7am on Sunday Morning.

7am Sunday Morning, I want to, No, I have to have you

When it quiets downs and everything turns blurry,

I crave your taste on my tongue. A sweetness so savoury, I feel it nourishing to my soul.

In your scent, I bathe myself of all past pain

With every touch, my soul melts softly into yours and I remain there forever still

I crave the sound of your voice guiding me to a tranquility my soul has never known.

I stare at you, unable to fathom how breathtaking you still look to me at 7am on a Sunday morning. No signs of the sweat of the night where we danced our pain away.

I could do without the crazy night but I couldn’t live without the feeling you give me at 7am on Sunday morning

When my soul has been stripped of all it’s burdens and all that remains is a blank slate covered with the chemical euphoria of hope and warmth

Watching the sun rise peaceful while we float deep into our dreams – seeing vividly that day when everyday feels like 7am on Sunday morning with you.

Safe Space

The world is a big bad place and the pandemic made it clear that not all human interaction is good interaction. I can’t believe there was a time I’d see between 50 to 100 people in a day and be good with all of it. I think the thing I most looked forward to about being an adult when I was younger was the element of choice. The choice to be yourself. The choice of who you will associate with, who you will share the good and the bad with and all that. The choice to be authentic. So I always get a bit confused when I meet people who choose to be anything but authentic. And of course I know adulthood wasn’t all it was cut out to be and the element of choice is often impeded by one’s livelihood or career. I do feel like I have a lot more choice now than I did then.

Let me explain. I feel like I spent a lot of my youth dumbing myself down for fear that I would be labelled an extreme I didn’t want or I couldn’t live up to. But as I grew into my independence, I wanted to be myself 100% of the time and the world will adapt. Of course it helps I’m a fairly amicable person but I particularly love the ability to have and articulate ideas that venture from the norm. But the world is what it is, a big bad place with big bad principles that have existed since before you did. So generally, the world won’t adapt fast enough; you just need to care less about it. That starts with a safe place.

A safe place is not just a place where your physical being and earthly possessions are secure. In this case, it’s a place to express yourself, to relieve pain, to heal; to be mentally and emotionally secure as well. We find we are more exposed to mental and emotional insecurities in our adulthood than we are to physical ones. Like it’s more likely you’ll be depressed at home alone than someone will break into your home and beat you up, you know? One sounds worse than other but they’re all traumatic just in different ways.

A safe place isn’t just a physical location. It’s more of a feeling that allows you to be your most authentic self. It could be a place, a person or a group of people, a song, a book, a movie, literally anything. It’s that feeling you get when you realise I can be myself here. Full full. No judgy Judy’s, no petty patty’s just love. I felt that after a long time this past weekend at the Havendwel Gardens. And this doesn’t mean I don’t feel safe anywhere else it was just… Let me explain.

I’ve been to Havendwel Gardens thrice now. It’s a lovely tiny home built out of reclaimed containers and curated to the T by one of my now close friends, Nyambura Ndiba. The place radiates love and warmth in the windy Githiga countryside. Surrounded by beautiful tea farms and greenery, the drive up itself is so calming enough to make you forget all the issues of Nairobi. It helps that it’s only an hour from Nairobi. The elated feeling of walking up to the tiny house after a hard day, ready to spend the weekend loving on my people. I don’t even know how I didn’t cry. I was beyond excited. From the moment Bestie Brown suggested the getaway, I was beaming with ecstasy!

Around 2019, me and my big mouth were labelled the planner of the group. So it was such a relief that the Delectable Miss Suki and Bestie Brown took that up. All I had to do was show up, fashionably late preferably LOL. Joke was on me. I was the first one there. 🤦🏾 The weekend started with a “Thank God for your life” moment when a drunken lorry driver decided to ram into the carriage carrying most of our guests and all the food. Thank God, everyone made it out in one piece. 🤗

Havendwel isn’t just a safe space cause it’s filled with trinkets to settle the energy and surrounded by breathtaking greenery. It’s also the crop of people who are drawn there. Every visit to this little hidden gem exposes things about me to myself that I am otherwise too occupied to notice. It’s the way we all crowd around the fire when it gets cold and tell stories or break out into spontaneous karaoke and twerk sessions. A place where we hug more than once in an hour and verbally articulate we love each other cause goddamit we do!

Have you ever been in a room listening to someone talk crazy? 😂😂😂 I mean like patriarchal nonsense crazy. Like I’m a deadbeat dad with a justification for that shit crazy. And still you’re secure cause you’re not the only one in the room who is offended. Matter of fact, the crazy things look rightfully crazy. That’s what Nyambura has curated in her Queendom! A safe space not just for your physical being but for your feminist leaning mindset. Cause I’ve attended gatherings where normal principles and morals are up for debate and that is by far the most frustrating thing. So when you’re in a room of like minded thinkers doing nothing but loving and uplifting each other for a whole weekend; that is a safe place. Don’t forget to be yourself in that space.

No one deserves the 100% authentic you more than those people. Those people that love you and uplift you even when it’s hard to love yourself. Those people who try their best to reach out even when you’re being cold. Those are your people. And as much as it may seem selfish to share the dark times, remember these people love you; the good, the bad and the ugly. Because they love you full full. Never forget to appreciate the people who make up your safe space. ☺️

In the same breathe, I’d like to thank my people with all my heart being my people in a way so deep that I can’t explain. The ones I spent the weekend with and even those I didn’t. I love you. I appreciate you. FULL FULL! ❤️

Why are we still confused about consent?

It’s 2021, a post ‘me too’ world. As a feminist, the onset of the me too movement was long overdue to me back in 2016. A nice loud step for the rest of the world to follow. More than three years later, it’s still being discussed as a new concept we haven’t completely adapted. The sentiment of “it’s dangerous to be a man in these times” is something that comes up repeatedly. I know you’ve heard it from someone around you or you even think if yourself. I find it a bit confusing and honestly to me, it’s just enabling rapists.

Here’s why. It’s more than strange, it’s concerning that some men view the requirement of consent as a new obligation never required of them before. It’s the implication that the existence of this platform women now have to seek justice for their abuse would serve only to validate false claims and every woman is out to get you or your fellow man. It’s the way men are quick to highlight so loudly claims proven to false while keeping wildly silent about those claims that have been proven to be true. It’s the way men still think we look good for their benefit so feel the need to sexualise us without our permission. It’s the way men pretend that the surfacing of these me too stories is a threat to them personally while in the same breath claim not to be rapists. It’s men telling each other “Be safe bro!” in regard to a movement against rapists not men. You confused too? I am.

I don’t know about you but personally, I don’t believe in preaching to the oppressors about my pain in order to gain their support in justice. I know I’m not the only one. It’s the reason why most women don’t report domestic violence and sexual harrasment; immediately or for some ever. It’s a double ordeal to have an injustice committed against you then to be further dragged through the mud when you come out with your story. It’s a brave woman’s route for sure just not every brave woman’s route. Sometimes it’s brave to heal. Sometimes it’s brave to move away and move on. We are not entitled to continuously ask women why they didn’t report or why they came forward months or years later. We need to stop telling people they’ve handled their trauma the wrong way. Just because they didn’t present the response you’d deem appropriate doesn’t invalidate that these things actually happened to them. That’s why we believe survivors until disproven or at least protect them from more harrasment for coming out with their stories.

As I end this particularly short rant, I want us to remind ourselves that great change is preceded by chaos. The discomfort men are feeling finally learning about consent shouldn’t be a reason to abandon the concept. It’s not that crazy guys. Literally DON’T BE RAPEY! It’s that simple. Stop walking around acting like women are out to get you. That empowerment of women does not mean the downfall of the man. Just the downfall of the rapist and his enablers. Women have been unsafe and uncomfortable for years! Not even years, decades! Sexual abuse has been used to break women’s spirits around the world for centuries; colonialism, slavery, human trafficking et effing cetera. How does that compare to you keeping your hands to yourself? Honestly! How are you still confused about consent!

“Thanks for Everything”

Anne sat at the study table in her living room. She never did that. The study table was more of a living room ornament than a functional work station. She worked at a restaurant as a short order cook, she didn’t really need a study table. She just liked how she had decorated her study corner in the living room. It was the whole pink and black aesthetic of course it wasnt much of a corner in such a small living room but she liked it nonetheless. She’d toyed with the idea of a youtube vlog too. But those were dreams long past, now she worked long hard shifts for just enough for her and her little one bedroom house in the city. It wasn’t much but it was a lot more than Jim was making right now. Jim was her boyfriend whose not her boyfriend (yet she hoped). He’d been down on his luck, tarmacing. Jim had called her at work; she usually wouldn’t answer but he had called so many times she’d thought there was an emergency of some sort. He sounded frantic and troubled while he told her how he needed about 200 thousand shillings to sort out some issue with this new venture he’d been starting. She tried to pay attention when he rumbled about his future but she often didn’t retain much. She wished him well, that was enough. Anyway, she was working and promptly promised to call him later.

She worked the night shift so it meant she got home at around 3am in the morning, usually dog tired. On this particular day, no matter how tired she was she couldn’t seem to fall asleep. Jim needed her. She was up at 6am, doing the math. she figured if she moved around some savings, make a few cost cuts around the house she could swing about 100 thousand. She glanced at her phone; the screen was cracked but functional. She’d been meaning to replace it but hadn’t gotten around to it. That had to wait, Jim needed her. It was 6:20. Jim was probably asleep on one of his friends couches. From past experience, she knew he silenced his phone when being hosted so as ‘not to disturb the host’. She texted him. “Babe? Are you awake?”. The reply came in quick. “Yeah. any luck?”. Without hesitation, she began typing, “So we have like 100k. Will that help?” She stared at first, then retyped it “So I can pull around 100K. Itatosha?” and pushed send. She stared at the typing bubbles intently. She secretly wanted him to get on his feet and make things official. He always said “Babe, you know I can’t wife you when I’m broke. Mahari huko kwenu ngori.” She’d met all his friends and they spent every waking moment together when he wasnt with them. The way Anne saw it, this was an investment in her future marriage. The reply came in, crying emojis first, her heart sank. “Aki weuh! 100 is not enough. You can’t try aki. Aki babe.” She could practically hear the disappointment in the text, she was letting her future husband down. “Let me see what I can do Babe. Aki pole babe.” She tried to sound sympathetic but also determined to help. He didn’t reply for another 10 mins. Anne decided to make her breakfast, she was beating eggs when her phone finally buzzed across her kitchen. She practically ran to it. “Sawa.” The reply was kurt she could tell she’d disappointed him. She decided the best way to comfort him was to get him what he wanted.

Anne would spend the day calling almost every one she knew. The story she was using was that she had fibroids that needed to be taken out. She wasn’t entirely creative. She’d watched a talk show where they were discussing it. She knew it was not always life threatening and she knew the operations costed well over what she needed. By mid day, she had the full amount and just in time, to call him and give it to him personally. She dialled his number but he didn’t pick up. She thought nothing of it and sent a text instead. “Babe, where are you? Can we talk?” The reply was instant “I’m at my boy’s. Ulipata?” Anne replied almost giddy “Of course babe. I could’t let you down. You can come for it?” He said give him an hour.

Anne had an hour to get ready for her reward. She tidied up and hoped in the shower. She showered for longer than usual, she knew he did his best work when he was happy and relaxed. And today, she had taken a lot of his stress away and given him a reason to be happy. He had never made such a big request. Actually, at first she would offer small favours here and there when he mentioned he was suffering and he would refuse it. But he had slowly accepted help for small things like new clothes and a small allowance but never anything big. She told herself he felt ashamed having to rely on his future wife to get by and that’s why he asked so little. But this was big and if everything went well, Anne would finally have him, the way she wanted; all to herself.

She put one of his tshirts and waited for him. She didn’t just wait, she anticipated and fantasized about her future with Jim. By the time Jim knocked, she felt even better about this decision to ‘boost him’. When she opened the door, she hugged him so tightly that he pushed her off lightly asking “Kwani what’s up?” with an awkward giggle avoiding eye contact. “Nothing! I’m just happy to see you.” Anne replied as she let him in. Before Jim even sat down he asked “Sooooooo? Form?” Another awkward giggle. “We can do a bank transfer. I have an app. Sit down. Si ata you get comfortable.” Anne sat on the couch pulling Jim down with her. Huddled over her phone, he looked over her shoulder as she transfered the money to him. His phone buzzed a few seconds after she had hit send. Her heart sank but Jim was finally smiling. “Yes! Aki thanks babe. Aki you dont know how much I needed this.” Jim said cheerfully all while hugging and kissing her. What followed was less of she had even hoped for. She wouldn’t describe it as worst she’d ever had. It seemed rather bland almost obligatory to her than appreciative. While he slept from undeserved exhaustion, she stared at him again imagining the almost certain days ahead. It would a series of celebrations and love she had not known before. She thought nothing of the repurcussions of telling everyone in her circle she had massive fibroids. She was blissfully oblivious.

She stared at him one last time lying peacefully on her bed before she scribbled a note “Leave the key at the usual place” and left it for Jim as she ran off to start her shift. She would fantasize all day almost burning a few dishes in the process. Over her break, she called her best friend, Connie and filled her in on what she thought was the biggest romantic leap someone could take. Her best friend had been apprehensive about Jim but on this phone call she was more than apprehensive. In fact, Anne thought Connie was just rude about the whole thing. She churned out all the questions Anne had failed to ask her self while she ‘hustled’ for the money. “Why did he ask you first, Anne? Si he has so many friends? Si you told me about that friend of his that lives in sijui Runda ama ilikuwa Rosslyn and drives a prado? Aliruka hawa wasee wote for you and your peanut salary?” All very logical questions but also rude. Anne stuck to her guns making up excuses for him where she could but eventually she said “Ah we ishahappen.” before hanging up. Her fantasies were now replaced by doubts and fears which Anne tried her best to shun away.

Her work shift ended and Anne headed straight home even reading on the bus home to keep herself from thinking about all the things that could go wrong. She kept thinking “He didn’t say he’d pay me back. Will he?”. An old couple got on the bus startling her from her thoughts. As she watched them help each other on the bus, she decided to trust Jim. After all, she had committed herself in her mind and with her wallet to this man. She texted him “Hey. Uliweza kusort?”. The phone buzzed a few seconds later, her phone buzzed again. She excited to check it. Another donation to her imaginary fibroids. She put her phone away and began to fantasize again. When Anne got home, she found her dishes done and the living room tidied up. Jim also made the bed and left her a note reading ‘Thanks for everything.’ Anne smiled and texted him again. “Found your note. You’re welcome Babe.” She had dinner and slept.

***

It had been three days since she had heard from Jim. He had sent a text saying he would be out of town sorting out the issue and it would take a few days before they could speak again. Anne didn’t think anything of it and wished him luck on his trip. It was a Saturday, Anne’s day off. So she slept through most of it being tired from back to back shifts at work. Also considering she was now a bit broke and the love of her life was out of town. She literally had nothing to do. When she woke up at around lunch time, She checked her phone first. There were a few more donations to her invisible fibroids and a bunch of missed calls. The number of times Connie had called alarmed her more than anyone else. They hadn’t been speaking since she had proved to be unsupportive of her relationship so it was a bit out of the ordinary. Connie had also texted “Call me as soon as you wake up.” Anne dialed Connie’s number urgently.

“Anne? Where are you?” Connie sounded distressed.

“Home. Why?”

“Have you been online today?”

“No. I just woke up. Connie whats wrong? You’re scaring me.” Anne laughed awkwardly.

“Jim.”

“Jim? Jim is away on business.”

“Anne I don’t think it’s business he’s away for.”

“Huh? Connie what are you talking about?”

“Ok let me just tell you the whole story. So I was IG right. You know I follow this socialite huko. The one I was telling you went to Bali with her boyfriend and hid his face so well even the bloggers are thirsty to know who she is. You know her nani!”

“Ah Connie I haven’t even had coffee today. Get to it!”

“So I was her IG, sindio? She’s getting married today.”

“Ah Connie! Please tell me you haven’t left me 6 missed calls cause you want to gossip about a celeb. Ata I’m still mad about the shit you said about Jim.”

“Ok ok since you want to be a bitch. Let me just send you the screenshots you can judge for yourself how gossipy it is.” Connie hung up.

Anne’s phone buzzed continously in a few seconds with dozens of photos from Connie. Anne rolled her eyes as she opened them. What she saw next would break her instantly. It was Jim getting married. The wedding was flashy and as intended looked like the wedding of the year at least. Anne kept swiping left over the photos, not feeling or saying anything at first just taking it all in. The last picture was the bride holding up a bag she had just been gifted by her new husband. Connie captioned it “Bloggers have already done research. The bag costs about half a million.” Anne threw her phone across the room in a fete of rage. She screamt at the top of her lungs for a few seconds before she began to sob quietly. She couldn’t believe it. That he had been engaged all this time, they had been ‘friends’ for about 8 months. That she had given him money to buy his future bride her wedding gift all while Anne fantasized about her life with him. How could she have been so stupid? Not just putting up her savings but basically traumatising her whole family in the process. All she had now was a note “Thanks for everything.”

“Everything? So basically he broke up with me in a cryptic note.” Anne thought to herself. As she did, the rage inside her began to burn, she wanted to plot her revenge. He deserved all the pain the world for what he’d done to her. She got up and picked up her phone realising it had another crack on the screen now. She began calling his number. No one picked up. The second time she called, it disconnected immediately. “He blocked me!” She screamt as if informing the non existent audience that was laughing at her pain. She began to sob again. Revenge was starting to seem more and more elusive while insanity creeped into her slowly. She replayed all the memories of their encounters together. She had thought she knew his friends but she had no way of reaching them right now. No numbers or social media handles. He was homeless according to her. She was in the dark. He’d left her in the dark.

Her phone buzzed again another donation to her fibroids. She needed to fix that, she knew but instead she opened social media and immediately searched for the socialite’s page. She watched every carefully curated story on her profile while she sobbed. From the makeup transformation in the morning to the church service to her ‘future husband’ dancing with his current wife at the wedding reception, pausing and zooming in every time the camera caught the groom. She was in the middle of this self inflicted pain, when she heard a knock on the door. “Could be him?”She thought to herself. “No stupid! He’s at his wedding reception.” She dragged herself to the door, picking up a tissue to wipe her tears before she got there. It was Connie. Vodka and ice cream in hand. When Anne opened the door and saw this, she broke down again instantly. Connie smiled and hugged her. She whispered in her ear, “Let’s get the son of a bitch!”