girl is healing herself 🙂 🙂

I’ve talked about my tendency to vaginal infections before and the angst they cause. Hence healing myself… It’s been shown in research that womyn who frequently take antibiotics are susceptible to such infections. Oh, don’t try to convince me otherwise, I am…I have one now, second in one year…we shall not talk about previous years… So when I had a rash on my back and was put on antibiotics, I got off them as soon as I figured out the source of the rash….THE HEAT. It’s atrocious…and the rash was shaped like my favourite sundress….that’s just hilarious 😀 Then talking to my mum (Superwoman/ Mum/ Dairy expert/ Tree expert/ Economist/ In-house doctor/ Psychologist….you get my drift) about it, I found support for my cause. Here are a few reasons why I want to heal myself:

  • Even with insurance, HMOs, etc; medication for vaginal infections at reputable hospitals is downright expensive. The parents could pay, but I’d rather go for a movie…with popcorn thrown in 🙂
  • The pain, the pain; the aching, stinging pain…need I say more?
  • It’s a nice feeling, wellness. Better hang on to it, I figure…
  • I could go on forever but I’ve talked for long before

Now, how am I going to heal myself? By:

  • Eating healthy
  • Staying yoghurt-y (this works for period pain, too)
  • Generally doing the stuff recommended here (all but stuffing things up my vagina <even though I use tampons>…about as exciting as the pessaries I would get at the hospital…

To other news…

You know what they say…Show me who your friends are etc… Yeah, I’m doing something we used to call ‘kurub mafriends‘ in this post. I know a girl who is, supposedly, my friend and has made been the cause of some debacles in my life. Don’t believe me? Try these:

  • Spreading a random rumour about me losing my virginity to guy whose identity she refuses to reveal who I had just met….and expecting me to give her relationship advice afterwards (oi, but isn’t that some contradiction?)
  • Calling me incessantly to go and people-watch (sorry, people-watchers, I found it stupid…)
  • Telling me not to talk to the guy at the concessions stand at the cinema, probably because I’d refused to accompany her to the toilet (I dislike public amenities), by saying, “Theshaboozle, weren’t you taught not to talk to the help?” across the lobby.

I shall not go on. X, a mutual friend of ours who I am not discussing actively from now henceforth….I mean, really, at the rate at which I have been speaking of him, might as well call this blog ‘All about X, with bits of me thrown in intermittently’….thinks she is, quote, “equal parts brilliant and scary. A good friend to have.” What?! He he, she scares him, that’s a fact (I have seen him stand on a pavement trying to decide whether to walk away from her with me <I had warned her & I didn’t need him to tag along, really> and incur her wrath or go to her & incur mine <I can assure you, I couldn’t have been bothered, even if he were my boyfriend then…which he wasn’t…such things don’t register on my  botheration-meter>) and her brilliance (in the ‘she so smart’ sense) is without question. But her emotional intelligence is so low that I fear it doesn’t exist. For that reason, I am staying away from her; getting her off my Facebook news feed, out of my phonebook (oops! did that already! 😉 ), and resisting any of her overtures. X may think her a good friend but maybe in this case, opposites attract. If your friends speak to the sort of person you are, I refuse to be thought of as similar to her. I’d rather be like L, my friend whose nickname for me is ‘Best Friend’-a girl that’s smart, principled & fun;  or W who can have a laugh and has a wonderful way with words; or A who can shift from matters of the soul to those of the sole flawlessly…or a host of my other friends.  These people, I want to be thought to be like. In short, I am Letting Her Go as TD Jakes would say. And my mum would say that you need to name your sentiments to move on.

Also, here is my message to the universe:

I deserve kind, respectful, considerate friends who share my values and with whom I can share wonderful moments.

Maybe, by not saying that, I have denied myself beautiful friendships while participating in toxic ones…

Last, but most definitely not least; I have become an expert tree planter, many thanks to my mum. My brother, father, mum & I planted quite a few yesterday & shall plant a much larger number today. Kenya has been experiencing water and electricity shortages, occasioned by massive, uncontrolled logging & general destruction of our forests…including not having electricity in my parents’ townhouse yesterday night (‘townhouse’ is just a stab by yours truly at being pompous 😀 )….so we’re doing our part in reforesting the country. Plus, we can sell the trees in 5-10 years time…for a pile of cash, no less. Talk about a win-win situation. Plus, prior to the beginning of the exercise (I first planted trees about 2.5 weeks ago), I had felt pretty useless what with the drudgery that was house & farm chores and school being out ergo no fun kids to teach…tree planting is fun 🙂 Makes me fel like I’m part of a major world occurence…changing the world one tree at a time. Random fact: There’s a shrub called ‘Moby Dick’. Yes, like the book 🙂

I had forgotten this…the 3rd generation iPod Touch is out. Gets a .000000001 on the 100 scale botheration-meter. X & Co. (Apple-freaks, geeks, techwhizzes etc) had some hoopla on Twitter which I ignored and I shall continue to do so. I had a 2nd generation iPod Nano at 18 (then the latest) which was stolen as I conducted an act of friendship (standing at a downtown Nairobi location called Kenya Cinema waiting for my friend 3M) and was gifted (yes, I said gifted, lol) with a 2nd generation iPod Touch by my father last year in December (earmarked for sale) but all I use it for is music…music…music. So I wonder what all the fuss is about. If it stores music same as the one before, as the next one shall, what do I care for all the other gizmos? I like to think of myself as a simple soul (a bit of an untruth, but…) so there we go, I have revealed a little something about me. Joke…

For an entry that I had hoped would be short….:)

Stay tuned for more 😀