bred in a loveless marriage( part 2)

sadness is fleeting,

sadness is fleeting,

I didn’t mean to start young. I mean I went through all those church activities and holiday seminars and I knew that love is something exceptional but my desire for it was so bad. I was craving attention from someone other than my younger siblings. I was longing for affection and that gaze that man gave that lady in that porn movie. But I was petrified. I was terrified of being hurt by fellow men. I found solace in food and in writing but it didn’t quite placate me as dry humping my neighbor at night at his house after sneaking in at midnight.

Food and writing didn’t particularly give me any response on how pretty I would look when I grew up. I liked being called a ‘’beauty in the making’’. I liked being told that I had just the right amount of flesh and just enough boobs. By the time I went to high school my rendezvous had already been done with guys in their twenties. Their eagerness of de-virginizing a lass was so special to them and that’s what kept them beckoning at my door; calling me at night to confess how they can’t stop thinking about me. (It was all a lie)
Just before high school I thought about actually having sex. But the thought of giving the man enough power after that to beat me was just too much for my little mind to accept. I was powerful. I was taking these boys all around for me. Whatever I wanted I got.

My parent’s relationship now was more on the emotional manipulation level. They wounded each other by instilling negativity and hardship on the other. I saw my father refusing to purchase basic household items saying that it was high time my mother rose up to fend for the family as well. And as the years progressed more and more things became my mother’s duty to provide. These days all he does is pay fees. Nothing else and nothing more. Pocket money is on my mother, food is on my mother’s bill, the house girl is on my mother’s docket. Seeing how they battled silently, going weeks without a word but sleeping in the same room let alone the same bed muddled me. It wrecked my brain and tore apart all forms of reasoning. Why stay if you don’t love each other? Why spend so much of your time being so stubborn and refusing to leave such a marriage? Because of kids? That to me was the worst excuse I ever had.

I tried finding relief in the many men pursuing me. By form four kids in college were trying to knock me over with their virile charm and pocket change. I got my first boyfriend then and when I tried to describe this whole concept that I was forming in my mind we ended up having sex. It was nothing like I imagined on that video. His face didn’t show love or anything close to it. And it ended faster than saying hello to a stranger…I was appalled, saddened, disheartened that what I thought was the answer to being loved was not it. We didn’t last long. We broke up.


Bred in a loveless marriage( part one)


A nice lady emailed me the other day with her story. She wanted to share her story with guys, but found it queer to stand in the midst of controversy in her own family and tell it. Blogging is a means of sharing one’s story. Blogging is a way of telling the world something, hoping that they will learn one thing from a story. It’s not to evoke pity or sympathy but just so that people may know what goes on behind the scenes. The lady’s story touched me and I decided to share it. We’ve been helping each other, the past few months, to overcome inner battles from living in some certain circumstances. Here is her story.
P.s- if you don’t like it don’t comment. This is a sensitive topic especially to many in my generation.

Call me Susannah. I’m 19 years old, born and raised in the great city Nairobi. I come from an affluent family. We never lacked for the beginning of my life but as I grew up I learnt that want and need are cut from the same cloth. There are days I slept hungry and days I was full beyond imagine. Regardless of this I went to the best schools money can afford. Which father will spoil his name by taking his child to a horrible school when in the village everyone knew and referred to him as “mkubwa”? I am a result of a marriage once assembled on love, unity, and solidarity and Godly wisdom. I am a protégée of two people, so madly in love, that they broke and fought down every barrier that stood between them and each other. I am a result of hundreds of love letters bearing each other’s fiery emotions and lusty passions (I assume). I was created with love.

Somehow this love that knew no restrictions and no wickedness disintegrated and evaporated into thin air. It just one day, flew into another man’s homestead and decided to make its home right there. How did this happen? A few years after bearing children with love?

I grew up with many others I am sure, in a loveless home. We saw our parents glare at each other across the dining table, without words to say, leaving the room with eerie stillness that cuts glass. They stood next to each other rigid as a board wondering how to act normal towards each other. Soon enough they decided it is easier to stand on the either sides of the picture frame, away from each other to avoid the ineptness of being so close to someone you don’t love any more.

I grew up knowing that women are to be disciplined when they went off beam. I grew up seeing my own mother being castigated for the little things she did wrong. My father’s argument: – he was beating the wrong out of her and inculcating good values (the same thing he told me when he was beating me too). My mother bearing this sting and knowing she is powerless fighting a man bigger than her resolved to stay in the marriage. I’ve never been so confused in my life. Witnessing verbal and physical abuse and wondering if that’s the life I am to live once I get married, it angered and belittled the little thing I thought was the best thing in the world; love.

When I was 10 I concluded that marriage was for the weak. My mother being abused in so many ways was now starting to fight her own; but always came back. Always coming back to this man that she said she still loved but who did not reciprocate the same feelings back to her. One night the inevitable happened and as screams pierced the night and blood watered the ground, I made up my mind that women are doleful and unable to stand up to men.

When I was 13 I developed feelings for this kid in my primary school. I wouldn’t call it love and I won’t describe it as lust. It was a mixture; I was confused, should I tell him that I liked him and if I did would he beat me for being unfitting?I watched my first blue movie at 13. And I saw the look on the man’s face like he would walk hot coals for that lady right there and then and I knew if I wanted the same look then I would have to enter the same scenario that lady was in.And that’s how it started… Selling my body for a few sweet words out of a fellow child’s mouth.

things Kenyans should learn from America

I had a blast the past three months. Despite the horrendous acts of killings happening in the states on both black and white guys (yes guys you don’t hear about it but they are also killing their own guys) I had a time of my life just touring the western side of America.

Traveling alone opens your eyes to a lot of things that no one tells you about. It brings a sense of sense responsibility that honestly even living alone didn’t quite give it to me. You have no one to angalia (check on) your stuff when you need to pee or look for a bite to eat. No one is with you when your money is running short and can sort you out as we Kenyans like to say. However traveling solo makes you appreciate yourself so much more. You learn about your strengths and weaknesses in all manner of the sense.

I was homesick literally the whole time I was there. Call me a mama’s girl but that is definitely what I am. Not being able to talk to my mum every single day was for me the hardest thing ever. I literally tell my mum everything and anything under the sun ( well almost everything mothers should know). Coming home and seeing my mum and my family was a highlight and after the jetlag precipitated and life came to adapting back into the Kenyan routine I realized how we as a country and even myself as an individual can adapt some “American lifestyle cultures” that might just promote our land of milk and Kidero grass

1. What’s the one thing that everyone doesn’t like about Kenya or Nairobi for that matter? TRAFFIC!!!! Oh my goodness I’ve come to realize just how horrible the traffic here is. Do you know how much revenue the country is losing because of all those hours we sit in traffic and waste time? Billions. Like three more zeros to a million. YOH!!!!!… Getting to the places I needed to go took me a couple of minutes while I was in Kansas City. You could literally tell someone that you would be there in 10 minutes and reach there in 8minutes 45 seconds because what they call traffic there is what we say” hakuna jam”(there is no traffic)

So why do we have all this traffic in Kenya? One because we are the most impatient people in the planet.. We don’t follow traffic rules at all. The light is red and fine there is no one else on the street other than you and the ka guy on your right just bumming away but you decide that you are in more of a rush and jump the light only to inconvenience the guys who actually have the green light coz they weren’t planning on screeching to a halt to avoid hitting your car.

Town is even worse. Matatu’s literally giving you a chase for your hidey coz they are always bumper to bumper it is suffocating. They are the worst at following rules because they want to make more money as well as that ka-persistent passenger who is asking the conductor if the guy can kanyaga mafuta (press on the gas) some more to fika haraka (reach faster)… you’ve probably heard them say- hii ndio ya haraka..acha na hiyo slow coach. How safe is that jambo jet your climbing though?

I can type here all I want saying how drivers in Kenya are so horrible and I would be so hypocritical not to mention my fellow feet-stubishi club of pedestrians roaming the streets and dusty roads of Nairobi. I think I should probably have written this as the first point but wharreevvverrr mayyynneee( gerrit??) LOL). To be an elite member of the feetstubishi club you have to have the following characteristics

• you have to be able to run; not as fast as rudisha but fast enough to cross that highway before you are hit by that car coming at 100kmph

• you have to have 6 other eyes: to look for pickpockets, to see that kanjo coming towards you among others..

• you have to be agile to fit inbetween cars like you are meant to pass there

• you have to have an internal speedometer to estimate the speed of incoming traffic to let you know how fast or how slow cars are coming

• you need to be broke not to afford your own car or enough fuel for the day

We as the foot-stubishi crew are horrendous people. Have you ever passed hapo kencom and seen just how much jaywalking is done? For those who don’t know what jaywalking is let me describe it to you in a friendly way…its how y’all walk in town..
“crossing or walking the street or road without any regard for approaching traffic”

We never pay attention to the pedestrian traffic lights. We normally just cross and that also causes traffic coz this guy driving doesn’t want to hit your ass and get fined and in an accident ati coz he hit you.We are such bad people. Aki the sneers we give drivers when we are blatantly on the wrong..

3. Okay this will be a little bit odd to say but the hell with it. Y’all know that corruption is everywhere right? Seriously I learnt this myself, every country is a little bit corrupt in its own way. In Kenya now we are ( to me) the most openly corrupt nation in the world. Police ask for bribes blatantly. Public officers in government offices will literally tell you that you should probably grease their hand so that your application can go faster( i experienced this as i applied for my passport). What I realized in America is that they are smart corrupt people in office.
See there is a lot of scrutiny among themselves. They want to know how much each and every dollar f their tax money is going and the government knows this; it will therefore complete the task at hand i.e. building roads but it will do it at a cheaper price. Since this guy cant buy a car for himself his wife and his two kids he will send it somewhere offshore or send it to a “non profit” …we all know what I’m getting at.

I’m not advocating for smart corruption . I’m however asking for a much lesser beating than the one we are getting from the public servants and officials. We see you taking that trip with your family over Christmas as we are stuck in the muddy roads of Muranga because its been 10 years since the road was fixed.. we see you sir!!

4. Last but not least( I had like twenty things I just cant write them all—my mental capacity reaches four points and seizes to attach more files) dust. I don’t think y’all know how much dust we harbor on our bodies through out the day. That’s why Americans can afford to shower with just water and we here in our land of milk and Kidero grass continue to die of dust induced bronchitis,asthma, allergies. Where is all this dust coming from honestly?

I mean construction happens everywhere, so that isn’t a valid point as to why my shoes collect enough dust to fill a kitten box for the next week every single day. Is it that we aren’t clean enough( I see you throwing that credit paper on the street. I see you littering that tissue paper you just used to clean your nose with(nasty). ) we are such non minders of our environment.

As I write all this I’m not the perfect example of rule abiding, clean-freak or obedient person; however since I want my country to progress I am willing to start following my own advice.

See you on the next one!!!