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For My Future I Toil

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A personal tribute to my uncle, mentor, and family pillar -25 years gone, never forgotten. Let’s go back… mid-90s. Uncle Gakuo. His white pick-up truck. All of us. Our mums. Our huge bags-bigger than some of us. Nduta Gakuo, Cira Gakuo, Shiku Gakuo, Shiku Kariru, Waithera Marua (big), Waithera Marua (small), Wambui Njung’e, Shiku Mworia, Minneh Njoroge… And of course me-the ‘last’ born of the pack. Those registration numbers on the truck-to this day, I hear “709” and I feel nine years old all over again. Boarding school in an Assumption Sisters hostel was no joke. Oh my… Sr. Mbatha. Madaraka Primary School, Thika: top-performing. For My Future I Toil. That was the motto. And indeed, my mother’s brother wanted only the best for us. 25 years on. His candle still burns brightly in my heart. His love for extended family, those lively get-togethers- all gone with him. I often imagine him and Mum, taking tea outside under our avocado tree. Whenever I think of my education, Uncle Gaku...
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Dust, Choma & Confessions: A Kitengela Catch-Up to Remember.

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Koa openly says that if lunch is on the ladies, pilau njeri it shall be. Iker, slightly MIA on the WhatsApp proceedings, seconds him with no apologies: “They” are not good in the kitchen. So Kitengela it is —the chosen catch-up destination. How we agreed to this still puzzles me. I suspect Lulu played mind games, and her counterpart, the moran, quietly agreed. Me? I didn't overthink it. I simply reminisced on our last catch-up in the same region, Koa hosting. Why lie—that choma was top-tier. But again, would I expect less from this Maasai host? Wendo texts that she’s already on Mombasa Road. Alma says she’s leaving from Karatina but promises to join. Please, Iker, pick up the phone already. Yes, Hails accompanied me. In my monkey bag I carried two plastic bags—precautionary, as she gets car sick and pukes like she is on a payroll. She was excited to go anywhere with me—my handbag in a human form. Lulu picks us from Eastmart. We wait a few minutes for Zola, who is trying t...
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Kenya Tuko na Stress — Let Me Talk to Myself in Peace

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A couple of years ago, on an evening walk home, this guy walking from the opposite direction stops and asks with genuine concern, "Are you seriously talking and laughing by yourself?" My mind full of responses,    Isn’t this a free country? Ama freedom of speech ni story za Jaba?    Can’t I enjoy my own conversations?    Also...sir, how is this your business? But I simply nodded. He stared at me from head to toe, trying to detect what exactly was off . Fast forward to today. Afternoon. I pass by my bank, hoping to get a short-term loan. I walk up to a lady behind an unnamed desk, not even sure that’s where I needed to be. She was sharply dressed-minimal makeup, perfectly done sisterlocks, glasses completing the corporate slay. Meanwhile, me? In brown boots and a pink fleece jacket...sun shining🌞 I looked...like the weather forecast personally betrayed me😏 In my defence, I left the house early and it was kind of drizzly, but still, who looks like t...
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