In the end…


How I wish I knew beforehand about me, you and them.

Nine months of being fed, carried around and constantly being checked on! If I knew I would have carefully spent the 275 days or the 6,588 hours, holding constructive debates and seminars with me, instead of wasting them in sleep.

But all I could do was turning this way and that way, making myself more comfortable at her expense who selflessly had chosen to accommodate me. My poor mother!

I should have used this time, consulting the inner me, building myself up for what I was to find.

I should have tried and figured out beforehand the three allies that I was bound to meet and live with.

  1. Me
  2. You &
  3. Them

That my life would revolve around these three, and how I handle them will determine the mark I live behind.


That there would be me and no one but me. I will go through a series of evolution but in the end, I would just be me.

I would meet people and travel places but I will be me.

I will be taken through classes, I will be coached, I will be cautioned and protected and monitored but in the end, it will be me.

I carry the responsibility.

I will have dad and mom, sisters, brothers, teachers, coaches, elders to lead me, boyfriends, a husband, and children but in the end, I alone will have the responsibility of being whatever I want to be.

75% of how someone’s life is, is a contribution from themselves, only 25% is of those around them.

Like how I came into the world; alone, I would go back to dust alone.

Understanding me is the first step; understanding that this is who Rehema is, understanding that this is what she wants, this is what she stands for, that this is actually who she is and she can’t be anyone else. Not even you, nor them.

Why me?

Because I’m the one to work out all that I meet. No one is going to do it for me.

  1. My sexuality; my gender – part of me is a girl, a woman. I have to play this role. I have to deal with all that comes with it; Going through the pain that comes with the menstruation cycle. Sorting out the men buzzing around me dying to satisfy their wild thirsts. Preparing and building up my own home and sire my generation.

No one is going to chase the men away for me. No one is going to stand up to that boss who is holding back my promotion, demanding a favor before he does so. No one is going to do it for me, except me.

  1. My aspirations – everyone has desires. It’s part of who we are. The desire to be great. I’m passionate about different stuff. I have visions to realize, goals to fulfill and dreams to make them come true.

Not my parents nor my siblings can play this part except me. I have to excuse myself from the long chit-chats with my family, or swiping up and down, clicking and liking through the social networks, or walk away from the thrilling long series that is gluing everyone else.

I have to, least my passion for writing lies untamed as ignorance takes the lead because I allowed dust to be the company of books and not me. No one is going to read the books for me. I have to drive and push myself around. If I let it go, then it goes, if I hold on it sticks around.

  1. My spirituality – again this part is my part to deal with. It’s me connecting with God. A personal relationship with my God. No one can play this part for me.


And then there is you I wish I knew.

You mom, dad, sis, bro, teacher, neighbour, boyfriend, husband, child.

We relate a lot. It was inevitable to meet you. And because that’s true I wish I knew that as much as I like you, admire you, I can never be you. I will live with you, walk and do much with you but we can’t ever exchange our places.

Many are times I hideaway when esteem issues prop up. And I would affirm and re-affirm myself then get back to you.

I will come and ask for advice, cry on your shoulder, lament of how rough life is and you will selflessly talk to me, but at the end you will walk away and leave me to sort it out.

That’s you and me. The opposite of me.


And then there is them. The society; media

These are the people that are more of a third eye. They watch and comment but don’t speak directly to me.

I also wish I was made aware of them. That they will be there to comment and discuss me with their partners but never have a direct conversation with me.

They will discuss my success, my downfall, my stagnation.

They will list expectations and demands and expect me to meet them.

Roles they drew ages ago, norms and values they drafted that were fitting to them but didn’t consider the age that I was to be born which is so much different from theirs.

Yes, I wish I was taken through a class to understand. They are roots for anyone’s success. They are the basis of life. They contribute magnificently to our lives. A better understanding of them will always provide a better pathway to one’s destiny.

The end matters. We live from the end.


Aaaaaawwww!!! Babe I celebrate you



Indispensable impeccable invaluable jewel, you are babe! Can’t believe I have you around me for life. Babe, every day is a celebration day for me, for you have imbued my life with happiness, value, completeness, fun and security. You are my perfect company. In a few lines, babe, I celebrate you.

Every day, I celebrate you in our humble abode, but today with my household I want to make it public, how much you mean to me. This is a great day, honorary and special. Before it was a normal day in the calendar but meeting you made this day stand out.

A day like this, same month last year, was when you attracted me to you babe. Everything gave me no reason why I should not go with you. Your beauty, your sheen, your feel, your scent, your posture, your composure, just your general outlook, completely swallowed me into you. My first gaze at you, I didn’t know that, that would be the start of our great friendship honey. And indeed you have been. I feel, it took my enemies by surprise otherwise they would have done anything in their power to prevent us from meeting. It’s something worth someone investment of jealousy.

That fateful day when we met, I would love to share with everyone how unexpected, the whole thing of us meeting, was. It started as boring as any day; that one had to wrestle with lectures from the rising of the sun to the setting time of it. It was on a Saturday, right babe? Yeah and being on a Saturday, for some of us it is an official permit to wake up anytime of the day. Whether the previous day you slept as early as 7pm or as late as midnight after watching a series of movies, or simply because you went out for a dunda that doesn’t count. So don’t even inquire to know what I did the previous night that orchestrated my waking up late. I woke up when the sun rays were already hot to a discomfit of anyone who would have wanted to busk. It was nearly midday.

With all the tiredness engrossed in me, I felt like going back to my mother’s womb and refuse to come out, when I remembered I had a three week laundry to do. What! That’s torture, right? We shall talk about that later. The birds that always brighten up my morning, with their mellifluous voices, were also long gone. It was I, with my bunches of dirty clothes, not forgetting a lump of utensils piled up in my sink, after a previous night jamboree with my girlfyz at my place, who walked away without caring who will do their messes. Now everything is mercilessly looking up to me to do their cleaning.

Oh no! What a bad day for me? I thought. I always glory when I’m done with the torture of cleaning, for I know that will again come back after three weeks. Don’t be surprised. Doing a thorough cleaning after three weeks has always been my best choice. It’s economical. I get tired once, I get to touch the cold water once, I get to destroy my pedicure and manicure once, my back doesn’t get to be bent often, (unless I want to grow old fast enough), I use the detergents once and economically, and most importantly, doing my laundry has helped me curtail gossip with my fellow women in the plot. Washing time is always the gossip time for any woman, especially those who have no reason to go to the salon where real gossip is; may be because they have short kinky hair like mine.

Oh yes, so that perfect day, with groaning and mutterings, I finally finished the clothes, which to speak less, filled our whole compound with various colours of course. Again trying to be the perfect daughter that my mother once tried to raise back in the village, I went over to the sink and cleared the dishes and did some various necessities there too. Babe that’s how tiresome and abhorring the day started.

All in all as we have talked and inspired me, I did complete all the duties and even went for my own ablutions which took almost an hour. An hour? Yeah. It’s Saturday.

Done with the cleaning I sat down at my veranda, which was so cool for my haunches, wondering what I would do next. Treat my palms, nails and feet which were all sow with hard work, then? Watch a movie, then? Check how many likes I got in the previous photo I posted on Facebook, then? Call my crush for an hour or so, then? I was simply planning the evening. Of course for a lady like me, you don’t expect to find her seated cradled in a corner with nothing to do.

After much arranging, disarranging, rearranging, a weird thought crossed my mind. Taking a stroll in town? It’s weird, for who does that, with piles of literature assignments still pending to be done? Anyway, we the impossible, can easily do that. Just a thought of hanging around the supermarkets, (could be talking of malls, but forgive us, that’s what we have around this place, we know ourselves) made me to jump on my feet. Quickly took the sugarless coffee I had prepared because I had even forgotten to buy sugar the previous day and as jaded as I was, couldn’t go back to the shops that were just outside the gate and get it. Anyway the tiredness had to go at the thought of strolling in town.

And that’s how I found myself, as late as 6 pm, strolling from one supermarket to another. I should have been hovering around boutiques, best lady shops, pedicure and manicure stalls etc., right? But no, I was in the supers. Apart from not wanting to look laddish, as I think being around these places make one to be so, I also wished to escape back to my abode with free commodities. Have just told you my sugar back in the house had depleted. Not getting free things because of stealing, a lady like me, doesn’t steal, free commodities, because some pot bellies would like my smile and thus end up with a trolley full of things that I didn’t work hard for. Haha, I love me. Now in the laddish places, where would I get such people from?

But it was so unfortunate, that day seemed like the hard work back at home, made my smile to wan, for no one even said a hi. I was in the final supermarket. Of course I kept it final because to me anyone doing their shopping at this place, they must be of good money. Check-check by the soldiers and I was in. I had 25/= in my pockets by the way. Nevertheless my cladding that evening, didn’t look like I had such little amounts. Plus I didn’t carry with the intention of buying anything with it, I’m a Kenyan, babe, Kenyans can’t miss coins in their pockets, with this statement to back up the art; na nikikanyaga nyanya za wenyewe…

I went over to the decor corner, where I normally take my décor materials. I’m a guru of decor, right babe? Now I don’t want to be termed as vainglorious, let me leave it at that. Plus my old man, always says; kizuri chajitembeza, kibaya chajiuza.  After checking various latest flowers, ribbons and other arts, I decided to go to the deodorants corner. I was passing by, almost crossing over the other side, when something caught my attention. A wink, from a corner froze me on the spot.

Babe who does that? Your splendor rooted me to the ground. You stood right there at the corner with a certain completeness, perfection, in a certain fashion and design that I had not met before. A chill ran down my spine. You rendered me numb. You astounded me. What a perfect creation! I thought as goose bumps covered my whole body. Someone would have wondered what I was doing staring at a stationery shelf, especially when they knew that my stationery store back at my home was full, lacking nothing. But nothing but you babe, caught my gaze.

Your mellow maroon velvet outfit, with white dots bustled me to where you were. I don’t know what happened when I reached your spot, because when I came to my senses after a woman pushing her trolley around accidentally hit me, I found myself totally lost into you, filling your awesome embrace on my chest. You are tactile.

Though in imbroglio, I couldn’t part from you without a kiss on your forehead. It was love at the first sight. You took me by surprise, I didn’t know that my evening would end in such a quite amazing way. And ever since that day, you have forever been a dazzling creation in my sight. I thought that your beauty is only external, but no I was wrong, you are beautiful even at heart. You have come into my life and I can say you have been the best companion ever. An amazing friend, that forever I appreciate to walk around with, hand in hand. To confirm that truth, for the one year babe, we have stayed together so far, I don’t think if I have ever left you behind.

We have been to forums, to seminars, to concerts, to outings, to camps, to tours, with you. In you I have confined my fears, my doubts, my secrets, my joy, my love, my anxiety. I have shared with you my ambitions, my goals, my dreams, as weird as they are, as crude as they are, as encouraging as they are, and faithfully you have listened to me and reasoned with me. You know my schedules from morning to evening. You know all the places have grown attached to. You know all the people I love and cherish in my life.

My sweet diary, is it offensive or an illusion to call you my babe, my love? You are a friend, more than a friend. A trust worthy friend. The moment I saw you amidst the other dusty books and notebooks, I knew it would be so dolt of me to leave you. Your beauty, and the significance I thought you would bring to my life, was enough to make me pick you dear. Parting ways with the few thousands I had saved so I could surprise my landlord that month by paying my rent almost the first one, and not the usual last, was not a big deal. I needed no one to cajole me into taking you with me.

Sweet diary, my love and comfort, I love and cherish you. Happy birthday to you!!!

How much do you love your diary?




As visible as the stars amidst darkness are, so is the woman. In a crowd of people, no matter how great the crowd is, the woman will not miss to be seen. We take pride in that and give ourselves the credit. Why we are notable, among many things, is our beauty. For that we give credit to our creator. The beauty and the sterling shape of the star, is what makes the star to stand out in the universe and thus admired by many. It is what it is, that people have fallen in love with.

My attractive fluffy curvy, or hard iron straight body figure, my beautiful long black silky or short kinky hair, my long creased or short straight neck, my smooth flawless or rough bumpy skin, my impeccable hard to find natural dark or cheap self-imposed light complexion, my well carefully arranged or haphazardly effortlessly planted facial features, my expensive pure gold or cheap gold-coated jewellery, my body-hugging or lose body-detached outfit, and of course, my left to right walking style, orchestrated by the new pair of Japanese shoes or my stiff walking style beckoned with the cheap worn out Gikomba shoes, have all come together to make me. To give me the outstanding beauty, constructed for me the place that I stand on today, my womanhood. Forever I’ll be grateful of. However, what is supposed to give me pleasure has turned out to be my source of discomfort. The very things that I find to be natural to me, as they are part of my life style, are the very things that are sending me to the pit of hell and distress. Who is doing this to me? Who else but you and your accomplices.

Yes we do admire the little star in the sky, its beauty is what has been attracting our gaze, but do we settle in its beauty alone? No, we embrace and say thanks to its contribution of light to us. Why then are people focusing on what was simply attached to me, other than my impeccable contribution to the society? Why is it that all that matters is my appearance rather than myself? I walk through the streets, I enter offices and the only thing that is first scrutinised of me is my appearance. Like that is all I am. How is her hair? Where did she buy that dress from? Couldn’t she put on a blue shoe instead? Her artificial nails are cool, she has a taste. Well, I think that dress reveals too much of her love-handles – I would never put on that!

Both positive and negative compliments of me run through their minds as I continue delivering my content. Has what I have or carry around already not become normal? I thought it is normal for a woman to have the figure that your eyes constantly feast on. Isn’t it expected of her to have all the jewellery on her body? Is it abnormal of her to put on any kind of dress she wants? Is it not normal for her to have her hair as long or short as she wants it to be, or put on the colours that she prefers? I find it so abhorring to meet a person whose vision begins and ends on the shape of a woman’s body. I find it offensive when a conversation begins with the face and ends with the behind, as she walks away. This is what I would call barbarism. Analysing what I’m externally of, I feel takes us back as a people.

Can any stand up, can there be found a man, in this society that can look at a woman and go beyond her external appearance? A man that will go past seeing my well styled hair to see my brain that is carrying much, much that is useful in edifying the society. Can a man who will go beyond my cleavage and see my heart felt good wishes for the society still be found? Someone who will overlook, without missing, the colour of my eyes and see the vision I have for the society, the 2030 vision of our nation. One that will ignore the length of my nails and their shape and instead focus on what I’m doing in my own space to transform the society. Someone who will not die to reach out to my lips and place his own there, but instead listen attentively to what I’m saying.  Someone who will not be keen in analysing my walking steps whether I’m rightly swinging my ass or not, but instead check the purpose of my day in day out going out and coming in.

Together we can better our society, demolish the structures that are there to pull us back. United we can construct a new foundation upon which we shall erect beliefs that can better cater for the needs of everyone without intimidating anyone. I’m a woman, yes, but that doesn’t mean I’m an object of stare. Within me I carry love and care for the nation, no better than your own, no worse, tap into it and we will see the groans, and hear the tears that are ongoing in the world cease. Within me I have a vision for a developed society, see it and help me bring it into reality. See the hard work of my hands, chip in and bring the project into accomplishment. Within me there is a mission and a goal, It is not etched on my skin, but, oh, believe me, it is as real as the very beating of my own heart, as alive as the beat of your own. Can we, together, work towards that shared vision of a better world?

Why then are we passed as objects of transaction? To attend your parties to be paraded. Why then is femininity the point of reference in our interactions? We are passed being public figures here and there to entertain your vision. There are better things to look at in me!

Street HELL preachers, a break please?


Isn’t it becoming too much? I think it is. Haven’t these people been on our throats for long already?

I’m not an atheist, no in fact I’m a staunch Christian. Hahah, I don’t know which scale anyway people use to rate the ‘staunchness’. Anyway I’m a strong believer, I’m a follower of Christ with no apology. I thought I would affirm this before I go on.

Atheists and my brothers and sisters from the other religions, you can stay aside for a while, there is a group of people I want to reason with. We are good? Okay. Thanks

My traveling times are the best times for me to meditate. It always does me good, watching the trees and whatever is on the road side, quickly vanishing behind me as the vehicle speeds on. On this particular day I had just closed a certain important deal, again with a very honorary person and so I was in the highest heaven, silently pouring many thanks to the Almighty.

A certain man well-dressed, according to him though, in a black broken suit, entered the matatu and sat beside me. In his hands he had a small luggage, I didn’t know what it was until when he cleared his throat and called all our attention to him.

“Sasa mabibi na mabwana, ningependa tuangazie neno la Mungu kwa muda kidogo tu,” his strong corrosive voice filled the small remaining space in the mat, after much of it had already been occupied by the piles of people in the old rusty matatu, that seemed to survive only by the oath that its manufacturer made when it was being released from the industry; that it will serve its purpose. I felt a bit disturbed, as I have told you, but again I held back my heart from feeling offended, as my Sunday school teacher many years back, had taught me never to get offended, when the word of God is being read out. So I put away every thought and gave him my attention.

He slowly opened his Swahili bible which he held so dearly to him, opening it with all caution, one could think it had hidden marijuana inside it and so the poor guy was simply trying not to spill the contents.  Were it not for the rain that was heavily pouring, I would have told the conductor to drop me off and board another vehicle. Through the whole 20 km journey, the guy was talking to us about how hell is? Was he trying to terrify us or?

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Are you pumping fear into us or faithfully shepherding the sheep that Jesus handed over to you? Is this the good news we are to hear on the roads and in streets? It seems like these guys are assuming that we are a bunch of sinners who do not know what hell is. To make it worse the guy is trying to show that the hell message is what is supposed to be preached in churches, like we are being deceived by the prosperity gospel? Yes we are being ‘deceived’ but at least they are encouraging us to enjoy life. Where is the unconditional love of Christ? John 3:16

Aren’t we supposed to enjoy life, not supposed to live our lives and instead cradle ourselves in corners, everyday crying and repenting as we meditate on how fierce hell is? Oh please! I thought Jesus came to give us life and life in abundance (John 10:10)? I thought Jesus came to give us freedom (Galatians, 5:1)? I thought Jesus is on the throne, with so much love looking at us, and wishing us good every day? I thought Jesus didn’t come to pump fear into our veins, as a way of wanting us not to go to hell and instead go to Him? I thought He gave us enough grace to live as His sons and daughters? I thought we don’t gain righteousness by works but by faith (Romans 3:22)? I thought Jesus calls me His righteousness (2nd Cor 5:21)? I thought He is a merciful judge John 8:11and thus always guiding me to the right way without eagerness of condemning me?

Have I cruelly attacked them? I know, but again I’m not sorry.

Jehanamu inawaka moto mara Zaidi ya vile unavyojua mpendwa…

Mpendwa unavyoishi unaajichagulia kwenye utaenda…

Jehanamu ni mbaya mpendwa…

Mbona unapenda raha za dunia…

Can we get new preachers?

Now listen to this, they are telling us sexual immorality isn’t godly, that’s true. They are telling me robbery isn’t good, that’s true. They are telling me taking drugs is also unforgivable, yes again that’s true. But do they think that by threatening me how fierce hell is, they are helping me out of the situation? By telling me how painful God’s punishment is, are they helping me to stop masturbating? On the contrary, I think they are furnacing my immorality.

Do they know that while we are doing those things, that we are aware that they are forbidden? That we are aware that abortion is evil, but we are still doing it? We have been chased by the moral judges everywhere and yet we are not even close to abandoning it, and now they come with the hell message? Even as we are eating the forbidden fruits, we are lucid. As we do the unthinkable acts, our consciences condemn us, we want to abandon all this but we just can’t. We take few puffs of bhang today, and we say tomorrow we aren’t going to do it but again we find ourselves at it.

Do you know what can help us? It’s another thing given us, that can substitute the pleasure that we get from all these immoral acts. Only love and confidence and positive attitudes towards us can help us. Will somebody appear in the streets and preach and teach just as Jesus would? Teaching us about what Jesus is saying. Telling me how He perceives me as He sits on the throne? Telling me about the internal inheritance which the merciful King, is holding for me? Connecting me with that person I was created from. The bible in Ephesians 2:10 affirms that I’m God’s workmanship created in Christ Jesus, God’s workmanship, created to do good works! Even God isn’t concentrating in the hell bit, He is after me doing the purpose He created me for. Ama niaje?

I don’t forbid the hell message from being preached, but the way it has been exaggerated, makes me feel that, we are to sit down in corners, not moving to the left or right, not talking, not greeting anyone, covered from head to toe, for fear of hell.

We have tarnished the image of a Christian, the worshiper God was looking for. Can we review our messages please? Can we get back to what the real apostles were teaching, Paul, Peter, and the rest?

We are aware what hell is, but up until then, when we are to meet these two unspeakable places, what better thing can we do other than meditating on how hell is?

Haha, hell preachers buy me coffee when we meet.


What is it that you want me to see in you?


Have you ever been in a situation as this, where you were so eager to hear from someone, who made you believe they have something good for your ears, only for you to remain dumb after the whole thing, trying to decipher what really was the point of it all?

Much worse is when a prominent person, or someone whom you have put much respect and trust in, acts in a way that causes you discomfit. You feel like detaching yourself from them and yet you can’t or may be you can. But why should that person cause you that much trouble to a point of wanting to run away from them?

Yayee! It feels bad. I don’t know what kind of people normally exasperate you, but i think you can identify with this question, which I pose to those who made me put their trust in and yet they aren’t acting responsibly.

Really what is it that you want me to see? I even feel our young siblings and children asking the same question. l imagine a kid who has been taught in Sunday school that their elders are  their role models, coming back home, finds their very own guardians quarreling, fighting, hailing insults to each another; really what is it that you want me to see in you? I gain see the society, with crossed legs, seated on a stool, asking the same question to a fine young lady, posing this way and that way in pictures that are all over the social media, showing her valuables;  what is it that you want me to see in you, daughter? Look at this also; an informant seated behind their cosy chair, ready to surf the net for important information, a notification pops up that they have a new post. Closing what they are doing, with eagerness they go through it, only to regret why they had left their work at the first place; what really does this person want me to learn or get from this? What about a congregation seated tactfully in the hall, full of expectation to meet their maker, only for the preacher to appear with their own drama of oh this oh that. Really what do you want me to see or get from you? Or a man of age, a leader of a family, a supposed leader in the society,  appears less than they are expected.

Oh it really irks. So dear friend, when we blog or  tweet or post on Facebook or when we do all what we are doing, what are we trying to show people or what are we telling them? What do we want them to see? It’s called the place of purpose. What do we have in mind for the reader? What are we trying to achieve in their minds? My friend Shalala Carol, (Shalala creations) has shared a post regarding the followers in Instagram, I love what she said. Getting followers in whatever platform you have, comes with a responsibility . The followers aren’t some kind of a bunch of lost poor surviving sheep, sitting round your table, receiving all kind of trash you throw to them. No, they are people hungry of knowledge, hungry of hope, aspiring to hear words of wisdom from you!

The other day a friend of mine called me an utilitarian, after I had asked what criterion he uses in choosing his reads. I mean why do you tell me to read a book without telling me it’s purpose? If it’s for fun tell me, if it addresses a certain issue tell me. You don’t just shove something my way and gladly expect me to take it…Lack of purpose is an issue that cuts both sides, the doer and the receiver. The receiver’s head will ache trying to demystify the purpose of all your drama as well as the doer’s heart will ache with expectation as they wait for the receiver’s feedback.

I’m entering my inner room to search me in me, to search and make clear my reasoning. Do you mind joining me? Before I continue filling my publishers’ office with manuscripts that have no direction, that aren’t building my society, that aren’t laying down any foundations for the future generations, for my offspring, allow me do soul searching.

To whoever is given much, much is expected from them.  With these platforms, we meet people both innocent and knowledgeable. What are we telling them? Is what we are doing, edifying them? Is it building them? Or we are simply filling their heads with our thoughtless thoughts and insights? Can we you use them for the betterment of the society and stop using them for some other unthinkable despicable purposes?

Will we next time have our audiences in mind while we make the posts? We have what it takes to change our society, only if we think a little harder. The best place, the strongest foundation that we can use to build our success, is purpose. Purpose is the only surest flight, trusted in taking someone from one place to another one of choice. We either have purpose or not.

What’s up this 23rd birthday!

  • Cake √
  • Drinks √
  • 2020 journal √
  • Guests list √
  • Photoshoot √
  • New dress √
  • Shoes √
  • Snacks √

Is that me up there arranging a party, for my birthday? I thought I would be doing this first-ever celebration when I’m at least at an age with an excellent numeric. I have never thought big on these occasions.

Like partying or merely cutting a cake. But this particular birthday, my body soul and spirit, I mean the whole of me, is all over the day. I thought this would be happening when I hit a meaningful age sack. An excellent reasonable number.

You know a good number like 25 where probably I would shout and celebrate that I have reached a quarter-century, a ¼ circle well completed.

But now, 23? I thought it would silently pass by like the rest of the past 22 birthdays, but guess not.

What’s up with this date?

Probably the Bible would help me solve this mystery about no. 23, but I can’t bring myself to do that. Pulling out the Bible and drawing out verses marked 23? Nope! That will uncover unhealthy memories. I did that for someone who it won’t be okay reminiscing.

It was double embarrassing. In fact, on that particular birthday, he wasn’t turning 23, but 22 it was my selfish in-love-self pushing his mother to give birth to his dear son, a year earlier. That was not a first time mess that you can apologize and swear that it won’t be repated but what is love? Another time comes around. This time I mistook the actual birth month. I’m again pushing his mother to give birth to his precious prince a month earlier. Instead of 29/12, I thought it was 29/11.

And I wished him so confidently. By wishing you know what I mean. One week of drafting the message, splashing love and pretty-faced emoji here and there, editing and re-editing and then locking it waiting for the right time to wrap up the baby immediately he is born. Only to send it at the wrong time, a month earlier! That was enough to make me pack my bags and left. It was clear I wasn’t fitting. I was not the actual girlfriend, actually not anywhere near. I was a disturbed crush. For years he was.

And that long paragraph up there confirms that he never shows up in my mind for a sentence or two, but paragraphs and pages…huh?

That aside, sorry. Where were we?

Yeah, I am figuring out this particular birthday.

Can it be it’s because it has landed on a great year, unique for its number; double numbered year; 2020.

When this year began, everyone was celebrating, a new decade. All over, that was the biggest celebration. We were counting ten years back since 2010.

So I’m 23, two decades have passed since 1997, and now I’m on my third step towards completing the 3rd.

Can it be it? That I didn’t notice or warmly welcome the third decade, and it’s now demanding an honour?

I may fail to crack what’s so special about this birthday, but I hear my God telling me through psalms 23; that His goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life.

It’s indeed a unique day. Special age. It’s the third step in my new 3rd-decade ladder. I don’t know how many decades I will live to see and celebrate, but I will celebrate each that comes by.

This decade started on 3rd Feb 2018, and it was when awakening to my becoming journey started. Awakening to the sense of understanding who I am, what I want, and where I’m heading.

It was a year of life and light as I remember my Apostle the man of grace preaching and prophesying about that. Apostle Grace Lubega.

After two years of wallowing in darkness, months of struggling to break free from the entangling web of low self-esteem, weeks of self-rejection, and self-hate, feeling disgusted by my looks. The many countless days of chocking with wishes, wanting to be so and so and locking myself up, away from everyone who I felt are better than I am and those better than I was, were almost everyone around me.

While all of this was happening, though, I always felt a stirring in my belly. It was like something was about to rapture inside me. I felt someone inside me, trying to break out, someone more magnificent than I was at that particular time. She wanted to come out and take over.

Even in that situation I wished to turn things around and be who I always wanted. I wanted to be outspoken, confident, vocal enough, able to hold a conversation with someone stating out strong points other than the mhhh, and aahs.

Visions and dreams of me crowded in my mind, and the more I flashed on them, the more I got tormented.

Can ashes build a house? Can rags stand up, before a queen and demand rights?

I felt so little to fit in those dreams, and those moments didn’t catch me and escape without leaving me in tears and agony.

I got tormented because what I was feeling inside was totally opposite of what I was seeing in reality.

Someone with no voice to be a great source of inspiration and mentor of many? I, become influential?

I couldn’t see the possibility of any door opening and letting me in. I felt I didn’t deserve it.

But who is God?

As I key in this, I can now say it was a shift. The stirring was me getting aligned to my purpose, to the right self. Whatever was to flow my way was not going to occur where I was. My attitude, the whole of me, had to be changed.

I had to take over the right attitude/energy, the right voice, the right visions, the right EQ, the right connections, and relationships…

That was me right there, in my papa’s laps, being wiped.

And yes, since that time, that is, the setting in of 2018 has been parte after parte. There have been significant occurrences and events after another. And I’m grateful to the people who took me to this moment for they are the founders of my today’s success.

  1. Geoffrey Karisa – He introduced me to the message of grace and talked me out of self-condemnation that was strangling me. He also introduced me to Apostle Grace.
  2. Apostle Grace Lubega – His teachings have sustained me this far through the Phaneroo services. I have learned a lot regarding my spirituality and my true identity and place in Christ Jesus.
  3. Faith Darliah; the blessed lady, the strong woman of God. She got to know the above two people through me, but I can say she is the one who has helped me even more than I did — walking and believing with me in this journey of grace. She has been my shoulder that I’ll forever be grateful.

All this has been part of the journey of becoming who I am today.

As I blow these 23 candles and for the first time cut a birthday cake;

  • I’m an author of one children’s book; Hell in the backyard & other stories
  • I’m a graduate of bachelor of arts; literature and sociology
  • I’m a professional editor and social worker
  • I’m a blogger, and I’ve had a fair chance to work as a print journalist of one great media company; standard media group PLC
  • I’ve been into big amazing platforms where in some, I was the speaker. Notable of them is the youth international day event at Kwale where after m short thanksgiving speech I got a chance to take a photo worth my governor; H.E Salim Mvurya
  • I’ve been termed a mentor of many young ones in schools and a significant influencer in my society.

And most importantly, I feel so great, so much alive.

With this glass of champagne in my hands, may I please propose a toast. A toast to my great God. For it is Him who leads us through every step.

We are all becoming. Every day we are in the journey of becoming, evolving to a better self. We aren’t the same as we were yesterday.

Every day, every week, every month, every year, every decade, we are becoming more. We are evolving, and that is made possible by the little daily events which sometimes we complain of but in the real sense supposed to be grateful.

You are becoming; I’m becoming; they are also becoming.

Dear sis,

2019 marked the end of the rosy eight years in primary school.

Rosy, because I know they didn’t pinch you painfully enough. And now 2020 marks the beginning of a new journey.

Apart from the few but random notes you had to read for your exams, there was nothing else cumbersome. Now it’s when I can say, your self is starting to live.

You are not going to deal with not only academics but a whole bunch of other things.

And because I still want you to make the mark you made back at your former primary school, why don’t I share with you some tips.

You truly don’t have to go through the rough path we went through. Excellence is calling out for you sis, and I want you to arm yourself with this;


My people perish because of lack of knowledge. Knowledge brings understanding. Meaning if you don’t have the know-how, you are ignorant, and ignorance does nothing best other than dragging one into the abyss of the lost.

Understanding is the root of all success.

Do you understand who you are, what you want, and where you want to go? Without a vision, a country is lost. Vision, dreams, and ambitions are fruits of understanding.

You are in high school, do you understand that you only have four years and not a forever life in that environment. That after the four years, you will step out and a new life you are expected to start? Do you understand what’s required of you, or are you waiting for your parents or older siblings to think for you? Do you know you have the potential to become whichever person you wish to become?

Get an understanding of who you are. Someone with a firm grip of themselves is unlikely to be swayed away from achieving the best in their life, which is a desire of every human being.


It is grade ‘A’ I want in mathematics. How am I going to attain it? Planning. Strategizing.

I have assignments to do, classes to attend, physical exercise to partake, and personal cleaning to take care

How am I going to spend my twenty-four hours?

If I sleep at 10 pm and wake up at 3.00 am, is that healthy and beneficial to me? During lunch breaks, can I take my meal in ten minutes, and hide myself to finish my novel?

Strategizing is planning yourself, in line with your goals, to avoid confusion.


Passion is that burning desire in your heart. The desire to attain or reach the best. How much zealous are you for excellence? Can you kill for that top mark you aspire to achieve?

It is this ardor that will drive you through to your goal. It’s the fuel that you need to start the engine and keep it moving until you reach your destination.

Let your heartbeat for academic excellence. Give it your best when you have the chance. You are in secondary school now, that’s what is happening in your life at this particular time. Will you invest all that you are and have in this course?


Passion will automatically push you to commit. It will make you leave everything else and stick to that one thing you want to excel in.

Commitment isn’t just doing what is required of you when you feel like doing so, but it is doing it even when you don’t feel so.

When I was in school, there are times I didn’t feel like reading and instead chat. There are times I didn’t want to read the subject my timetable was showing, probably because it is not one of those subjects that interest me.

It’s not all times my body was willing to abandon the warm blankets and join the piercing cold of 3 o’clock morning.

Dear child, that’s what commitment is, doing what you have to do against all the odds. Whether you like it or not.

Commit yourself to finish the chapters your teacher has already taught before the exam. Make a timetable and follow it. Commit yourself to build your communication skills, both oral and written. They are vital in doing well in your exams.


As you pace up and down, running back from the dining hall to class or from field to library, people will be watching you.

When you decide to withdraw yourself from that circle of negative energy, finally, their eyes will be on you.

As you raise your hand in class to ask a question, they will be staring at you.

They will ask you, or some won’t bother, but wait to see your academic report at the end of the term.

Will you still hold on, even when the report comes showing you again tagging at the tail while your opponents are dangling at the top fat positions, some arrogantly smiling at you?

Sis, will you relent? Will you stop working?

I pray that you don’t. ‘No matter what happens’ is the kind of spirit you need to have. Don’t let yourself walk away from your goal because you didn’t attain it.

Setting a goal isn’t attaining it. We set goals; we work, we don’t reach them, we go back to work.

Excellence is not a crown that every Tom Dick and Harry waits and gets; it’s a crown for the nobles who are willing to push for it.

I found, them feet

I think I found them feet. Them that were referred to as blessed. 😊
You remember when they said, “blessed are the feet that…?”
Well, those are the feet I’m talking about. 🌚
The feet that oblige themselves to walk away from the seductive encircling warmth of the blankets and instead bathe in ice-cold dew!😢
The feet that endure the heat of the noon sun, getting ground by the merciless cursed land that was once a beautiful garden, cutely designed for us to rule!😢

Guilt doesn’t fail to consume me when the weary feet again come back in the evening to bring what they found.

Trekking all the way down to me.

With what can I repay this goodness, friends?

Everyday pacing up and down all for me to have my endless needs satisfied. Sometimes I wish I can stand up and hold them from going back to scratch the ground, but my frailty fails me.

I wish to sit them down, under a palm tree, on a comfortable mat, and their overflowing selflessness drowns my intention.

I can’t,

Ensuring I’m well clothed, fed, and protected, not forgetting dusting away ignorance by making sure poverty doesn’t hold me back from the platforms of knowledge, is more than ‘i’m simply fulfilling my duties,’ kind of statement.

A duty they didn’t ask for, but instead handed to them and opted to fulfill.

They had the option of not having me, the choice of spending the millions they hard-earned for their own pleasures instead of fattening the schools’ accounts.
They had the option of having the house to themselves with no one to force them to spend more shillings in extending another room for me, all for my comfort…
Undoubtedly blessed are they…….. At this spring, may my endless song of praise pour out.

Vessels of high nobility, they are.

My dream self

If I’m woken up in the middle of the night or stopped anywhere and asked to share my dreams; dream of myself will definitely pop out first.

I have been working and still am, getting dreanched in sweat, for this one thing, me.

Michelle Obama says in her book; Becoming, that we are all in the process of becoming.

It’s a process, steps along a path

Everyday we become something. At no point we remain the same as we were yesterday.

Although becoming is inevitable, we have the responsibility of channeling the becoming process.

Everyday I believe I’m progressing and part of me taking the responsibility of this process is having a clear goal of who I want to become.

Who am I breeding? Who am I everyday feeding? Who am I nurturing?

Everything has a procedure, prescribed according to its end goal. You want wali wa nazi, or pilau, or wali mweupe, or Biriani, there is a process that is followed to transform the common rice to those different versions.

So what’s this my dream self.

This is the picture I everyday behold as I lay down and wake up, as I walk in the streets or go and come out of offices.

As years come and go, I check my graph. How has my confidence been this year? My agrressiveness? My commitment? My dedication to the various projects I set up?

All this go hand in hand with the dream of self. Maintaining my whole? Daily checking on my mind, my soul, my body and my spirit, because it is these four who construct me.

My mind

I want to be this mentally right, sharp, knowledgeable, and intelligent girl. How much do I know? How much am I updated in the current affair matters?

What’s my take on the different ongoing issues? Can I hold a meaningful dialogue with some other great minds?

I have a dream of being this intelligent girl, smart and quite professional in all that she engages in.

As an author, as a blogger, as a social worker, as an editor or any other field that my papers allow me to operate in, can I skillfully perform the roles? Do I have the content?

That’s what I’m working out my mind for. I want to be up to whichever the task.

My spirit

Even as I execute my assigned duties and set up projects, what sprit am I carrying around?

A delicate giving up spirit? Or a hard unwavering holding on spirit?

I’m in love with the assertive, responsible, commited and dedicated girl. A leader in short. Such a lady, receives respect and honoured by many. Can I be this girl?

Can I take my responsibilities well enough? Put my whole in whichever project I find myself in?

Or will I let myself be this lazy kind of a girl, less committed, less caring whether she has excuted her responsibilities?

My soul

When we talk of the soul we talk of the inner part of us that operates in between the mind and the spirit. It carries our emotions. It carries our feelings.

Anger, jealous, love, hope, positivism, hate, etc etc reside in this part. All our emotions.

Someone said we are responsible of how we feel at any particular time in our lives.

I have the responsibility of making myself remain hopeful, positive, happy and cheerful.

As I deal with people of different kinds, what am I causing them to feel? Bitterness? Anger? Dissapointment?

How is this girl who is all-time sharing her smile with all people? Yes there are issues pressing so hard on her. She feels like screaming to the top of her voice.

She has been hurt and she doesn’t want to see anyone around but her duties are awaiting her. Her office, where she is supposed to meet people is waiting for her. Should she carry her anger to them?

Nope. She has to keep the issues to herself and serve these innocent persons.

I wanna be this lady.

Emotionallly integral.

My body

Last but not least, how is body? What’s my dream body?

I won’t talk of how large and protruding I want my haunches to be. Or how neatly and thinly squeezed my waist should be with cutely pushed up bulging boobs. Or how smooth and long my short rough kinky hair should become.

I want a flexible light body. I want to be swift and chap-chap as mum keeps telling us when she sends my sisters and I on some errand. Just a physically fit lady.

When I walk out of the house, how am I dressed? How is my fashion?

Fashion is the lawyer who negotiates on our behalf before those we meet. How I’m dressed speaks much louder than my literal voice.

My dream wardrobe is one filled with official outfits and other attires organised according to occasions. Shoes alike.

Even as I key in this post, there is this photo of me hunging on one one corner of my mind.

I’m in beautiful shiny slightly raised black shoes and well ironed out black suit with maroon blouse collar popping out.

I’m elegantly standing behind a podium addressing a multitude of distinguished delegates, all attentively listening to me.

I just admire this dream self.

Intelligence well matched with decent dressed and amazing pruned character.

That’s the whole of me, that i’m working hard to become.

And this is the person I’m investing in for I believe in her capability to satisfy all my needs.

She is the girl I’m pushing for.

She will get me the goodies I want to give to my parents, siblings, my community, myself and my family.

She is my darling. I believe so much in her. Everyday she is Becoming.

I’m not yet there, but I surely will be someday. I’m working hard to attain this crown.

She is all I desire to be. A 360° leader, with or without title.


Crossing roads with him was the mistake of my life.

Why not, while he is the reason my heart is swollen with anger.

He cut her out of my love circle of women.

He made her an exception.

Everytime I see her, my blood boils.

Everytime I hear her vocals or get her texts, weird vibrations go about in my insides.

How could she be the perfect girl for him?

How different am I from her?

Why did he see her instead of me?

Why did fate wheel me to him yet it perfectly knew I wasn’t meant to be his better half.


Worst is the fact that I can’t express it out.

Confided in me, it should be forever.

Or how best can you let it out, without the body of Christ, which you are part, not know about it unless you want to be cut off?

How best will you share it out when your social circle and hers are almost one.

No, unless I want my twenty years of toil and success be rounded off into one single meme.

“If hypocrisy was a person”

No, it is well.

“It is a simple crush I have on him, and it’s not worthy a relationship”

For ages I walked with this string of syllables tied on my neck yet I hoped it will be nullified and it’s opposite established.

That one day he will see my true love and stretch his hand and wrap it around mine…

Those remained wishes that daily fattened my pillow and lengthened my night time dreams.

I wished they could go away, now that he even announced how blessed he was after finding someone who truly loved him.

Truly? Has he used truly for lack of another word or he means it? Or have I been crushing for someone too blind to see or guess.

To hell with you damn feelings.

Make them disappear you son of the king of good looks! 😣

But how can the feelings dissapear while he nurtures them every single day?

Or he thinks his notes of congratulations, wishes and consolations aren’t sharp enough to re-dig a forgotten well.

Years, journals I have filled and put away but throughout, his name recarriies.

She loves him, and he loves her.

They look so perfect together.

I accept I couldn’t match up to him.😪

We couldn’t just be.

She is the right one for him.

I’m sorry for the anger I hold towards you Miss, yet you aren’t at fault with me or anything.

Forgive this soul, it’s not at fault either, it’s just that it chose to be confided in a vessel made of flesh and blood. 🙇‍♀


It is in the simplest of things that complexity is born.
And just before you oppose this;
What begins a journey of a thousand miles?
What went through the evolution process to form the complex beings we are today?
From the insignificant falling raindrops that seem so helpless when we hold out our palms to catch them, fast-flowing and threatening rivers are formed.
It never starts from plurality; it begins from singular. I bet our dictionaries, too, can confirm this. The meaning of a word is explained well in its singular form. When you search for ‘cups,’ either you won’t find, or you will be redirected to its single form ‘cup’ to find its meaning.
I write this, not because I have now become a philosopher, probably I have, but that’s not why I have punched my keyboard.
It’s just to express a wonder beaming in my heart. Never in my wildest of dreams had I thought I would witness something beautiful forming, building, right in front of me.
Fresh from the university, I had a lot of ideas whirling in my head — thoughts of how I will be giving back to the community.

You know when you step out of your usual surroundings and get a chance to visit other places, and then return, you always come back with this burning zeal to transform your area, at least to level it up with those other places.
That’s recommended. Worse is when you come back and feel your people have so poor living standards. I was a victim, too of this once upon a time. Sorry, it’s not confession time, back to our course.
I got myself around the local administrators, trying to present my junior thoughts. Why were certain things the way they were, how could they be made better, and so on. I just hope they didn’t feel nagged. But I bet they didn’t because they positively responded, and in a while, the discussions turned fruitful.
I did quite okay visiting schools as they invited me to speak to their candidates who were fast approaching their national exams.
One day in a meeting with one Mr. Hassan Nyae, my village administrator, he took out his phone and started swiping.

Oh my God, I couldn’t believe what I saw. At first, I thought it was someone’s project, planning to rare birds because it looked more or less of a nest, only that It was not mounted on a tree.
It was a small house, built by grass from foot to top. Or probably it was once made by mud, but rains washed it all away. Whatever its original state was, the current remorseful, tears-triggering house was a home for one Mzee Paul Chirao. The place that he slept and woke up in. The only that he solely existed, with no wife nor children.
Gooses wrapped me wholly as I viewed the photos. Photos of himself, covered with a stained white blanket, seated on a Jerrican. Sufurias and spoons and cups sprawled around, tempting to think, they were also mourning in waiting with their owner. Is this man on a photoshoot session, or he is really living here? What about the heavy falling rains, what does he wear? And cooking?
I mounted my bike and left. With no word. What can I do to help this guy? Who can probably help? Which organization can come and see this man and build him the right house?
I had no close answer to my many questions. I sped home, wishing that the Mzee’s story goes passed my mind like the roadside trees and electric poles that flashed behind as I rode on.

I lay on a couch, trying to reduce the accumulating WhatsApp chats. Mr. Hassan just to make sure, my agenda of forgetting the whole thing doesn’t work out, he sent me the disturbing images.
Has it ever happened that a young girl in her early twenties built for someone a house? A girl with no job nor money save for the few coins she gets from her book sales.
The God that He serves will do him good one day. It’s said HE never leaves His own. I switched back to other chats.
I took my phone, and after little staus viewing which didn’t sound that interesting to me, I drifted back to my thoughts about the old man’s house.
How I did it, I don’t know, but after ten minutes or so comments started streaming in; crying and soaked in tears emoji, comments of oh my gaaad! Is someone living in this house?
And sure that was all that I was needed to do. A lady, Julia Neche, one good friend we had attended church with, back at Egerton, proposed that a small beautiful house can be constructed. God bless her. Were it not for her…

Still taken aback by what she was offering, another lady Sheila Jep, commented to one photo I had posted with “I’m only 22, what can I do to help???” as a caption.
“Rehema yes you are 22, and you feel you can’t do something, what if we team up we as 22s. Don’t you think something great can be formed?”
And slowly, they talked me out of my helpless mode.
I roughly sent Neche the probable budget of the house. Seeing how willing and ready she was to build the house, I told her she could send the amount she was able to raise, and I would help find the rest.
In a month or so, she surely sent 20,000/=. This proper amount amidst empty pockets in that time of the month got me scared. Will the project be successful? Am I going to have the house successfully constructed, or in the end, the lady’s money will lay in waste?
But nope, in my frailness, I was determined to have the Mzee sleep in an elegant house.
The following day I went to the site. I found him seated outside his house. He was drying his blankets and other garments after a night of being rained on. The clothes he was putting on were also wet, and he was warming in the sun.
He was more than excited to see me. I explained to him who I was and my mission. He had swollen, hurting legs, but the joy couldn’t keep him seated. She showed me around where he wanted the house to be constructed.
I go the constructors, drew the plan, and made their calculations. What kind of materials are needed, and by what amount? Later as we continued, Mr. Hassan Nyae joined us and helped in planning the house.
As we rode back home in his motorbike, I couldn’t help but wonder where we were going to get more money for the project. The budget had amounted to 54,000/=. Can I write to different agencies asking for help or what? With the funds got, I bought the materials and took them to the site.
And the donations started. I explained the project idea and what we had started doing on different WhatsApp groups. One home WhatsApp group, corresponded well. We set the target cash to be raised. I also reposted on my WhatsApp status wall, and positive results streamed in.
Slowly as the builders continued with the work, hundreds, thousands from friends and elders came through. At one point, the figures stalled, but reminders and updates jerked up our spirits of giving.
Just, who is God who does great things in our midst? As we continued with the work, filling the gaps with mud, the Mzee constant proclamations of how God great is, overwhelmed me. He said getting the right house had been his prayer for three years.
The house is now complete with a new bed and mattress in his inner room, bedroom, and a living room to rest and receive visitors.
Simple idea and our little amounts constructed the magnificent house, answering someone’s lifetime prayers.
As I went about asking for cash, with the staggering target that threatened to grow as the project continued, I could feel the hesitance some people had of contributing to the project. Probably they were asking how 100/= can help? Is this girl bothering us with this whole project? Where are we supposed to get this amount?
What some didn’t know was, I didn’t ask them to give me the whole amount. Just give me your 100/=. 200/= 500/= and leave the rest to me. I’m still making rounds asking for cash. Don’t carry the project burden.
Some shoved me away in the right way though, some thought fake promises could help me, but it is well. I understood the burden was in my heart and not on them. The sleepless nights I had, trying to figure out where I was going to get the extra cash. Pressure from the laborers rising day by day, as they kept vibrating my phone with calls and texts asking for their pay. The stress of looking for volunteers to help in filling and covering the house with mud. Church mates who sounded so promising at the virgin days of the house construction, were nowhere to be seen.
It was okay, I understood.
All in all, finally, the Mzee got into his new house.
Simplicity bore greatness. Mzee Chirao is now singing hallelujah, comfortably kneeling in his house beside his bed. My heart bows to all who chipped in to make this project a success and making the Mzee tick in his notebook, a prayer answered.
We’ve proven humanity still dwells in our hearts. That, we are not as the media keeps flickering our screens with monsters devouring each other’s wealth and blood.
We are brothers and sisters born for different purposes but all for one purpose; to make one prosperous society for us all.
God bless you.