Nòî

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On another episode of: things that never happened, or did they? Saturday or Sunday, many many many moons ago. I used to go to the bafu na towel pekee always wondering how women always walked around in skirts. So after showering it was free mode mpaka kejani. Kwa buloti, it was a communal bathroom so you had to carry your bucket. Na ukipata mtu yuko ndani, unapanga laini. On this particular day nilikuwa nimechemsha maji niko ready kuingia kwa bafu, jirani beat me to the bathroom by seconds. I left my bucket full of warm water hapo nikiwa frustrated then nikaingia kejani kutime akitoka, naruka ndani. Asubuhi gets chilly so you can't just hang around there waiting ukiwa kifua iko nje, umejifunga towel pekee. Akamaliza nikaskia mlango yake imefunga, nikakimbia bafu fasta fasta maji yangu isipoe, ingepoa ingekuwa balaa. Kumbe she was not yet done, alikua ameacha karai yake na maji hapo ndani arudi kuosha kifuniko. Mimi naye nokatoa hio basin nje nikaingia kwa bafu, this is not ...

Damn!

 I’ve been quiet lately. 

Not because I joined a meditation retreat in Tigoni or went offline to “find myself” in Ngong Hills. No. My situation ship had ghosted me again, and my bank balance was giving K.P.L.C. token vibes, very dark and annoying. It started on a random Saturday in my crib. 


I was lying on my bed, scrolling endlessly through Twitter, laughing at people with soft lives, I decided to do something I hadn't done in a while, think. Proper thinking. Not the one where I pretend to reflect but actually just replaying movies in your head that you have previously watched.




I had this deep reflection while staring at my ceiling, asking the universe the big questions after munching on three chapatis with beans 

(you'll have to excuse my love for chapatis), 

and then as I lay there in silence 

(ok, there were a couple of mosquitos buzzing around, 

but still), 

the truth knocked, and it hit me. 


Accountability is not a punishment, 

it’s power. 


My empty account? The various interactions I had that had been draining my soul like Safaricom data when you use it? Everything wrong in my life? Lowkey, it’s on me. Yes, me. It stung, but weirdly, it felt freeing. Because if I’m the problem, then I can also be the solution.  


I made some changes. Small ones, like focusing on gigs that align with me, not just accepting anything because they said exposure. I stopped replying to “Uko?” texts. I even created a budget, funny right?


 (Ok, I blew it on day 3, but 

progress is progress.) 


I found peace in being alone. I started writing, not because I have all the answers, but because maybe, just maybe, someone else in either Kayole or Kitusuru feels like they’re drowning too. So here I am, still broke-ish. Still figuring things out, but now I’m doing it with my chest.


If you’ve ever sat somewhere and wondered venye maisha inakupeleka ka baiskeli ya kuibiwa, you’re not alone. But what if, instead of waiting to be rescued, you picked up the pen and rewrote your own story? Choose your own growth, real growth, like saying no to people. 


~Anonymous Writer


~Edited by Letstoriesunfold™.



Comments

  1. Nice one bro . signed by your brother Generali.

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