A few weeks ago a man gave me a thousand shillings after the church service because he appreciated that I was seated next to him tolerating him for about two hours. I'm only used to shaking peeps by the hand and saying grace. Is this a new thing because I don't have money to dish out but I don't mind receiving cash every Sunday. I tried looking for this man during the Christmas service. Maybe he was going to Watamu after that and had space for one more person.

2014 is finally coming to an end with all the douchebags we dated(mhhmm) and all the pics we sent (mmmmhhhhmmmm). At some point this year I seriously wanted to become a rastafarian. I was spreading the gospel that not everything that comes from Jamaica is bad. Rambo Kanambo is undoubtedly in my 'top one hundred songs of 2014' list. New things are always exciting and so is a new year. That's why people buy new clothes during Christmas and eat with new plates. I probably need a new roommate. The one I have makes me repeat certain jokes then she says, "Ai! It sounded funnier the first time." Do you know how mortifying that statement is? Do you? What I've done is start on my resolutions now so that even if I forget them by January 15th I'll have made a difference.

My reading mojo is also on holiday. I've been reading a lot about women and I got a bit bored. I decided to read Game of Thrones to try and spice things up a bit. The thing about that book is that it's actually a five-book series each with about 750 pages. They use words like lordlings so it takes more time than normal books. So I have started a 3800-word journey, four books waiting for me in the library gathering dust as I read the first part of the sequel. Why am I doing this to myself? The answer is simple; SPOILERS! That's it. My joy will be to torture people with spoilers once I'm done.

I discovered the Veon's blog and have enjoyed perusing it because it's off the chizzle for shizzle my nizzle in the dictionizzle. In the process I discovered that we have a lot in common with this lass who I once thought was a boy. She's as short as I am although I like to think I'm an inch taller at 5'4. Like me, she hasn't listened to Forest Hill Drive. I have it on my phone but I don't have the morale to listen to it. Guys have spoken about it so much I already know I'll like Adolescence, Wet Dreamz and Don't Save Her.

I hope you're enjoying yourself as much as I am. I'm spending time with my family discovering which uncle was in a rap crew calling themselves the Last B'z (lastborns). Circumsion ceremonies among the Luhya community are the real deal because it's an excuse to eat nyama choma and dance lipaala. Happy holidays to you all. Remember if you buy VIP tickets to Sundance I'll be waiting for you on your doorstep with my clothes and my cat ready to move in with you. Cheers!


In the late 20th Century a boy met a girl. This is not your ordinary girl-sits-on-bundle-juggling-boy's-chapati story. Reasons why it is not:
1. The boy had no idea what bundles were at that time.
2.Sauti Sol did not exist and so no one had the torture of figuring out what 'umenikalia chapati' meant.
3. The couple had a baby who is of great significance to this blog.

The baby in question is me! I feel like writing in third person so let's pretend it's not me.

Like most girls her age, she takes at least two thousand selfies a month but unlike them, she does not like oreos. They're too hard. Her eyebrows are not fleek. Infact, they are on bushy. Dorobushy!

When she's not perfecting her plan to kidnap Usher Raymond, she studies at Kenyatta University. According to a recent article which she does not believe, she is taking one of the five hardest courses in Kenya; Economics and Statistics. She has just finished her exams and it feels good to be on the other side of the semester. Sometimes when you're in an exam room all you see is stars and they make you cry more than when you watched "The Fault in our Stars".

She wants to share about four books she has read in the recent past. Because she's the most awesome person she knows she is not going to give any spoilers. First off is "The Book Thief". The narrator is death or to put it in a better way, the grim reaper. She wishes she had read this book earlier. She can't remember the last time she read such an interesting book that did not touch on matters consummating. It was about a girl who's life can be summarised according to books; those she stole, those she read and those she wrote. The setting was Germany during the world wars. Our reader even learnt some German words. "Mein kampf" means my struggle.

She has read "Americanah". You know how you finish a book and think you've been dumped because you didn't want it to end? Well this book has a blog to pick up from where the book left. After a few blogposts she got tired and was ready to see other books. She would recommend this book to anyone who hasn't read it especially those who want to try African literature. She wants people to understand what ceiling means.

She has also read "Half of a yellow Sun". It was pure torture and she does not want to recall how she struggled to read about political unrest. That theme makes her psych go too low; like two lawyers.

"Adultery" was her last book. When she starts reading a Paulo Coelho book she imagines she is about to see her old Japanese therapists who walks very slowly but can still beat up five men in three seconds. This particular book did not do much for her. She knows Paulo fans will still go ahead and buy it so she won't waste her time.

All this reading is making her feel like the girl from that movie, Lucy. However, she doesn't want to unlock 100% of her brain because she doesn't want to turn into a flashdisk. Flashdisks can't eat hotdogs. If the average man uses 10% of their brain, let's assume she uses 5%. After all, she's an economist. This means she has a long way to go.

She is currently reading "The Kite Runner". Another book she wished she had read earlier. She wishes people could recommend more books for her to read.


Olive Mugenda should be a writer. Anapenda storeys. There are so many buildings under construction in our school I've lost track. Not that I'm complaining, infrastructure is a very important part of any learning institution. Hopefully when we're done with the real estate phase we'll concentrate more on research. Some students here are really passionate about what they do and it challenges me a lot.

Joining KU came with the added advantage of leaving home and having my own place next to school. This meant one thing, freedom. You know how freedom just gives you the ability to choose your own slavery. I left our lovely home in Kajiado County with its serene environment and not very interesting traffic throughout to stay in a sombrero in Kahawa. Thus I have become a slave of bhajias from my favorite restaurant here and of three little birds who peck at my window every morning.

Not that we live in a Mexican hat, we're just used to saying sombrero to refer to anything and everything. That's our culture and no one lacks culture, only a dead people. The first time Jewel, my roommate, said sombrero to mean eggs I was like "Oh great wind thou hath blown and left thy servant with a maiden that knoweth not the difference between sombrero and omelet. Whence shalt I run? What hath thy done to deserve this?" Now I'm cool.

So welcome to our sombrero. We have a neighbour who sings do re mi fa so la ti do when he has had one two many and another one with a very lovely sombrero (read househelp). I try to have little conversations with her every now and then. I figured if I invest in a friendship with her she'll remember me the next time she's cooking chapatis.

The sombreros who live in this house are not morning people. We struggle each day to wake up early enough to attend morning lectures. Alarms are snoozed like crazy here because no one wants to wake up. However when we do, and we always do, our days kickstart with energy. In the evening, when we are tired of hanging out in the kitchen because that's the only place with a semblance of phone coverage, we'll sit on couches and discuss the events of the week or weekend. How Sarabi should do a live album because the studio did them zero justice or how the Chinese kid from Trophy Wife is the real sombrero. Or we could talk about the recent strike which was exciting to watch from afar.

She's writing a book. She has draft files which she will compile one day into a novel. I write blogs, these ones, a collection of my stories and other people's. We talk about how some Kenyan writers are meh! And African writers are meher! I'll express my disappointment when I read Half Of A Yellow Sun because it reminded me of Shreds of Tenderness a setbook we did in high school. But what do we know? Every writer has their own style and their own story.

Peer pressure skyrockets on Thursday evenings and Friday mornings. This time should be used on the balcony writing while sipping some wine but our balcony is too dusty to enjoy since our place is next to the road and HELB has not given us money so being the economist I am, wine is an unnecessary luxury. What is a creative juice anyway? One of us will decide to have a chilled out weekend, go home and just relax with family. That is until one of us suggests a gig and because we are suckers for art, we'll find ourselves at Sondeka fest or a small exhibition somewhere.

When I take a matatu from our stage to KU it takes five minutes or less that's enough time to hear a mama complain about her husband's mischief on Maina Kageni's show. Then I have to listen to lecturers and it's not like they are the most interesting people in the world. I'll meet random people like two Tanzanian guys talking about how Nairobi ladies wear vijikaptura (booty shorts) and dudes listen to Kendriki Ramari. By the end of the day I just want to crawl back to my little sombrero.


To Kimani,
I am celebrating our one week anniversary since we met in a matatu on our way home at midnight. We were both coming from our different Friday night escapades and fate had brought us together. In the middle of our perfect conversation I told you my name; Wanja. We talked. I was fascinated by how much we had in common. We talked. I wondered how awesome it was to meet such an interesting person in the drunk jav. We talked. I fell in love.

I am on the road to town hoping that our paths will cross again tonight. Have you ever seen all the Mganga kutoka Tanga posters around Ngara? I had never noticed them but I have today because of   all the traffic. I'm saving one of the  numbers on my phone just incase you don't call anytime soon. I'll have to contact these guys for a portion or spell to get you back. Why haven't you called anyway? Is it that you don't like me because I was pretty sure you did. Or maybe I gave you a wrong number by mistake. My guess is that you've actually called me a few times and I was mteja. In that case I'd like to apologise for living in a place with no network coverage so my phone is always off even when it's not.

Meeting you has made me think about going back to church. I have not been there for three years because I felt like God was betraying me. Why would a loving God allow me to date these shaggy boys from Muratina University? I'd never go out with them even if my life depended on it. Oh! Nie? Digehota! Sahau forget! Now He has sent me you. A man who is loaded enough to treat me well, smells nice and looks nice. I like being seen with people who look like they are from a Buoart photoshoot. You should also thank God, you know. I noticed you were short sighted but since I am not that tall you don't have to struggle while looking at me. We both know that you wouldn't have found another chic like me anyway.

Did I tell you how great you were looking that night? Especially in that suit that made you a walking HELB loan. I spent most of my weekend looking for a house in Runda. We will need a big place to keep your nice suits and the nicer ones you'll buy for me. Kwanza I saw a very beautiful one with sixteen rooms. It looked like Kim Kardashian's. I just assumed we will have five children so that every kid gets two bedrooms but if you want a bigger family we can always look for a bigger house.

When are you going to call me? My pal Njoki works at Artcaffé and she can reserve for us a table next to the footpath so that everyone can see us enjoying our love. I have written my phone number at the back of this letter if your phone was stolen and you had to buy a new one. You could also google me and find my social media names. I'm an upcoming socialite so it won't be that hard to find me.

With love from

My mom says hi. She was wondering when you are coming to bring my brideprice.


"Daddy why do girls pee when they're seated?"
"Because they're lazy"
Her dad laughed so hard when she told him this joke he almost hit the bumper of the car infront of us. For a moment there he stopped and looked at me wondering what our daughter found funny. In his mind she was too little to understand why different genders pass urine the way they do. This was the second time he thought that we should have the sex talk with Anna. The first time was when she was four causing tantrums in the house crying that she wants her own baby. We bought her a teddy bear and told her that's how all babies start. He saw her frown a little and he wondered if we should explain where babies come from but she wasn't that sharp.
Driving to Malindi had become an annual thing. We would go there every August even before Anna was born.Back then it was just the two of us in the car. About eight hours on the road nursing a bum that's too tired from sitting on the same position. Tolerating Mark's dry jokes and boring pick up lines. "Are you Octopizzo because your figure is number nane baby!" With Anna around we had to stop everytime her bladder or empty stomach started crying for attention. Sometimes between her loud singing and Mark's hopeless efforts of being funny I would doze off thinking how life could not get any better.
The love he had for Anna made me jealous. Atleast until he found some trick who laughed at his jokes and he felt like he was finally getting the attention he deserved. A trick who should be on the passenger's seat of her own husband's car being killed softly with his jokes. Taking her own daughter on the side of the road for a short call, choosing non-toxic leaves to wipe her because she forgot to buy tissue then help herself as well after spotting a bush that is not too conspicous. What does she think she can get from my husband that she didn't get from hers? These men are like Jaguar's songs, the same old shit! Sure her husband has ears that can work as wi-fi boosters on their own but no one's perfect.
I wouldn't have cared about the affair. It's just that when you get a child her ambitions, dreams and whole life become your topmost priority. There's something about being a parent that blinds us from the rest of the world. I thought Mark understood that more than I did. For chrissake Anna's first words were papa.
Now I'm stuck raising Anna on my own. Lord knows she works me up. When I refuse to buy an expensive snack at the store because I can't afford it, she'll open the pack sit on the supermarket floor and devour it from there. First day in high school, boyfriend problems, poor grades, I'll raise her alone. I'll do a good job.
But when she tears her drawing of our family because Mark is not her dad anymore and when she warns her best friend not to go to vacation because her dad will leave her mum I will only pity her. All I have is sympathy for all the times I will take her to Uhuru Park and take a picture high-fiving KICC since I cannot afford a trip to Malindi. Before she realises that not all men will leave her like her dad I will have sent a fortune to our fake pastors to bring Mark back.
I would pretend he's the funniest man on earth. Dedicate my time and energy just to keep him from leaving Anna. All to hide Anna from the woes of rejection. However, a man who even thinks of going away is no good staying.


Often I get amazed at how different this world is. My current major problem is learning how to talk to people I have never met before on a bid to break the awkward silence and make new friends. For an introvert this is really hard and at times I start fidgeting. If I can't come up with anything I'll unleash my secret weapon; accents which at times increase the awkwardness. It's really hard to talk to some people. I look at them and wonder on a scale of one to Uhuru Kenyatta having white eyes, what are the chances that they will actually converse with me?

For someone like Vera Sidika I bet her biggest challenge is trying really hard to not use her brain.Don't get me wrong I am a very huge fan of Aloe Vera Sidika. Using her body to make money is a clever enterpreneurial skill especially for a country where finding a job is as hard as finding an ugly picture of Kagwe Mungai.
It's thrilling to see how varied people's thoughts are. A man in Nyeri is pissing his pants trying to convince his wife that he had not been from drinking to avoid being beaten. An adorable little girl somewhere is trying to think what exactly "Chemical X" is so she could add it to sugar, spice and everything nice to get dolls like the PowerPuff Girls.

A mother has been restricted from seeing her two children because they have ebola. A surgeon has just saved the life of a small baby and after meeting the girl of his dreams he feels like he has everything he could ever wish for.

According to a song by Justin Beiber (for lack of a better reference), there are about seven billion people in the world. That's about seven billion minds and I am just one. Makes you feel small doesn't it. There's a boy who worships Michael Jackson and has a mirror where he "talks" to Mike every now and then. An artist has just sold a painting he greatly despised for $1000. Some orator has written a speech for a president but on the day it is to be read, the head of state decides to use his own words.

Some part of the world is experiencing extremely cold temperatures making everyone who belongs to #teamSingle or #teamBonesForDays want to run away. Other regions are too hot and Nelly's "It's gettin hot in herre" is the anthem.

Kanye West is so rich he bought his kid a doppleganger for a lot of money, no need to google figures. Yet someone is so poor that they decided to sell one of their kids in order to get money to feed and educate the rest. It is mindblowing how our weakness is someone else's strength and our strength is someone else's weakness.

It's not just with us humans. Sometimes I look at our cat playing on a rag and after I fervently pray that I won't get seventeen more pets a few years and no life partner later, I wonder how it is naturally potty trained while dogs poop everywhere. Or how the gold fish has the worst memory but if you eat the brains of a tilapia you'll have a sharper mind.

Variety is an awesome thing. I may not have enough girl in me to know all the 3000 (or more) shades of pink that exists but acknowledging that fact is enough. You remember Goldilocks? She sampled everything in the Bears' home until she found what was just right for her: not too hot, not too cold, not too soft, not too hard. Sampling stuff is for the experience so that you know how to treat a ratchet and how to treat a lass with class (pazzazz!). Don't worry just vary.


One of the lowest moments I've had this year was when Brazil lost to Germany. 7-1! I swear I have never watched such a mortifying match in the history of me sitting in front of a screen to watch a game. I only began watching football last month but still. I went to bed after the first half because I  could not sit there with all the humiliation. I was just begging for it to stop.

 Goal after goal!
 Why! Tell them those are enough! Tell them to stop!
 I wondered why I was supporting such a team. It's not like I had the hots for Neymar like everyone else. He looks nice, yes, but I like my men black, with British accents and can bust a few moves like Sturridge. Not these people who cry all the time instead of scoring goals.

Then to make it worse, on the eve of my birthday, we lost 3-0 to Netherlands. Have you ever felt like you cannot take it anymore? My phone's wallpaper is still the Brazilian flag. I am in denial haha. I cannot believe we were that crappy.

Again I ask, have you ever felt like you cannot take it anymore? I watched the first half of that game and it tortured me emotionally. I did not deserve such loss. Such embarrassment. Thank God there was no wager involved. So (as I start making my point) what is the worst thing you have ever experienced in that your life? Losing someone you love? Bankruptcy? Losing a lot of people you love? Going  to jail and finding out that Orange is the new black just shows a tip of the iceberg? AIDS? cancer?  Breaking a nail?

What is your best life experience? Traveling to Africa? Losing your virginity to David Beckham? Eating cake?

How much potential do you think you have of being successful? I want you to think about those girls who were kidnapped in Nigeria. Half of them would probably grow up to become Afrosinema actors and distract our future house helps from cleaning our houses.Some of them would become singers and flood our radios with missing persons reports. Looking for Johnny and the rest. Others would become remarkable contributors to global development.

How about the missing Malaysian plane? Maybe there was someone there with a mutant gene, a Tomorrow person. A loving parent is more likely. Someone who was about to propose to their girlfriend. Or here at home, all those lives we have lost due to terrorism and insecurity. All those minds. All those beating hearts. All those futures.

I'm trying to show  that we are have different fates and we go through different stuff. No one is safe. Technology and human innovation will not save us. Statistics show that ten out of ten people die. Habari ndio hiyo buda!

You might be going through the worst time of your life and I'm here to tell you that it could get worse. Can I get an Amen! Worse than you can ever imagine. Or it could get better. No one knows.  All I know is that you're reading this.( Shout out to all of you. You mean a lot to me.) All you have is the present. My friend once said that we have invented smaller smarter computers, we are really advanced but we still use the same simple umbrellas when it rains. Ha!

NOTHING IS GUARANTEED. Be positive because all you have is now. I don't like this motivation stuff and I'm not a fan of self help and inspiration books. However, it is true that we are only sure of the present. That is the only thing that makes sense.The only thing that all religious groups agree with. No sugarcoating. No filter.  


Bridget did a post last week on how blogging is about sharing a part of your soul. Well, this post is about something that I think about all the time, not to these extremes however. I decided to try a fictional style. Enjoy.

Sunny days,
Beautiful people pass my way,
Butterflies and bumble bees,
Smile for me baby,
Pam param pa ra pam-
This is Kagwe's alarm. It reminds him of the beautiful day he is going to have in Nairobi. They always were incredibly beautiful. Of teenagers so desperate to earn the title "cool kids" that they spent the night in the fridge. Of ladies with huge behinds finally embracing their African features, enhancing them with styles from the west. There is no fusion more perfect.
They are all models and anyone who can press the shutter button while standing infront of a stunning building is a photographer.

He loved it all. Offcourse he had been to more advanced cities with better roads and better security but this was where his heart was.

He is late for church, fashionably, we might add so that everyone sees his outfit. It's the vintage season and everyone is rocking the retro, old school look. He had his custom made by a top designer who found it an honour to dress him. Most of the youngsters have worn their parents' clothes from them days. There is a strong stench emanating from their garments. A trophy of their originality and inability to buy new clothes.

Chep walks in. So much for Kagwe being the king of tardiness. She hesitates at the door for everyone to see the unflawed goddess she is. One can think many come to church to worship her. Let's not waste time on what she's wearing. All her outfits are amazing though they all wish to see her in her birthday suit. Following closely behind is his boyfriend. His name is also a waste of our time. He looks good, good enough for a lady of such brilliance. Kagwe actually likes his outfit but he isn't paying much attention to him.

Chep's boyfriend kisses her briefly on her cheek before joining his other gorgeous friends. Kagwe could tell that their love-making is shorter than that peck. He turns his attention back to the altar. They are singing his favourite chorus.

It's angelic.

He believes it all. He loves God and knows He loves him more. From a young age he was superstoked by stories in the Bible about the Lord's faithfulness and sovereignty. He awaits the rupture when he shall meet his Creator. That's why he tries to participate in church things though the people were all gossips and under achievers.

He sees his mother at the end of the service. He has missed her and she him. "Are you okay?"
               "Yes, mum. I'll come visit."
               "You should"
They smile feebly at each other not knowing what to say. They always have something to talk about. Mumbi knows she should say something about how she bumped into her son with a box of condoms at the supermarket. She has brought him up in the ways of the Lord but it's too late to talk about how the 'pencil' enters the 'sharpener'. So she trusts that his favourite son will be fine and wise.

Kagwe knows all his mother wants to say but cannot. He knows he has to be careful. That's why he chooses the intelligent ones. That's why he makes sure he's taken Chep back to his place.

She doses off and he sits looking at her, thinking. Thinking of his life. His life that is envied by many. He has a faithful girlfriend, a virgin who allows him to sleep with other girls. His girlfriend wears no weaves, knows how to walk in stilettos and wears red lipstick because the guys have not started complaining about it. He thinks about his friends who won't hesitate to warn him when he gets too full of himself. Smart bunch they are, all graduates with outstanding accomplishments.

His life is comfortable. He has everything they are all working for. He thinks about his faith that tells him of his purpose. However convincing, he can't just up and leave to preach the gospel in some remote village in Africa, that's for non-Africans.

His thoughts lead him to pour a glass of whiskey then to the balcony. His movements wake Chep. He looks up at her and before he jumps off the building he says "I don't see the point."


I wrote a bit of poetry back in high school. I had a book with poems and other creative pieces. I remember a certain piece called "POCKET CHANGE." It was those descriptive declarative stuff that tells the world about you and how epic you are. The problem was that I forgot to include the word not in the last sentence so it read I AM POCKET CHANGE. Yes, it was in full caps haha. No one noticed till like the tenth person who asked "But how come the last line says you're cheap?"

There's this thing about certain events in life bring out the poet in you. It's mostly because poetry is a form of expressing yourself. I'm not a fan of performed poetry
                Especially since
                Most poems
                  When it's read out loud
           It just sounds like a weird.................................................................


No hating though. Do what thou whilst. I prefer spoken word because it's like rap without the beat with all the metaphors, punchlines and sick rhymes. Anyhu so my love for pizza has me crawling back to that abandoned poetry shelf. Nothing much just a few lines wierldy placed to express my weakness for pizza. This is a freestyle btw nothing's pre-written. 

I look into your bacon eyes
All I see is paradise
*Sick rhyme! ;D*
Why pay a shrink
When you make my problems smaller?
Damn, this is harder than I thought
Expressing my affection for you
But in the past I've fought
For the last slice of you
If that ain't love...forget it
Coz if all I had was a kidney
I'd be OLX just for you. Sell it!
Hey pizza's siz (coz pizza's a dude)
Could I send you to your bro
Tell him
            I'm in love
            It's hit me hard
I hope he replies
         .              Goodluck
But even if you don't
It's still written in my heart in giant font
I love pizza!

I did it! Record time sixteen minutes. Now calm down family, friends, music and everything else I'm mad about. I still love you. Let's talk about it over pizza. Your treat.