16 December 2014


During the Mashujaa Day public holiday I visited my grandpa…not only was it a good chance to surprise the old peeps whose eye sight is worsening, but it was a chance to drive and not get caught (my license expired). As mentioned, the old man’s eyesight is diminishing as well as his memory. Now, I followed his trail to the farm since he was not home and I had spotted his signature black birika(kettle), which as young tots we had all drank from, brewing some strong tea. When I find him, he is sitted on the ground in his Mbaki (tobacco) farm, paper and pen at hand, drawing a cartoon of an old man (he was a teacher in the colonial government). I laugh at the cartoon and he notices someone is beside him.  I introduce myself. 

Guka, ni Njeri” (Grandpa, its Njeri). He looks up and asks me “Njeri wa uu?” (who’s daughter).

Well, you have to blame our African parents for naming us all after one person…90% of my female cousins are called Njeri (which when translated means “traveler”), and the male cousins are called Murimi (which when translated means “farmer”). We were all named after our great grand parents who had the characteristics represented by our names.  Back to my tale.

Njeri wa Kareithi” I said. His face lit up and he started asking me about how Nairobi life was. We chatted for a few minutes before I remembered one of the people I had worked with told me he knew him and asked me to say Hi when I see him. I told him about the man. You should have seen the joy on he face as he started narrating to me how they met. At the end of the story, he was so happy, he was almost on his feet (he is quite old; he keeps reminding us that his legs are so weak). The joy he exhibited just brought a smile to my face. He kept on saying how happy he is that someone remembered him; how that was the best news he had received in a while.
 Fast forward a few days ago…I saw a man in town carrying a bouquet of flowers rushing to an evening bus, pulling along a big suitcase. “wow, that wife/girlfriend must be really lucky” I whispered to my inner self. I figured out that the man had just arrived from a long journey (based on the size of the suitcase and the weary face), but he knew that something as small as a banquet of flowers would make his lady happy and appreciated.

This made me think about how we treat our significant others. Some of us try so hard to do big things, go out of our ways to please them (I’m not saying its wrong), while all along; it’s the simple things that count. What simple things? You may ask. How will I know? You may ask. I once asked my mentor’s husband he makes sure the wife remains happy. “Observe; be attentive. I started doing this from the first day I saw her. That’s how I won her over” is all he could say. I asked my mentor (his wife) what she does to ensure that the husband remains happy and feels appreciated. “be alert and attentive, see the small things” is what she kept repeating.

I later came to understand what they were saying. Being attentive, concentrating, observing your partner makes you know them and pick up little things that make their faces light up. They are not the big things, they are actually small and simple things that one may be taking for granted or as ordinary. We are all different. Each of us has distinct things that make us feel appreciated. Be it that flower you buy for them, that tie you buy for them, that piece of chocolate, that message or call at the end of the day, spending time together, visiting somewhere new, that game he/she loves to play, that movie he/she likes to watch, taking dumb photos (this is my favorite); it differs from person to person. Some of these things don’t cost anything.
As we celebrate this festive season, a time to be with family and loved ones, be attentive, open your eyes and mind. You may just see the simple things that count.

Happy Holidays. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year 2015. See you then fam!



29 November 2014


The orchestra plays
The choir softly chants
Benedictus qui venit

Ni nomine venit

I sit at the edge of my bed
My soft well padded bed
Swaying my mind, nodding
To the choir’s soft chants

Lonely I sit there,
As I have; daily
Since my parents died
I have no friends,
I have no parents

I process the pain inside,
Softly nursing my inner sores
I tell myself jokes
I chuckle at them,
Tell myself how funny I am.
At times I scorn myself,
For  not being able to do it; to overcome it,
To grow up.

Joy, roy, mackoy,
We laugh, we chat, we coil
I walk with them, everywhere
They are omnipresent,
Immortal, invisible,
My little gods
They are all I have.

My parents were stolen
My only friends taken
Now I have no parents,
I have no friends.


7 November 2014


Over the weeks since my last post, I have been in several bus rides to town, during the evening, for classes (*sigh*, masomo nayo). During these bus rides, as I quietly sit on my seat trying to think about what we were taught last before I attend the classes, I have picked up on a few things (thanks to people who talk loudly in buses; you would think they are story tellers and the travelers are a bunch of children in a nursery somewhere). First, I would never highlight the flaws of my man to anyone (that’s relationships 101), and neither would I rant about my relationship in public (more of relationships 101), but what I heard a lady say (more of utter loudly) to her friend sitted opposite of her made me really think. 

“Why are his female friends on Facebook those with funny profile pictures?”

“He always says that they are busy at work, that’s why he can’t text or replies my texts late...”

“I don’t have anything from him in my house, or that can show we are in any relationship.”

“Since we started dating, he stopped giving me any gifts.”

“These days it feels like he is not willing to sacrifice anymore.”
"He makes me feel unappreciated and single, even though he’s my boyfriend.”

The rant went on…
At first, I was shocked, how can you talk so much of your relationship to a person who you are not in a relationship with? Then I started feeling sorry for the lady. See, women are emotional beings and will mostly approach issues from an emotional point of view. I am no expert in relationships (no one is), but after listening to that lady, I would like to share some pillars of relationships my mentor shared with me.

Meaningful Communication

Notice “Meaningful”? Well, it’s not just about communication, its meaningful communication. This is more than just talking to each other. Meaningful communication involves sharing goals and ambitions, hopes and aspirations, success and failures, and likes and dislikes. This is usually one of the key foundations and pillars in any relationship. If this lacks, one of the partner strains. If you have doubts or you are not sure about any issue; ASK! DON’T ASSUME ANYTHING! (The only place where assumptions hold is in mathematics).


Ask any old couple how they survived through 50 years of marriage and tell me the answer (lol). Trust is established through, fidelity, loyalty, and respect. It is reinforced by the positive action a person takes for the good of the relationship. 
When actions are taken that violate trust, the relationship becomes unstable. Some people want be trusted, but have not taken the actions necessary to become trustworthy. Trust has to be earned. The one that has broken the trust has to be the one that takes the responsibility for rebuilding it.  You can rebuild trust by doing what you say. Your actions must line up with your words. We all have in us the ability to be trustworthy, but we have to value the relationship enough to allow it to come forth. When it comes to a healthy relationship, trust is a must.


Consistency, trust and honesty go hand in hand. “What do you hate most in relationships?” I once asked SB “When someone is dishonest and keeps telling lies.” I could feel what he was saying. It is the desire and ability to tell the truth without any intentions to deceive. In all cases, words that come out of a person’s mouth must be the truth. The pillar of honesty must run deep into the core of all those involved. My mentor once told me “telling your partner where you are and what you are doing or who you are with is not hard; if you have nothing to hide”. Till this day, I keep thinking about that statement.


Well, the queen’s language defines connection as joining together of two people or things. Definitely, the fact that you are in a relationship with someone implies that have some things in common, or share some interests. The things that make you have a deeper connection with your other, which you don’t have with other human beings. This is what connects to the emotional side of us as humans (yes, men too have an emotional side). Some would call this “chemistry”. Know something that your partner likes? A hobby? Music? Interest? What makes them feel loved? Take the time to invest in such things. Sacrifice, let them know how you feel/think, keep the connection alive. If you take this for granted, lets face it, anything not connected is, well, disconnected.

After all is said and done, we should all remember that no two relationships can be the same. Do not try to make your relationship similar to another person’s. Relationships are not there to cause us pain, they are to be enjoyed. Relationships are not easy, but if we work on these pillars, conversations such as the one I heard will not be there (or will reduce). 
Build your relationship your way, and make it strong. Make it about the other person; that’s what selfless love is all about.
(by the way, the same pillars apply to other relationships, such as family and close friends).   


29 October 2014


Will the movie end?
Or will the road have a bend?
Will the earth keep rotating?
Or will it keep the sun anticipating?
Will the wax melt away?
And make night from what was day?
Will the chocolate melt as well?
Or will the fireplace be where I daily dwell?
Maybe, maybe not.

Will the heart keep beating?
Or will it keep bleeding?
Will the blood keep flowing?
Or will it stop without knowing?
Will I forever resist you?
Or will I forever love you?
Will there finally be us?
Or will our love suffer from a curse?
Maybe, maybe not.

Do I still love you?
Do I still care for you?
Do I want to spend my life with you?
Do I believe in us?
Do I? Do I? Really?
Maybe, maybe not.

21 September 2014


When I first read this; I was taken aback. The articulacy, passion and wisdom in it is just over and above.  This piece was written by a friend and someone I look up to; a great man, an inspiration and a star in the rising....enjoy

Dear You, 

I've been having funny dreams lately. I see you walking into my life with parachutes and lots of bags - baggage. Yes, I know we are about to fly, but are you ready to carry my luggage too? I've been born and raised in closed boxes and where I am now is a place of retribute; I'm paying tribute to past pains by living in an ocean of good things - happy deeds and poetry.

I'm not sure if anyone taught you how to love. But the man in me is a boy who loves to child. I love playing with mud and dancing to Awilo Longomba in the middle of the quietest nights; the gloom of the earliest mornings. I will sing to you on the first phone call I make you in the morning because life is music and I'm the lyrics. I pray that you are a good dancer. You don't have to know how to shake your African treasures but at least know how to dance to words. If you could listen to the tunes in my speech, and I, the vibrance of the sound that comes out of your expressions, and laughter, then we are going to Rome together. No, Nairobi; my home. Do you have a home?

I've been to many relationships; met bold and beautiful girls and women. It's nothing to be proud of. Through it all, I learned that there is a selflessness that is needed in order to give someone your heart. Emotions are expensive. To sell them to anyone takes lots of nerve and risk. We love wearing clothes and masks that cover our souls so as to create false impressions of a life we do not own. Well, I don't want to wear clothes around you. I want to be as naked to you as I am to God, woman.

Please take note of this, that I do not know how to cook very well, but I can survive on my own. I can try hustle a fish inside a pan with a little oil and savor a meal though. You'll teach me the rest lest I burn our kitchen someday. But God knows I love food. I love ugali and mbuta, with soup. I love rice even though some African men often suggest that it is not food good enough for a man from this continent. Where I come from, there were no puddings and desserts, but once in a while mother pushed in some pawpaw and pineapples after meals. She is a great cook to date. Always reminded us that you must clean your cooking area after you finish with the stove. She should never find any clumps of ugali around the gas if you are the one who did lunch. The consequences were dire.

I love taking long walks. Sometimes when I'm quiet around you, it does not mean that I'm sad about anything. Just be wise enough to read the words of my silence. Sometimes I just want to be looking at you while talking to God in my head, wondering why He had to make your eyes so beautiful. I'm a quiet man who loves his peace and space. And when I'm jumpy and naughty, it is me eating the other half of life.

I'd like to be praying with you. I'm eager to listen to the words you tell God when you are angry with me. Or when you're happy or sad. Your walk with Him matters to me, probably more than anything else. I haven't figured out life to its totality myself. No human being really gets there. But I'm hoping to learn from you things that the world has not taught me. So love me like a teacher loves his students.

On some weekends, I will be out with the boys, watching football or making boyish chatter in the streets. I will not be in a position to reply your texts as fast as I'm used to during such moments. At times like those, please don't think that I'm out with other women. A little jealousy is okay though.

Do not be swayed by my words; I'm stubborn. My tough head will drive you nuts occasionally. I'll be the last person you want to see or talk to on some days. I have a poor memory and could have the tendency of forgetting some things you tell me, though at least not your birthday. But I'll forget the date of our first kiss.

I cherish the idea of chivalry. It's the same way you feel like a woman to serve me food. I'd like to live in your world; plant flowers and make dams on your soil, so I could have a garden to come back to for heavenly fragrance, and a place I could come quench my thirst when life gets me so thirsty. In my mind and heart, there'll be a fountain of endless waters that wait for you to draw them whenever you feel like. Things won't always be rosy, I know. They shouldn't. We haven't the right to heaven yet.

I'd like to know your language, so I could fathom the best diction to write you poems that would make earthquakes in your heart. I'd like to listen to your many words, and questions, even though I will not have answers to a majority of them. What I want to enjoy is seeing you comfortable in your skin; awashed of insecurities that hinder you from being the best woman alive.

I be brave, you be brave. One of us falls, the other picks them up. God is the center of our crimson chord. I know you want this like I do. Let the poetry begin.



For more about/from Eric, subscribe to his blog , find him on facebook or contact Kenya Poets Lounge

29 August 2014


The other day a friend and I had an interesting conversation. He owns a movie store. It was a Sunday afternoon and I found him there sited, bored. I challenged him to a game of scrabble and with progression of the game a conversation started. He was telling me about this friend he has. The friend is son to a renowned businessman who doubles as a pastor (lol). Now, they graduated at the same time from campus, but the friend works at a national corporation, in a line he did not even study at school, just because his father “knew people in high places”. He goes on to explain that the girlfriend to the guy also works in a renowned company even though she is yet to graduate…talk of being born with a silver spoon in the mouth; literally. The girlfriend, tuseme ni kuangukia tu hehehe *evil grin*.

As the conversation went on, he went on to let me know how the friend would not survive if he lost the job he is at. I went on to ask him why he is not looking for formal employment and he said, “Those formally employed wait for 30 days to get an average of income 60,000 (most earn less than this actually). I make that in two weeks…tell me how I would change what I have now for what you have. I asked him how he got there and he tells me of how he started selling seedlings with a savings worth 2,000 (I will post about this next month).

This reminded me of a quote by one great man, one George Herbert; “Do not wait; the time will never be ‘just right.’ Start where you stand, and work with whatever tools you may have at your command, and better tools will be found as you go along”. See, most of us fresh graduates have become experts at job hunting, but have no jobs. We thus end up frustrated and we give up in life, well, it is not all over. Remember that entrepreneurship unit you were taught at school? You would be surprised at how easy it is to start a business for yourself. I looked around and saw some of the simplest jobs Kenyan entrepreneurs have created for themselves, with very little (some close to zero) capital.

Fresh Farm produce sale.

Now, how many times have you walked around town or your estate, especially in the evenings, and met vehicles parked at the road side, boots open with fresh farm produce being sold. Well, if you ask any of those who do this, the business has challenges but the rewards are sweet. But I don’t have land to farm in; you may say….well, just start with the paper bags and empty mikebes you have at home. The soil is free, buy a few seedlings and be patient enough to wait for them to grow. Or better yet, become a middle man or offer to be someone’s (a farmer) seller with commission to what you make. All you need is a small fee for the county council officers.

Roadside kiosks.

See those people who sell chapatis and smokies, chips, boiled eggs, samosas and roasted maize or corn on the cob by the road; ask them how much they make and you will know why they can never go for formal employment. I once watched a story of one Wacuka from Centonomy (watch it here), who started by selling chapos at their estate gate, but is now supplying tea to a Equity Bank Westlands, and makes more than you think. Even the famous Kemboi started by making tiny steps. Patience is key.

Movie shops

Well, well, well, you have to love Kenyans for their love of relaxing and winding. You also have to thank God for our love of movies, series and documentaries. You can be sure that if you open a movie shop either in town or that neighborhood, you will never lack customers/clients. This one though, requires some capital because of rent and all, but trust you me, the net gain is more.


This is one of the biggest business ideas I have ever thought of. Did you know you can turn your hobby into a business? Or even better a company? With very little start up finances? Be it writing, photography, reading, and singing, talking, baking, cooking or walking. Sure, you will need something small to give it a push, a few courses here and there then you become an expert.

Someone once said that for you to become an expert at anything, you have to spend at least ten thousand hours doing it to become perfect. Ten thousand you ask? Yes. Most of us young people do something for a few hours, or even days then we start saying we have given up or think we are perfect. Ask good instrumentalists how long they had to practice to get where they have been. As that chef how many recipes they had to burn so as to become perfect. Ask that cobbler how many shoes they had to mend to become successful. Ask that speed skater (*blush* :-) ;-)) how many miles they had to cover or how many injuries they had to get so as to skate for ten thousand meters in twenty minutes without getting tired. Then ask yourself; how many hours have you done to give up? 

George Eliot once said that “It is never too late to be what you might have been”. 

Take charge, start today.


27 August 2014


Before I post my monthly poem and post; some 25 hilarious quotes I tumbled upon. Feel free to disregard what you don't believe.

1. If you're too open minded, your brains will fall out.

2. Age is a very high price to pay for maturity.

3. Going to church doesn't make you a Christian any more than going to a garage makes you a mechanic.

4. Artificial intelligence is no match for natural stupidity.

5. If you must choose between two evils, pick the one you've never tried before.

6. My idea of housework is to sweep the room with a glance.

7. Not one shred of evidence supports the notion that life is serious.

8. It is easier to get forgiveness than permission.

9. For every action, there is an equal and opposite government program.

10. If you look like your passport picture, you probably need the trip.

11. Bills travel through the mail at twice the speed of checks.

12. A conscience is what hurts when all your other parts feel so good.

13. Eat well, stay fit, die anyway.

14. Men are from earth. Women are from earth. Deal with it.

15. No husband has ever been shot while doing the dishes.

16. A balanced diet is a cookie in each hand.

17. Middle age is when broadness of the mind and narrowness of the waist change places.

18. Opportunities always look bigger going than coming.

19. Junk is something you've kept for years and throw away three weeks before you need it.

20. There is always one more imbecile than you counted on.

21. Experience is a wonderful thing. It enables you to recognize a mistake when you make it again.

22. By the time you can make ends meet, they move the ends.

23. Thou shalt not weigh more than thy refrigerator.

24. Someone who thinks logically provides a nice contrast to the real world.

25. Blessed are they who can laugh at themselves for they shall never cease to be amused.

25 July 2014


“The lady who has the most shoes in the end wins!!” a lady I know excitedly exclaimed when she when she was explaining why she was attending a shoe sale (name excluded for obvious reasons). Win what? (I hear men asking) Well, she will just win IT. Don't ask me what it is she wins; she just wins... it's there. No one knows what is won but she wins. Period. No questions about it. I don’t know who cast a spell on ladies that brought forth this obsession with shoes.


Ha-ha now, fast forward to the many shoes we see on the streets. I am and forever be amazed at the types of shoes I see ladies wearing. Now before you throw that glass at me, don’t get me wrong, I am a lady too and even though I own a few (10-15) pairs of shoes (more to come soon); I always wonder why we ladies in particular love wearing weird makes of shoes. Sophistication? Class? I still don’t see the need to walk uncomfortably and spend several thousands of shillings on something that causes you more pain than comfort when walking. I like keeping it simple and comfortable. But then that’s me. Men, on the other hand, have no trouble with shoes…just slip your feet in there and ensure it’s fitting and comfortable; classy or not.

Anyway, enough of the shoes rant. Now, more often than not I hear people blurt out the famous statement “Don’t judge me until you have walked in my shoes”. Each time I hear someone say/write that I can’t help but laugh. Most of the time, the person saying that is saying it to defend some behavior or attitude that in fact is spiritually, morally or socially unacceptable. This statement tends to give them some sort of consolation that what they did/said was right; only that the rest of the human race does not understand or know them. I mean; even I have used it severally to sooth my human ego. In most instances, the statement “you don’t know me” (which is said with a straight face with lots of bitterness, anger and resentment towards the person being addressed) accompanies or comes before the famous statement.

  These days I just burst into laugh when this statement is made… okay, not burst, I chuckle…. fine; I smile (with a cheeky evil laughter inside) and wonder, before we make such a statement; do we ever examine ourselves and see if we even have the proverbial shoes? And if we do; are they fit for anyone to walk in? Are they walkable? (Yeah; I just invented that word…I’ll patent it :-p). See, most of us complain that others judge us without knowing what we had to do to do what we did (are those lyrics to a song? I regress). Coincidentally, it’s mostly a lady who is saying that. Lately, most of us ladies have been reduced to wasting our inner beauty, wasting away our souls, in a bid to please others (read men). So damaged are we that these proverbial shoes that we say people need to walk in before judging us; have been reduced to dust. We are walking bare footed.

So lost in the world are we that we do not even think of how our children will be; how they will grow up. We need the grace of God. Even though I have never heard many men say that (except when they are caught cheating or lying), we all; men included, need to examine ourselves more and see why we want to be so self-defensive and want to justify that which was obviously wrong.

So, the next time we (I included) are tempted to use the statement “Don’t judge me until you have walked in my shoes”, let’s ask ourselves, do we even have any shoes or are we walking around bare footed? If we do; are they walkable? Let’s examine our spiritual, moral and social selves and see why we are being so defensive.

Twitter: @deekareithi

11 July 2014

THE SHADOWS by @wanjiru_wanjiku

The shadows in here converse;
Low grumpy conversations,
Gesticulating and pacing,
With their fingers growing long each passing minute,
Embracing my neck-
Squeezing and soothing.

I had known how to silence them,
Let them watch in awe as I practice a smile,
And a gait so blissful when I carry the wind on my shoulders.

Now I observe them with tight lips and a heart so torn that the sun rays go right through it,
Let them dance on the chandelier of hope laying somewhere in the room,
Gaze as they squeeze the very last ounce of light from my eyeballs.

What I know about living
is that pain is never just ours,
After a while we learn to dance to the music of our hearts again,
Wishing on porch lights like they were stars on cloudy nights.

But they wake me at night,
Howling again and again
that my heart has just skinned it knees...
A worse day is yet to come...
That maybe tomorrow...
is just an illusion.

So I toss forcefully closing my eyes,
Mumbling to the darkness that girdles me,
To the voices in my head...
To my soul hovering somewhere...
To these walls that have become friends...
To the spirits in here throwing stones
forcing me into an introvert's shell.

I had mastered the art of sealing lips and ignoring pain,
But the sea inside me is so full of bottles it no longer tides,
The messages taking on bipolar tendencies-
Some read "live"
Others " just how much water do you need to keep the pills down!"

So if tommorow really is an illusion
Let the world know I tried
But when I thought I had hit rock bottom
It hit back so hard
That the thread holding hope together snapped.

All rights reserved Shiru Wa Mum 2014 

24 June 2014


“Let’s go to Africa, salvage our slaves,
Let’s donate money, make names for ourselves,
Call local and international media,
Let Africa rejoice, here is their redeemer.”

Well, to hell with your donations!
Oh come fellow slaves, come let us rejoice,
Let us sing, dance, write and recite poems,
Let them take pictures and videos of us,
Playing around with our hopes and dreams.

But I refuse to. I refuse to join in the applause.
See, today I am here, raising my hands to feed my stomach,
With new shoes and new clothes, bales of flour and cooking oil,
With smiles and great high spirits.
Tomorrow, back to the same shack, taking beer and spirits,
The shoes you gave will be sold; my feet know not how to be sole-d;
The clothes will be sold, for my body knows not how to be clothed.
So go, go back to your filthy rich homes, rich and filthy homes, be out of my sight
Out of sight, out of mind, you make me wish I was blind.
Every donation you make, I feel you dancing on my grave.
Without you I will still I see myself together,
Through the holes of my tattered sweater.
I will sew myself together,
Mend my broken and torn life together.
To your face I say; to hell with your donations!

But then again don’t go,
Keep donating food, money and clothes; dig a well.
We’ll take and sell, use to pay bills and settle debts  as well.
But what would be better,
Is if you would make us better,
Empower us with skills and knowledge,
Show us how to make the clothes, how to grow the food,
Then we will make money.
But till then; to hell with your donations!

29 May 2014


Did you catch that? I threw it!! And it was Thursday!! Hehehe, throw back Thursday it is. Now, to begin with; who on earth invented this “throwback Thursday?”  Why particularly on Thursday? I thought if there was a day that one would use to reflect on the past; it should be Monday. You know, with the weekend past and we did all those things during the weekend and…never mind. This is not about Mondays and weekends.

Since this is a Thursday and social pressure (damn you social and peer pressure) has enslaved me; I am obliged to write this. Now, you are in a train, its speeding past the fields, you are seated alone at a window. As the train speeds past a dusty town, you stare mysteriously (you know, like they do in movies....lol) out of the window. You start reminiscing; oh how you miss the past. Memories flash before your very eyes, your train of thoughts and memories is moving so slow, you live in the memories once again. See where you are, now, hold that position. Such is the setting I intended this to be written (unlike where I am now, in an office full of books; not novels and data waiting for me to analyze it. *le sigh*).

I miss the old days, the good old days. Even though poverty was more rampant and food was scarce, I miss the values that we had. You know, (to the younger generation) the days your folks or grandparents tell you about when a 10cents (Kenyan cents) would buy you a loaf of bread, ok not that long ago… days when “bibo” and “juci cola” were a delicacy, days when the alphabet was taught as it is written, not as what children are taught these days. I do miss those days, and here is the reason why;

I miss the days when brotherhood was the norm. Days when looking out for your brother was your first priority. Days when if your parents bought you a bicycle, you would rush to the village (community) kids and exclaim “tumenunuliwa bike” (A bicycle has been bought for us) and you wouldn’t mind sharing it, taking turns to ride it. Days when people lived in actual communities and not “gated communities” where you do not even know and have never seen your neighbor.  I miss the days we would look forward to Christmas and birthdays, because it was a time we rejoiced and sipped juice and bread; unlike the big birthday parties they have these days, with emcees and all…why would you hire an emcee for your child’s first birthday? In my days, you grandpa was the emcee!!

I miss the days when marriage was respected and pregnancy celebrated; when love was real. You know, days when people would go through so much (together) and make their marriages work (ever looked at an old couple and wondered what they saw in each other? I always do), unlike these days when insecurity, greed and doubt fill relationships. Days when pregnancy was celebrated, not as these days where you hear “so and so is pregnant” and the response is “her too? Oh they could not wait?” then the other will reply “I guess not, but her boy friend will have to marry her now”. Sad. These days people get married to cover for pregnancies, the world is full of people who want relationships with no commitment; people who want the “husband-wife” or “boyfriend-girlfriend” experience, with no commitment. Coz if you do, you are too serious with life? Sad.

I miss those days when innocence was celebrated; days when cartoons, animations and comedy was something to watch with children and laugh about; not some mischievous and evil plan to throw in some dirty words…I mean, these days even cartoons and animations kiss and have “friends with benefits” relationships, in our days, only Cinderella had the privilege to kiss her prince charming! Days when novels were interesting, not some porn on paper! Days when writers had good content to write about, after serious consideration and days of writing; not based on a certain pornographic fantasy they have.

Of all, I miss those days when Christians had values and stuck to them. Not spend days drinking and the next minute they are leading worship in church…days when we had “Sunday best” dressing out best; unlike these days when we use the “…for God sees not as man sees, for man looks at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart….” (1st Samuel 16:7) scripture to defend our lacking clothing at church or anywhere (its good to read the whole chapter and see why Samuel said that).

And though those days are far much gone, I strive to re-live them and ensure my children will have a taste of those days and these memories.
Now, get out of that train (of thoughts) and continue doing what we were doing. Let’s ensure that our children have a life they look back at and miss.

Twitter: @deekareithi
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*ION, May the soul of Dr. Maya Angelou, renown poet and inspiration to writers and poets, rest in eternal peace*

7 May 2014


I see you,
Crying at the street corner,
Tears that no one will see,
With a story no one will believe.
Passers-by pass you by,
With judgmental glances,
Peeking under their glasses;
“She’s one of them, swims in pangs of pity, She knows not the mystery that is purity”
They hiss in hushed tones.

I see you,
You went to the gym each day,
Thinking if you stayed thin, he would stay.
But then these lasses,
With judgmental glances,
Peeking under their glasses;
They could go to Katmandu overland,
On a limping camel for all you cared;
But your life they stripped!

I see you,
Misery emanates from you,
Like radioactivity from plutonium.
Waiting to die, sitting alone,
In your own cell, regretting all you’ve done.
Daily you huskily howl, from deep inside your soul,
“Help me, I want to go home”

I see you,
Longing for someone who mends; heals,
One who feeds; gives meals,
One to clothe; tops and heels,
He who owns a thousand cattle upon hills.
“Come to me, with your heavy burdens;
Lay them at my feet”
I see you,
I will take you, feed, clothe, mend you,
I will not judge you, for what you’ve done
Or what you have become,
I will love you for you.
Come; my child come.

17 April 2014


As I write this, the rain outside is pounding, the freezing wind blowing through the office window. I am freezing. I play list some classical themes and pour myself a cup of hot cocoa *ooh the warmth*. The contrast of what I feel inside and what is happening outside is sharp. Now that all is set; I start typing...

On my way to work this morning, it was raining cats and dogs or as my mum would say, elephants and hippos (you know, coz then you can be sure its heavy…you see cats and dogs are not that heavy). Anyway, if there is a time when men (read Kenyan men) expose their gentleman-ness is at times such as these. I spot several couples (older coz you know the youngsters couldn’t be caught dead awake at 7 something in the morning and on their way to work). I see the men jealously shielding their women from the rain…you would think that rain has some male genes and is trying to steal the woman from him….lol.

 I lift my umbrella and see another man picking up his lady (I assumed) from the gate, from the cold of the rain to the warmth of this cool red Mercedes *swallows a glint of jealousy* and I immediately wish SB was there. Now, this made me think of the many things people do for love…I mean Valentine’s Day was just the other day and people did crazy things for love. Some dug their way into deep debt (shame on you), others wiped out their savings (SMH), others did some special things (;-)) and others, well, did nothing (majority fall here).

It also made me think of the many sacrifices and things people do to make the other (significant or not) feel special. The crazy things that we do to make our loved ones feel loved and appreciated; things that you cannot put a price tag on. *le sigh* then it made me think of how we feel if the love is not reciprocated or if our efforts are taken for granted…sad right? You feel like you were taken for a ride and used; like the k in knee (ok, that was lame but trust me, it sounded so funny in my head).

I get to work and the place is almost full and everyone is in a good mood. Everyone is smiling like they inhaled small amounts of laughing gas but just can’t laugh. Then it hits me….aaah the long holiday is coming. Speaking of long holiday; don’t you love how this holiday is four days long? I mean that is like a whole week off *yey* Thank you Jesus!! This reminds me the reason for this post.

Now people do so much for love; but this cannot; can never and will never amount to what one man did a few thousand years ago. The perfect act of love; something that till this day no one has ever and no one will ever attempt to do. I am not talking about titanic silly (though that too has never been repeated he he). I am talking about the reason for this long holiday; the death of our Lord and savior Jesus Christ on the cross. He died for love; because He loved us so much. This act of dying on the cross for the forgiveness of our sins breaks me down each time I think about it. And the way we (I included) at times take this act for granted, take his love for granted. But His mercies and grace are never ending; He is always willing to take us back (as opposed to attempting to take human love for granted…you would get silent treatment for the rest of your days on earth).

A singer I love so much; Vicky Beeching sang these words (more of a prayer) in her song, Wonder of the cross:
O precious sight, my Savior stands,
Dying for me with outstretched hands.
O precious sight, I love to gaze,
Remembering salvation's day,
Remembering salvation's day.
Though my eyes linger on this scene,
May passing time and years not steal
The power with which it impacts me,
The freshness of its mystery,
The freshness of its mystery.

May I never lose the wonder,
The wonder of the cross.
May I see it like the first time
Standing as a sinner lost,
Undone by mercy and left speechless,
Watching wide eyed at the cost.
May I never lose the wonder,
The wonder of the cross.

Behold the God-man crucified,
The perfect sinless sacrifice.
As blood ran down those nails and wood,
History was split in two, yes,
History was split in two.
Behold the empty wooden tree,
His body gone, alive and free.
We sing with everlasting joy,
For sin and death have been destroyed, yes,
Sin and death have been destroyed.

Of all the things we do for love, this was greatest thing done ever. During this Easter break and season, as we take the break, take a moment to reflect on this act; the love of Christ; and what you are doing to ensure you reciprocate this love.

Happy Easter my friends. :-) :-)

Twitter @deekareithi
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23 March 2014


Ever been arrested? Either for the right or wrong reasons? Well if you have never, I beat you to it. Last evening to be precise. You may wonder why I’m so happy to write about it, just wait and see.

So, it’s Saturday evening, Skater Boy and I have come from training in Thika, we are now in Nairobi. We go at a hotel to have an afternoon snack as we watch a game. Here my already bad day got worse. See, I’m an arsenal fan and I had so much faith in Wenger’s boys for this game. Skater boy is a Manchester united fan (yeah makes the perfect couple). If you all watched that game you know too well how it went down. So, as we linger in there a bit longer as I drown my sorrows in food (we ladies know that food works so well, despite the source of sorrow). 

By the time we leave, it’s a bit dark. We decide to head to Central Park, which is at the center of Nairobi. The flood light at the center of the park is shining bright and the place looks too tempting. Wrong thought. Skater Boy and I are quite crazy, you see, so we agree to stand below the light and we start dancing. (Blame this on the “dance like no one is watching you”). It is a park, right? And people are walking past the park hurrying home. Us; no we had to. The day had been long and hard and laughter and fresh air was all we could think of.

We all know that all movies and books/novels list chasing each other across a field as a moment of…well, you know; a perfect moment.

Well, not in this one. We challenge each other to the nearest pathway and the winner gets to buy the loser some ice-cream (I was hoping to loose, but he beat me to it). At the end of the finish line that is the path, we find some people, cuffs at hand, waiting for us; talk about a bad victory reception. Just imagine Usain Bolt finding such a party at the finish line….sad.

So that is how we got arrested. We cooperated and they did not cuff us (thank God Skater Boy did not get very aggressive, you see, he is also a professional boxer). So we are taken under a tree where we find about 50 other Kenyans, some in cuffs. SB (Skater Boy) and I find ourselves a bench and we await the vehicle supposed to take us to a police station. We are all told that we were arrested for being in the park at “ungodly hours”. We are informed that people are not supposed to trespass the park past six; as he speaks, people are still passing by, but it seems like they had arrested enough people.

They tell us we will be taken to a police cell, expecting the men to resist so that they find a reason for arrest. Strangely enough, we all agree and we state that if the arrest is legal, we would like to record statements. They panic. See, these men introduced themselves as policemen warning us that they will fine us all. A lady at the back starts crying saying that her guy is not Kenyan, that he does not know the rules in Kenya. SB and I laugh. We take out our phones and start recording everything. We knew those guys were people extorting money from naïve and innocent Kenyans.

We pass by Kenyatta avenue round-about and our fears are confirmed. See, if you are to be taken to the police station/ county council cells, you do not turn right, as we did, and headed to Uhuru Park. Several of us started asking which police station we were being taken to and all we got was a “kuna wengine huku, mtakujiwa na lorry hapa” (there are other people here, a police lorry is coming to pick you up).

So we get to a place and find other 50 like so Kenyans sitting there, also waiting for the police lorry to come. Now, the retards that SB and I are, we go around greeting people asking them why they are there; all this time recording (thank you Sony Xperia for having a larger internal memory space). So by now it’s around 8 pm and no uniformed policeman has come. The leader of the gang tells us that they are willing to help anyone who does not want to go to jail. Here you see Kenyans who do not value their hard earned cash. Why do I say this? Some were giving bribes as much as 20, 000 to be let free. SB and I are still recording all this.

One of the “police men” suspects that we are doing this and asks us to sit in a secluded place. Thank God for friends who have friends in high places. I get the number of one of the anchors in Citizen TV and explain our situation and where we are being held; in a gated store area at Freedom Corner. The reporter gives Nairobi OCPD my number and he calls me. I explain the same thing and in a few minutes uniformed policemen are at the gate. Our other police panic and order us to get out, while those who want to “get assistance” to remain behind. We decide to go with the group that wants to be taken to jail.

Now we are two groups, half remained to “get assistance” and half of us knew our arrest was false and we wanted to get justice (and finish our recording). We demand to be taken to a police station. Instead of being taken to a police station, they start taking us upwards, towards All Saints Cathedral, several of our group run away and the fake police leave them. Now, funny is the conversation I heard between the uniformed police and the “police” who arrested us. This was actually a deal between the two!!! The other police even had walkie talkies that communicated with the actual police. Sad.

All this time I am informing the OCPD where we are being taken, and he gives an order for all of us to be released. Half of the group being “taken to jail” is let go. SB and I choose to remain behind. SB and I tell the remaining group not to give any bribes; our escorts hear us and we are pulled out of the crowd. At this point, we have gone round Uhuru Park and we are at Parliament road.  One of the “police” gets us aside to question us; why we were arrested, if we want any assistance. We tell our tale. He tells us he is forgiving us because we look innocent; we laugh.

He tells us to disappear and not get caught again, but we were not going to let him go that easily. We demand to see his police badge and he suddenly gets busy and his arms start shaking. SB and I look at each other and smile. He gets tensed up and gets his wallet out. He starts explaining to us that he is busy calling and we tell him we are patient. Now its a few minutes to nine. The uniformed police are busy taking bribes from other people in the group we were picked out from. The guy starts explaining how I don’t know who was killed where in the park, who was sleeping where and gibberish. We remind him that we are waiting to see his badge; he pulls out a number of cards and picks one out, one with his blood type, no name and no police number.

SB and I laugh and tell him that we know what they are doing and that he should let everyone go if he wants to be safe. Realizing that he has been busted, he gives an order to his people to let our group to go. They do. As we are leaving; His arms are still shaking. I tell him to be careful, some Kenyans are watching and they are talking. Our recordings are with us, a reminder of what innocent Kenyans go through.

It’s now 10 pm; SB and I walk into a hotel for coffee. Now his Manchester united game is over; and we never watched it. But they won, damn!! oh and I lost my precious ear rings in the process :-(

Now I am left to wonder; how many other people walk around masquerading as police men, extorting money from innocent Kenyans, as much as 10 to 20 thousand per person (real police men included)? And us Kenyans, when will we know our rights? Stop giving bribes for crimes you did not commit!!

17 March 2014


“A great man is always willing to be little.” ― Ralph Waldo Emerson

As I write this I am in a hurry, in a hurry because I am supposed to attend a seminar by some scientists in a few minutes. Now, a few minutes ago it was tea break where I work. Well, I have been here a few weeks so I am still getting accustomed to the place and the people. Where was I? Tea break. See on Friday mornings, they give free tea and snacks. For the past few weeks, I missed the FREE tea and snacks. This week I vowed not to (I even set a reminder and an alarm at 9.50 so that I begin my journey to the cafeteria at that time). so I grab my tea and the snacks provided and sit by myself at a certain table. For these who know me well, when I find myself in an environment where I do not know most of the people, I prefer to sit by myself and have a chat with my many imaginary friends (I know you do too).

On this day, they served some boiled maize (which I love by the way) and I am there, waiting for the weekly brief by management. As I am sited there, a young (well, she had a few grey hairs, she is not that young) casually dressed woman comes and sits opposite to where I am and we start discussing the maize that has been served. I praise the cob I was holding so much that she decided to get herself one. She is not taking tea, I observe. She gets back to our (yeah, now its ours) table and starts eating the maize. A few minutes later the cafeteria in charge brings her a plate with a few other cobs. In my mind I register she is one of the many visitors that frequent the place and we listen in on the brief, which has started by now.

As the briefing went on, someone made a report and the easy lady across me becomes tough and makes tough comments. At first I am surprised but then I tell myself that it must be the open door management policy of this place, and I start making mental notes. After the brief, the lady leaves and I go back to my conversation with my imaginary friends. Someone next to me says to me “I like how DG is tough”. Oh, so that’s her name, DG. What could DG mean? In my mind I make up the funniest of names that DG could mean (Danielle Grant, Densely Gael and many other names). “She’s DG?” I ask him. “Yeah, Director General” he says. 
 *Brain Freeze*
You mean DG means director general? She is the apex in the organization? I couldn’t believe it! I was chatting casually with the boss, and I am just an intern!! How can she be so humble? Can you imagine, the “top boss” sitting at a table chatting with a two-week old intern? Where? When? If it were some of us, we get a little power and we ensure everyone knows who we are. We go bossing around people, addressing people as if you are the reason they work there, giving people the “do you know who I am?” look as you walk around. Sitting in secluded places with “special seats” that no one dares to sit on because “It belongs to our boss”. Surely!! 

Humility and success go hand in hand. If you want to rise, lay the first foundation that is humility. After all, “Pride makes us artificial, humility makes us real” – Thomas Merton.

Have a humble day now, won’t you. :-)
Twitter: @deekareithi
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