“One day, I decided to have THE sex talk with my teenage son. I got him alone and said, “I’d like us to talk about sex.” He looked at me straight in the eye and asked, “What do you want to know about sex, dad?””
That’s a story a motivational speaker told us when we were in high school. His name was Prof. Kadoka. He told us that he was a neurosurgeon. He was the closest thing to Ben Carson that we encountered.
If I was a Bible character, I’d probably be a pre-Red Sea Moses. Oh, that’s too far. I’d be the Moses at the burning bush. The one who gave God all the reasons why he was the wrong guy for the job. Moses did such a perfect job talking God down that the big guy got him a mouthpiece.
I relate to that story like the guys in Kondele relate to the riots in Minneapolis. The Kondele peeps may seem calm, but deep down they want to be chanting “Haki Yetu” down East 38th Street in Powderhorn Park.
There was an owl hooting that night. And I hated hearing an owl hoot. I was convinced someone I love is going to die if the owl hoots too close home. But I wasn’t home.
The wind was whistling, the pines amplifying the noise and the shadows. Those pines were also home to some gigantic horned chameleons that made my skin crawl. It was one of those moonless nights, spooky as a flying angel on Halloween. The previous week, someone had said they saw a ghost outside when they went to take a leak.
My stomach rumbled for the 7th Hundrenth time. I tossed again, trying to calm my bowels down. The urge to go was so strong that my cheeks got hot. The toilets were about 200 meters from the dormitory. For a class five pupil, that distance felt like the valley of the shadow of death.
A couple of weeks ago, I stopped telling my husband that I loved him. After almost 9 years of saying ‘I love you’ every day and sometimes several times in a day, I just stopped.
It’d be nice to tell you that I visited Rogi Yaman and spent a couple of months with the Sages of Sivana in the Himalayas. I’d like to tell you that I went through a serious phase of soul searching, yoga and mental detox.
I’d like to be a real hero and take you through my journey of self-discovery and the ’15 steps to Renewing Yourself and Your Marriage’ seminar that I attended. That the seminar was hosted by the renowned Mark Gungor of ‘Laugh Your Way to a Better Marriage’ seminars.
I have been working from home, writing, editing, wiping little bums and snorty noses for almost four years now. While I’ve had a tremendously fulfilling time — my payment has been lots of tiny baby bear hugs and the sweetest ‘love yous’ — I’ve also experienced some hair-pulling emotional and mental distress.
There are days when I’d just drive to Java just to see other grow-ups and not have to speak baby-language for an hour. There were days when my ‘office’ walls were beginning to talk back to my thoughts. You know you need a break when you start to miss the lizard that passes by on its way from State House.
I haven’t pulled my hair out (yet). After a couple of years, I can tell you a few things that have made me productive and sane working from home.
Understanding yours and your spouse’s differences in temperament is a major key to establishing happiness, peace and stability in your marriage.
Jackie and Musau might not be enjoying marital bliss today if they had not decided to take a personality test together. When they first started dating, the music was never too loud; the sky was just the right shade of blue and their love burned bright like a beach sunset. If Musau was the knight in shining armour, then Jackie was Queen Elizabeth herself. Neither of them could do any wrong.
I had a glass table once. I smashed it to pieces with a cup full of tea.
For a long time, I struggled with anger that would strike like a thunderclap headache. I lost many cups and plates to these fits of anger. But the day I lost the table is the day I knew horse-manure had hit the fan. Something had to give.
I searched for outlets. I joined a women’s study in the church, Wisdom for Mothers. This study exposed my heart and helped me grow. But it also gave me wonderful women who became my closest confidants. There’s very little I can’t tell this crazy bunch of wonderful women.
Before the anger outbursts, I had grown increasingly uncomfortable in my ‘situation’. I was a stay at home mom. Each day when Mr K went to work, I was left feeling like I made the wrong choice. Like all I’ll ever be is “Mom.”
He lies on the cold Sao Paulo ground in the park outside the cathedral. It’s cold. I’m used to the sweltering heat in Mombasa, anything below 25 degrees is cold for me. But I’m told it’s summer here. These people have not seen the summer, I muse.
He has a blanket. Surprisingly, it doesn’t look very dirty. My host, a catholic seminarian informs me that they are supplied with blankets and food by well-meaning Brazilians. Mostly Christians because they somehow see the face of Jesus on those once clean and handsome faces.
He’s not alone, but I note with interest that most of his ‘roommates’ are men.
She emailed and said this was the kind of conversation that required a quiet corner in Java at 11 AM. Apparently, there are not many people there at such a time. She can speak without straining to not whisper, and I can tell you she whispers like a cat that saw a dog.
You don’t want to be hiding with this one in any situation. She can’t whisper to save her life.