He was really young when he died.
Who? Jesus
No, think about it. If I died today, after you return me to the soil from which I came (ashes to ashes, dust to dust), after you have cried your heart out if I mean anything to you, after you have tsked and sighed and shaken your head and it’s time to go back to your lives, you will probably carry my eulogy with a beautiful photo of me filling the front page. Hopefully, I will be smiling. At the bottom of the page; Date of birth, hyphen, date of death. A bible verse just below it, one of the common ones. 2 Timothy 4:7 I have done my best in the race, I have run the full distance, and I have kept the faith. You will put it in the glove compartment of your car, or fold it in half and put in your purse. Then you will go for reggae because it is one of my wishes. (Make sure they play the song Shine on Your Way by Chalice). You will get home feeling better, in the wee of hours of the morning. A little tipsy, or full on drunk because you took some shots in my honour (consider this another wish but do not drink and drive. If you don’t indulge, take shots of juice, or water or tea if you find yourself in a club that sells it).
You’ll wake up the next day feeling like there’s a welding and fabrication workshop in your head. Depending on how many shots you had last night, your head will range from feeling a little heavy. Like someone has placed a 10kg jerrican of porridge on your head. You’re not used to carrying things with your head but it’s not so bad. You can handle it. Or your head will feel like it’s made of iron sheets and someone is using a giant ball peen hammer to strike it. Pounding. Loud. Annoying. Continuous. Can you keep it down? You want to call NEMA on the shop because of all the noise pollution happening, but it’s all in your head. Damnit.
You’ll debate on whether to ask for help getting a glass of water because your throat feels drier than the Sahara in its hottest season. Like they have read your thoughts, the person sleeping on the other side of the bed will ask if you are okay. Jesus. They’re so loud. You’ll put your head in both hands, attempt to speak but only a groan will come out. You’ll nod weakly and start shuffling out of bed.
“Kwani mlikuwa mchelewe hivyo?“
You’ll remember the eulogy in the glove compartment. Perfect opportunity to fetch it and get water.
“Wacha nikam” Almost a whisper. You really need a drink. No, water. Though a drink doesn’t sound too bad either. This is one of those hangovers that need the ‘lock to be removed’ (Non alcoholics, this is a practice where you drink alcohol. A lot of alcohol. So much that you go to sleep and when you open your eyes the world is still spinning, seemingly faster than usual. You’re still drunk or horribly hungover. They you apply dawa ya moto ni moto and apparently it helps. If I must spell it out for you, it means you drink some more alcohol. Imagine that. It’s okay, you can shake your head teetotallers,perfectly warranted response.)
You’ll hand over the eulogy and sit on the edge of the bed and take large gulps of water. (I wanted to say you’ll get choked but you are already suffering enough with a hangover from hell)
“She was so young” The person on the other side of your bed will probably say when they see the date of birth. You see, Jesus and I are agemates. Let me rephrase. Jesus is thought to have been around my age at his time of death. I did a little reading and I was today years old when I discovered it is a range. 33- 40. Not that that changes anything about my age. Ha-ha.
This was brought to light by Evans. He called it my ‘Jesus Year’. He dropped me a text exactly 37 days to my birthday. I’ve talked about Evans before. He’s my oldest friend. 15 years and counting. He has made it a habit to text me a ridiculous and odd amount of days before my birthday. It will never be a nice round figure like 30 or 25. Or at least a multiple of 7 because that’s how many days there are in a week.No, he will text me 23 days to the day. He doesn’t know this but he really got me through that period last year. I didn’t feel like there was reason to celebrate anything. I was feeling so overwhelmed. Like the weight of the world was on my shoulders. Imagine how Jesus, who had the actual weight of the world on his shoulders, felt. But every time I’d see a text from Evans “25 MORE DAYS!!!!!”, I’d feel like you know what?Maybe I should celebrate. Evans seems to be happy I am alive, maybe I should too. He was yelling every time he sent a text. By yelling I mean texting in all capital letters. Nothing has changed this year, Evans still yelled at me (he he). So this whole post? 100% inspired by Evans. Thank Evans for this post. I told him as much and let’s just say he’s feeling himself a bit too much for my liking, but I will let him have it because it is my Jesus year and what would Jesus do?
As I grow older, my birthday has become more of a reminder that I am closer to death than a celebration. I know, grim. In the recent past, it has been more of tussle between being grateful for life and panic that the years are rushing by. What have I achieved? I should have achieved this by a certain age, I’m getting so late. Am I lagging behind? Will I ever catch up? Am I even making progress? Is that more white hair? This feeling sets in around October, and it gets progressively heavier as the day approaches.
But this year, for some strange reason, I am not panicking. (Okay, I’m lying. I panicked. I panicked like mad in October,then some overwhelming sense of gratitude came to me like Thor’s hammer. I still have moments full of panic). In many, perhaps small ways, this year is better than last year for me and isn’t this what life is all about? Making progress, no matter how small? Crawling if you must, but not stopping? I think I have really crawled this year and that’s reason enough to be grateful, right?
I started life this year, somehow. My friends may know what I mean. But I also started many things this year. Like this blog, for example. This is my biggest win this year. That I wrote and I posted. It made me start reading again too. Rekindling old flames nini nini. I’ve always loved to read but the past couple of years saw me struggle to pick up a book. The only thing I read religiously, was Jackson Biko’s blog. He posts every Tuesday. I love that man. Love is a strong word, I know. But I said what I said. He’s brilliant, Biko. Very funny too. I think to be a writer you have to be a little insane. He carries just the right amount of insanity. He inspires me. Imagine posting every Tuesday of every week,for over a decade. It must be at least 15 years. That’s Biko. The only time he doesn’t post is when a public holiday falls on a Tuesday. I started talking to one of my very good friends because of Biko; Jay Dot (that’s what we’ll call him. That’s what I call him). When he was new, we bonded over the fact that we both love Biko. So we’d read a blog and discuss it, like a book club. A blog club. It’s been a couple of years now and this friendship got me through what I think was the toughest role of my working life. I’d be *this* close to giving up and he’d say “Hapana Shee (this is what he calls me. Shee or My G or just G). Tutang’ang’ana tu” This friendship warms my heart very much because I know one day referring to me, he’ll say, “she’s a friend of the family” .
For the first time in my life, I held a newborn. I’ve always had this irrational fear of holding babies. Like my bones will suddenly turn into rubber and I will drop the baby. She’s 8 months now and turning into the most adorable young lady. She looks exactly like her father. A lot of my friends babies look exactly like their fathers. Ladies, are your genes even trying? (This question is also applicable to Wa Nyambura)
I went to the beach, twice. Every year, since 2019, I try to go the coast even if it’s for just for 24 hours. I find the beach calming. The sound of the waves crashing against each other, the feeling of the cool salty ocean water between my toes, the different hues of blue and green and turquoise and teal (yes, these are colours gents), the white sand, the tall palm trees, seeing speed boats or a paraglider in the horizon, a random swimmer in the deeper waters (Mimi maji ikipita kwa magoti, I’m out) … I feel like all my troubles disappear when I’m at the beach. It must be the water. There’s something about the water, and this is coming from someone who has a phobia for it. I hope I get to leave all my troubles in the coast next year too. I don’t have plans yet but things will work themselves out. They always do. I’d love to go with someone (if you know what I’m saying but oh well. A girl can dream)
I know how cliche this will sound but I am very grateful for good health. You should too.Think of all the times you’ve had a flu and you’re trying to sleep but one stuffy nostril is making it extremely difficult for you to do that simple act of breathing. And when you do finally sleep, the person who sleeps on the other side of your bed has to keep shaking you gently because you sound like a chainsaw, with all that snoring. One blocked nostril, all this damage. In fact, stop what you’re doing , take a deep breath and give thanks that your nostrils are working as they should. That your whole body is working as it should.
It’s been a good year for my face and my back. I haven’t had too many moments where I’ve had to walk like a really old woman. Taking small, slow steps, not being able to run, or walk fast, or carry things or sit in the back seat of a PSV or sit for too long. Where I’ve had to walk around with a pain patch constantly on my lower back. I still carry a couple in my bag though, just in case. You never know when it will strike. Where I have to brace myself before I stand up because that’s when the pain is the worst. That and getting up a flight of stairs. Sometimes though, I will be walking and this sharp pain goes through my back, randomly. It’s the type of pain that demands to be felt. I don’t know if you have ever experienced anything like it. So for a couple of seconds, I freeze. My whole body locks (I don’t know how else to explain it) and I let the pain run through. If I’m walking with someone, I’ll probably grab or hold onto them. I grab the closest thing to me. I’ve grabbed onto Aundie a couple of times (When she read this line, she gave me a look. This is an inside joke between us. Don’t try to understand it, unless you’re Wa Madrinks. She’ll get it too. We have the same sense of humour, the three of us) If it’s a wall, I will lean on it and for those few seconds, I close my eyes and let the pain jolt through my back. Then, I go back to walking like a grandmother. It happens really fast. Relief only comes when I lie down when my back is acting up. The good news is that once I sleep, pain ceases to exist. I may be Jesus years old but my back is Methuselah.
It’s been such a good year that I ran a lap. Are you seriously celebrating running one lap the whole year? Yes. Yes I am. If you’ve seen how far I’ve come, you would too. I’m really proud of that. I also went for a concert. We got there at around 5;00 pm and by 10;00 pm, out of a group of 4 girls, only one was the exception. The rest of us? Our feet were killing us. It was so bad that we would take a break from dancing. You know that pose ladies take when they’re about to twerk? Bend over, hands on your knees, then bend your knees a little bit? (Stay with me. I’m trying to explain something). You’d be surprised how that pose, without the actual twerking, can offer relief when you’re tired from standing for too long. (Or we were so tired, anything felt like a relief). So we’d do this for a couple of minutes, every so often. I was a little scared for my back because it is not recommended to be standing for all those hours. But I had told myself I still had a day to recover in case it acted up. Plus I was having such a good time, a backache would have been a small price to pay.
This was my first concert to attend in years and I was very determined to have a good night. We were on our feet until around 2;00 or 3;00 am. Making that at least 10 hours. Guess what happened? My back acted up, obviously, right? Wrong. My legs were a little sore, the type that comes from working out, my back was on its best behaviour but I lost my voice. When the artists said “Nairobi make some noise!!” , they were addressing me. I took it very personally and Nairobi really made some noise. A lot of noise. Maybe too much noise. But Nairobi (me) would do it again. I keep saying utamu wa concert is singing along to the music and boy, I sang all night. My friends had a field day with me on Monday because of this. They kept whispering “Nairobi make some noise”. Mind you, some of those people making fun of me, and I won’t mention names, ended up using Kaluma to massage their sore feet (he he. Misery loves company. I also showed her this line and she said the Kaluma really helped. If you want to party and you’re in your thirties, here’s a tip. You’re welcome). Which one is a worse sign of aging? Losing your voice or having to massage your feet with a pain balm after a night out? I can’t decide.
I can tell I’m getting older, it’s in the way I discover more strands of white hair, every time I undo my braids or twist outs or whatever it is that I have on my head. More wrinkles in the corner of my eye when I smile. More random aches and pains. Like my right knee has moments. I cannot believe these are the same knees I stanky legged and walked it out with. I make sounds when I sit. (I let out long sigh, mostly of relief. Sometimes it comes out involuntarily) . I go to places and the first thing I look for is somewhere to sit. I’ll be out at 9:00 pm and I’ll think to myself “A cup of tea sounds really nice” . I find myself saying old people things like “Haskii baridi?” when I see someone in a short skirt. I drink small alcohol and the next day, my body behaves like I was trying to alcohol poison myself. Someone who not to long ago, would spend a whole night out, on their feet, dancing, get to the house, shower and start another day. I shudder at such thoughts, now. In Kikuyu we say, wainaga nì eroragìra. To mean the dancer eventually becomes a spectator. I am spectating properly, and that’s okay. I’ve become more quiet (quiter?). I’ve gotten this so comment so many times. I saw someone post something like adulthood has stunned them into silence. I think I can relate. Nothing is wrong guys, I just have nothing to say. Really.
I was a quiet child, I think. This year has seen me go back to my roots. I appreciate silence so much, especially in the morning. I hang out with Em recently and within like 15 minutes she had picked it out. The youngins would say, she clocked it immediately. (Something very interesting happened to when I wrote this sentence. My whatsapp is connected to my laptop, which is what I am using to write. Immediately I wrote this sentence, I saw a notification, from Em. She had shared a collage of photos and captioned it “Us over the years”. It made me so happy, I let out an involuntary squeal. This small coincidence. What are the odds that you write about someone and in that exact moment, they text you?. So I took a photo of my screen and sent it to Em. I especially wanted her to see the time stamp. So it doesn’t sound like what is called story za jaba. I get a lot of moments like that, by the way. They make me question my sanity sometimes. Don’t even get me started about dreams either, but Wangechi knows. Wangechi is my cousin, I’m sure I’ve mentioned her before too.) Em is my friend from campus, 13 years and counting. This friendship started with a packet of crisps, a trip to one of the chains of supermarkets that no longer exists and an ‘illegal’ roadtrip. One day I may tell you the story, today is not that day 😝
I’ve become more confrontational. Or rather, I have stopped thinking that confrontation is always a bad thing. It’s not. There’s healthy confrontation. I’m not shying away from these now and it doesn’t feel like I’m spoiling for a fight anymore. At least most of the time. The pendulum is not swinging so much now. I think I am very close to finding my equilibrium. All in a year’s work (I wrote about the pendulum here https://gwaciku.com/wp-admin/post.php?post=747&action=edit . Specifically, on the fifth paragraph but it won’t hurt to read the whole thing). I’ve found myself addressing things I wouldn’t have touched with a 10 foot pole. Even when I find myself a little scared, I still do it anyway. I have called people out as my voice betrays me by being shaky and I love that for me. No more “It’s okay” , especially when it is NOT okay. You will be hearing from me. I promise to be nice about it, and watch my tone. But I am always ready to return the energy if you decide otherwise.
I discovered that I have no idea how to deal with grief. Sometime in June, we lost a colleague due to a short illness. (May his soul continue resting in peace). I cried. Oh, I cried. I never imagined some things could hit so close home. I talked about it. I wrote about it.All these things normally offer some form of relief, but not this time. The grief would sit on my chest. It felt like someone hired a crane and set a heavy boulder on my chest. I carried it with me. Nothing was helping me chip away at this boulder. It just sat there. I didn’t know what to do with it. I still don’t, to be honest. This was very scary to me because I know adulting has a lot of grief and I don’t think I am adequately prepared. But in the midst of this grief, I made a friend. A stranger who was kind enough to reach out. Maybe that was the universe helping me cope. Maybe that’s how I’ll deal with all the grief that will inevitably come my way. Who knows? For now, I’ll keep taking it a day at a time.
I made another friend! We go to the same church, I know him but we had never spoken until Twitter (because I refuse to call it X) happened. It started with one of those links where you send an anonymous message. (I have since changed my mind about such links. If you have something to say, say it to my face and with your chest). Anyways, back to Ken, he said something like we know each other but we’ve never talked and now we talk pretty much daily. Life is very interesting because I’ve interacted with his mum so many times. My mum knows his mum, I think everyone knows his mum. She’s a social butterfly, can’t say the same thing about him. I even went to their house a couple of years back, must’ve been before COVID and he was there but we didn’t talk. Look at us now.
Speaking of church, faith becomes really hard as you grow older. Ama it’s just me? There are moments I really struggled with faith. I couldn’t even bring myself to pray, let alone go to church. Then I went for what remains to be my best confession session to date. (Am I allowed to talk about confessions? Let me consult real quick) It was more of a conversation to be honest. I mentioned that I had been really struggling to pray and that priest, bless his soul, told me sometimes we overthink prayers. It could be as simple as “I’m leaving for work, God protect me during my trip” In which case, I have been praying A LOT because I’ll be having a rough day and “Eh Mungu, umesema niteseke leo? Nipee nguvu ya kumaliza hii siku aki” Even in prayer, I am a little dramatic.(Warning; Follow my spiritual advice at your own risk. I don’t know what I am doing. What I can do though, is connect you to a spiritual director. Let’s say I know people . He He. How come I am not connecting myself? Oh, I am connected, alright. Closer than you think)
Generally, it’s been a hopeful year. I don’t know if this being a Jubilee year has anything to do with it? (Catholics hoyee! Practicing Catholics hoyee! If you have not stepped foot in a church this whole year, you will be very lost 😅). I have really been a pilgrim of hope this year, with emphasis on the hope part. I have had so many little moments where the universe gave me a snippet of things getting better. I won’t get into details though. At least not today. Work, life, my abilities, love… many small instances that felt like an assuring hand on your shoulder giving you a gentle squeeze, whispering “Everything will be okay”. You, feeling like everything really will be okay. Maybe not in this exact moment, but it will be. Eventually. Whatever okay is to you. I always have this very strong conviction that everything will be okay and sometimes, that’s what keeps me going.
I am hoping the Jesus in my Jesus years comes with a lot of miracles. That especially my pockets can touch the hem of His garment and be healed. I have experienced unprecedented levels of being broke. How I have survived this year is purely a miracle. (Ah! Look at that. Jesus has been working). For the first time ever, I have defaulted chama contributions. It’s terrible, guys. How are you all surviving? No, seriously. I am asking for tips. Just don’t tell me to live within my means, because I am. Or budget. There’s only so much budgeting one can do. No amount of budgeting can solve the fact that you’re barely making enough and everything is so damn expensive. If I am struggling this much yet I am alone, what about people with families? How are you doing it?
Every time I mention someone here, I always send them what I wrote and ask for consent, even the ones whose names are not mentioned. I get the most heartwarming responses when I do and every time, they make me very emotional. Thank you for your support. I may not be very lucky in other areas but friends and family? I am very blessed. I call it my support system. Everyone who I meet and chooses to be in my life? *chef’s kiss*. I have very solid people in my corner and I am eternally grateful. There’s a homeless lady who I see around here a lot. I’m not sure about her sanity but I think she’s a little insane. (Aren’t we all, though?) She walks around, bent over, partially dragging her feet and almost always carrying a dirty sack on her back. I keep wondering what the sack contains. Even when she has blacked out a sidewalk, she’ll by lying on her sack. Coincidentally, her name is also Shiko. Were it not for my support system, I suspect I’d have lost my mind. It’d be the two Shikos, walking around asking for ten or twenty shilling and calling people names. (Anakuwanga na matusi sana 😅). She’d be my support system.
I also get very emotional when I send people paragraphs on their birthdays. This counts as a birthday paragraph to myself, right? Let’s just say by the time I was done with this post, I was almost holding back sniffles. I hope things come from looking up, to moving up. Let’s see what the year has in store, shall we?
