Thought tide

The elephant in my room. It started with a simple question. "How is business going?" Not sure if we are ever ready for the answers that come from such open-ended questions. In my mind, I expected a simple "Good." Or "Tough." With a very brief explanation to follow. Instead, this turned into a one-hour conversation with my Bolt driver on the way home. The first twenty minutes were quite engaging. The next twenty, mostly him talking with a few comments from me. The next twenty, no contribution from my end, just the occasional "Mmm..." to reassure him I was still there. But was I really? Don't ask about the last thirty minutes. A feeling of annoyance. Brain fatigue. Every nerve screaming, "Please...just shut up!" I instantly regretted my question. I was aiming for brief pleasantries, not a full business concept, proposal, wins, failures...and future projections. So this morning, I received a call from my daughter's school just to c...

Over dinner with Hailey yesterday, our chat drifted to school events. She mentioned a boy in her class who boards while the rest get to go home. I thought that was unfortunate, even unfair. She explained that sometimes he comes to class with unfinished homework. Understandable, because they’re given way too much for one evening. Four subjects, each with two digit questions. It’s just impractical. And yet, the same child is expected to be an all rounder. So where’s the time to play, to socialize, to have family moments, or even to breathe? I told her I was glad that their teacher understands his situation because unlike most kids, he doesn’t have an adult at home to help him catch up. That conversation pulled me back to a memory, three years ago. A sad one. I traveled to Kamba land to bury a colleague, a young mother who passed away after childbirth, leaving behind two daughters-one days old, the other not yet five. It was too much to bear. The grief, the uncontrollable tears, the ...

My girl was in tears. Kilograms to grams. Kilometres to metres. Litres to millilitres. In her maths test, these conversions turned into a monster. She’s sharp in maths-that one she got from me (not bragging). But this time, the results came in below expectations. She was inconsolable. On my end of the phone, I listened to my baby shed tears. And I had to remind her sometimes an A can look like a D. Don’t get me wrong, I was disappointed by the result too. But first, we needed to go through the emotions. My questions started spilling: Why the big drop? Don’t you like the teacher? Did the leg injury, which happened just a week before end-term exams, affect your concentration? Am I too busy to support you with schoolwork? Are you going to school so early that by class time you’re already tired from beating stories with your friends? I know her potential. So I let her cry, assuring her I wouldn’t hang up, that I was on the other end. She needed to cry. She need...

A matatu ride. A letter from my daughter. A realization about unspoken storms. This is how Hope Club was born—in the quiet spaces where pre-teen girls hide their hearts. But for real, what happened to Kenyan matatu users never opening windows? My goodness. I found myself in a 14-seater with 18 of us packed in. Wah, I don’t know what we’re incubating to hatch into😏? The heat, the discomfort, the sneers when someone dared pick a call... it was comedy and chaos in motion. Anyway, a couple of days earlier, I had received a letter. Not just any letter, but one from my 10-year-old daughter. It was a full complexity of emotion that even adults struggle to unpack. Fear. Insecurity. Protectiveness. Love. It was triggered by what I considered a harmless shift in our normal routine. Nothing dramatic. But to her, it meant everything. She didn’t like it. She even wrote that she felt unloved. That word gripped me like a hand to the throat. I couldn’t wait to get home, to hug her and talk. To ...

The Middle Finger, Mandazis & Mayhem: A Chaotic Nairobi Monday Damnit, the pain. Yesterday, I was indoors all morning and afternoon. Decided to try a mandazi recipe. I didn’t bother checking how many pieces the ingredients would make. Outcome: a whole basin of mandazis. 😏😏 Sasa nitazipeleka wapi? 😡 The first ten pieces were heavenly- probably because they were still hot. The rest? Quite hard. Straight up ngumu style. What happened to that softness staying put? Evening rolls in, and I’m on a call with mum-God knows how I enjoy those moments. Lost track of time. At 7:30 p.m., I’m dashing out with Hailey to the salon for her usual hair wash and straightening. It’s a 15-minute walk to our go-to place. Rhoda hadn’t even blow-dried her hair for two minutes before-  blackout. Not to worry (busy consoling myself), KPLC just playing one of their classic pranks. We’ll wait it out. Ten minutes later, it starts to rain. Heavy downpour. Now we’re stuck: no light, wet hair, and cl...

Some parenting lessons arrive in soft hugs. Others sneak in during lunch breaks-and missing earrings. In this one, I’m seated in the kitchen corner at 3 p.m., chatting with my colleague over lunch. We’re raising daughters, trying to choose love over lectures. Well... most days. I ask, “Have you noticed that the most privileged kids often end up the most entitled? Biggest complainers? Blaming every mishap on their parents?” She agrees, sharing an example of a certain 30-year-old madame she knows. Apparently, the lady once said her mum ruined her life- as she bit into a hamburger, because she fed her “everything good and bad.” Like, come on!! 😏😏 Maina surely… “God helps those who help themselves”—hence we save for a rainy day. It’s raining now, boss. 😂😂 And yes, we shouldn’t live like ng’ombes and mbuzis , pretending every bill is an ambush-but sasa tutado?? Honestly, if you’re employed and haven’t visited a doctor lately, just take a peek at your payslip and tell me who...