Friday, January 9, 2015

The complexities of human communication, but at least we don't meaow



My neighbor says to  me the  other day- I love to cook, but nice food, not  this. She  was frying  some potatoes and cabbage  for  rice. I think I must have been making ugali with something. Do you mean meat? Yeah, a nice  beef  stew with carrots  and garlic.

 I told her I would like to bake a fish, with garlic and white onions. So we laughed, and talked about something else. She is a nice lady, works like the next babyboomer and has no time to rest or relax. So when she came in on Sunday and announced she had watched a movie. This  I wanted to hear. But it  turned out  to  be a Nigerian  movie, and she went on to narrate  to me the  entire story, and I wished I had not looked too interested. I have nothing against Nigerian movies. Just can’t bring myself to watch one that goes to their crying counterparts. The Philippines have taken over. I wish when KTN would screen scrubs, Judging Amy. Until the target market changed I guess.  But I watched a Nigerian movie on YouTube once, Half a Yellow Sun, though I prefer the book.

But it  doesn’t  hurt  to hear  out someone  that  has not  watched  a movie  since  her youth. I guess I always  got  caught  up in stories. Maybe I have a sympathetic face, total strangers  will tell me their  entire life course, but I don’t mind, it  gives  me  material  to  smile  about  when I’m walking  alone.

One time I was in the onion business, don’t tell my mother. I could not muster up the voice to call out- itĩngũrũ fresh! I just showed up, around 11 a.m when people were starting to think about lunch. One woman who obviously had been digging all day under the hot sun told me two stories. One  about a party  she  had been invited to, they served onions and raw carrots.

-It’s no  wonder you young  people  always  have kĩmũrera(pungent  smell from your mouth), and  of course I put  a hand over  my  mouth- My house smelt like onions, my clothes, and  my skin. Just the other time I was cooking and selling maandazi. I would appear and people would start to say they suddenly felt like eating maandazi.
Then she  told me an ogre story, and as  she told it, her eyes darted here and there, as  though  she  expected an ogre jump up out of the pumpkin bush or fall out from the avocado tree.

I once heard someone say he enjoyed watching his aunt and young sister have a chat; No content at all, but they all seem to be having a ball. Well, I’m not sure if  content comprises  of goal oriented conversations or current  events. I’m still learning about human communication.

Tuesday, January 6, 2015

Last Saturday night



…..I will go  down  with  ship, I won't put  my up my arms and surrender,
There will be no white flag above my door…

That seemed  such a romantic  anthem, a  long  time  ago,  but  you  grow  up and things  happen  and  the  only  true  thing is the current  breath which you  hold  on to. Well,  that  even seems  even  more  romantic, a tragedy, the  despair  that  comes  from  having  nothing  else  to  believe  in but  yourself  and God.

 But then the hard cold reality hits and you are thinking, no. I’m thinking. Oh no, I knew my life   was a tragedy but this? It’s not even book material; this could   make a classic novel. If I were Margret Mitchell or  some other woman  that  wore  long  skirts  and  socks  with  her  shoes.

I  want to  make resolutions, oaths  and  vows but  searching deeper the  best  I  can  do  is  to be determined to have  a very  strong   will. If  I  lived  in that  era, I would  be one  of  those  stoic  widows,  spinsters,, haha and  now  I’m  laughing, meaning this  blog  post has served  its purpose. To lift  my  spirits, and basically  that is all I plan to  do; things that I love  to  do, accomplish little goals, enhance  my  friendships  and relationships, and take  time out to meditate. 

Not hummm…clear  you  mind and think  of  a peaceful beach…the one that I just  sit  and chomp down a long piece  of  sugar cane  and  count the  number of  insects and  bugs that try  to  navigate  my  toes.
But  it serves to  mention  that  I am  scared  out  of  my  wits.

Kitchen lab

This is how it begins. A test to know if I can update my blog using my phone.

5 ways to say, "My mother died. " For those currently or constantly grieving.

 On a random Thursday, when you get to work, you will find Clara distributing cupcakes at the coffee machine. Banana cupcakes, and you will ...