I met a Guy

“Hey, that was a great performance,”  I slow down shouting to the oncoming    ‘Mzungu’.

“You liked it?” He asks, elated.

“Oh yes I did, we did.”

“I didn’t expect you were such a big group…”

It turns out we have  more to talk about. I pull over. Must give way. Other drivers have no business with the Mzungu.

After about a ten minutes amicable talk , it is time to get going. But ,wait a minute. My book, yes, THE INNOCENCE PREDATORS.

“Do you like reading?” I ask Brian. of course by now I know his name.

“I have quite a collection of books, mostly fiction.” He gives an indication that he is  good reader.

Then, not wanting to take much of his time again, I introduce and offer my novel. “Tell me how you like it.”

“But emh, how will I , or are you around for Xmas?”

Xmas is one week shy.

“No, I am going home to the village. And you, what are you doing over Xmas?”

“No plans …” he says and explains that he is in Kenya for holiday so he would just be in Nairobi doing whatever every dawn offered.

“Come to my village for Xmas.” I throw an invitation without preamble. Without analysis. Without much thought!

“What? Are you serious?” He is probably perturbed. I think he is. Who invites a total stranger to their home? For Xmas!

“Yes, I am.” Can’t take back the invite, can I ? I don’t even have any persuading reasons to do that. The Mzungu looks honourable, a good person, ‘judging by the cover’. And after all he spent a whole two hours entertaining us (my organisation) at our end of year party. He can’t be a thug.

“Well, I will think about it,” he says. Positive tone.

I give my cellphone number.

Later in the evening, a call alert.

“Hello  Wanjiku, I hope you got home safely.”

“Yes I did..”

“It was nice meeting you…”

Before our good nights he asks me to text my email address…


I check my emails the following morning. None from Brian. I check my email at regular intervals then. None from Brian. Did he flick out? who wouldn’t? One would need more than guts to accept an invitation to the village by a total stranger.

I have a day off the following day. I don’t check my emails as regularly. But there is none from Brian by mid morning . Not that I expect there to be. In fact, I don’t even think about it.

I check my emails again at 10 o’clock in the evening as I make union with my bed.

Subject :”What just happened ????”

Hi Wanjiku,   

I don’t know you well yet, but I believe, already, that you are a brave, adventurous woman!   Imagine inviting a total stranger to Christmas with the family!   And a Mzungu!  Anyway, I am honoured.     And I accept.   Asante sana!…

Warm regards,


We are at Juja shopping mall; my brother, Brian and I. Earlier, Brian had indicated that he would like to do some shopping for my parents.

He picks a shopping basket. I don’t. My Brother doesn’t either.

Brian suggestively asks for ideas of what items to buy. “…sugar, floor…”

We look for the section that houses these grocery  and  leave Brian here for him to make his choices freely.

I had done a comprehensive shopping yesterday but there is always something more to buy in presence of a shop. And  money. We walk to the toys’ section. We can pick something for a nephew, for another nephew and for a niece. Brian joins us after settling  what he wants to buy in his basket.

We start settling for this and that toy. We are holding our selection in our hands since we have no basket yet. Brian stays with us for a little while but an idea strikes him.

“Hey, I will go pay for my shopping and wait for you outside.” He prompts me.

Once he is out of the ear shot, I quip, to my brother, “May be he fears that we might expect him to pay for our shopping.”

“He is a Mzungu and we are Africans- he has to be careful… and now that he thinks about it, why didn’t we pick our own shopping basket?’’ My brother laughs.

“So that we could  throw items  in his basket and make it difficult for him to escape paying for our shopping as well”


Eggs and EGGS

chickens-eggsI am out to buy eggs. I love eggs, I could eat two everyday but I don’t.


Because they say consumption of eggs if not checked can make one’s heart go on unconditional strike.  Bless the one who did the research and may God help me not to stumble on any information that contradicts this.


This old story helps me disguise my incapability of affording regular appearance of this delicacy on the breakfast table without any of the stakeholder complaining. They think that it is out of care and concern of good health that I insist that two eggs per month is the ideal ration if good heart condition is to be expected for the longest time.

Now tomorrow morning is an eggs’ day. This is why I am asking for eight of them from this shop.

“Ya kuku ya kienyeji ama? (The indigenous ones or?)” The shopkeeper asks.

Then even before I respond a voice from behind shouts, “don’t buy the indigenous ones; buy the ones from the single mothers (Hens). They too need to be appreciated.

I am glad, very glad because following this advise, I won’t expose my affinity to save a few shillings going for the cheaper ‘brand’  of eggs.

“Yeah, we must support the single mothers. Forget the kienyeji ones; bring those ones laid by the single mothers!” I laugh.




  “TILL DEATH DO US PART. Everyone in a marriage should follow this to the letter!!

This will avert ugly incidences like that that be fell  Mwende(I am so sorry for what happened to her). For them that don’t know Mwende’s story- a brief.

(Mwende has been in a childless and an abusive marriage for about seven years. The husband chopped off her hands (both) because Mwende was not fruitful. Never mind that the husband according to medical test results is the one that lacks life bullets.)

So, good people, once you detect your marriage is DEAD, RUN. The DEATH  (of the marriage) HAS DONE YOU PART. So you have no business staying.  And for what, to save ‘a dead marriage’? Come on, Death is Death and the days where death used to be put to shame through resurrection miracles are just a thing of history now. So, we have to contend with death once it comes knocking. There is no way of saving any dead thing much less a dead marriage.

If the marriage is suffering headache, bruises, stroke etc, I agree one can try to save it. But once it is dead, well, it is dead and you have been part BY THE DEATH( oops just trying to emphasize). So once again, the minute you detect no pulse in your marriage, it is time to let go, just like you would let go a beloved one once death knocks his/ her way.


                                  My eyes are feeling so awake. My mind too. This then means that the two are in great communication. Am surprised that they are on the same page this early in the morning (on a normal day, I suffer from hangover from traffic jam such that it takes a while to synchronize the system. )

In the spirit of this ;’awakeness,’ my eyes have captured that a colleague that I have bumped into along the corridor is terribly smart and the infor is relayed to my mind immediately. In response, after the usual robotic good morning to the colleague, I find myself throwing a complement,”you  looking good.”

You expect that this my colleague throws back a thank you,right? Noooo.
She says, “that was my intention”, and I’m like, Mmm okay…we can actually  ‘talk outside the box’.

Small Money




We are giving the conductor what belongs to the conductor. This is one of the rare occasions that I use the bus. Yes, I don’t normally use the bus. I prefer the train, far much cheaper.

I hand the conductor my  fifty bob. No balance for me. My seat mate gives a one thousand note.

“Huna pesa ndogo? (Don’t you have small money?)”, the conductor goes.

“I do,” my seat mate responds promptly.

“Basi nipe hiyo,(give me that then )”, the conductor says, handing back the thousand.
My seat mate receives it and digs in his pocket and behold, his hand resurfaces, in its possession, “small money”. He hands this to the conductor.

The conductor  echos, “what’s wrong with you? What is this you are giving me?”
“Small money,” my seat mate says and on the contrary, very calmly.

“The fare is fifty bob not 10.” the conductor is now breathing fire.
“You asked for small money and small money I have given you. Quit bothering me, thii ukiumaga(go drying)!”…


Dad Will Eat All of It


I like minding my own business. And I usually do . But I don’t mind minding  other people’s business. And why not, with some float, not that of mpesa(of time). Yes with some float of time and provided I am careful not to  commit an offence that  could land me in a  court of law or in any other court, minding other people’s business can turn out to be entertaining. Continue reading “Dad Will Eat All of It”



Nyambura comes knocking at door.  She is out of breath but what is more captivating is her foul mood. If I ever saw her this angry, it is when she was throwing her kumi kumi addict of a husband to the gutters. Now she is a single mother. Single mother?  I have never seen or heard of double, triple… mothers. If a woman is parenting alone, then she is one parent or a single parent, a man parenting alone ditto.  Some education there. Continue reading “THE BREAD WINNER”

Don’t Let Them See Your Pants

sumersaultEvery time I go to the village, I remind myself to do some shopping for Mwihaki, my mother’s neighbour.  Depending on my arrival time, I see her the same day or the following day.

So this Sunday afternoon, I am all set to go visit her. Did I mention that she lives with her granddaughter, a cutie of about seven years? Her mother left her at two weeks old. She had to go fend for her daughter. She’s never returned. Maybe she’s not done enough fending to justify her return. Continue reading “Don’t Let Them See Your Pants”