Saturday, 10 May 2014


Phew! Finally I get a break from this busy life of mine (busy, yeah right), and thus a chance to sit down and write something (I actually left work at 11a.m yesterday, I think that qualifies me as fearless, yes? No? Ok). 

I decided to make it a habit to post something every week, which I have been managing quite well until life saw it fit to hand me a few lot more responsibilities.  But as they say, it’s all about the events that unfold on your path, so it is safe to say my existence’s pretty good right now.

I missed my readers. I don’t know if I’m the only one who feels like when I’m not writing, I’m leaving a group of people hungry for content(Biko Zulu’s readers don’t even know you exist Gertie, get over yourself ). Alternatively, maybe I am just too full of myself, either way, here I am with something to talk, or rather write about. The title, well...if by the time you finish reading this you feel cheated, remember someone has just been sold a fake product in River road, there are worse situations on this earth than yours.

So, a few days ago on twitter there was a music discussion, or maybe I just logged in during Kenyans on Twitter debate o’clock and I was not aware. It was heated and for the record the proposers were bringing it(The only time I will make good noise for music is if they take down 20 the countdown Magazine. It’s a Christian music billboard.). Anyway, in the midst of that bloodbath, that I have no idea how it ended, I learnt that the song Khona is a funeral song. I was mind blown. If you have not heard it, it goes like this: 

ihfwgfyegfwdiwo KHONA ivlhergywefhweifh KHONA hegerrefh KHONA.
Yes. It has a catchy beat that I like bobbing my head to, because I am too graceful to dance (ha, do not be cheated). That realization made me think about songs that are a hit but no one knows what’s being said. Don’t just be singing along and jamming recklessly to these songs and you do not know the meaning. Who knows.  

EEEEH MACARENA. (What does Macarena mean? It sounds like cereal to me.)

 And on that twitter note, Kenyans should just pinpoint that ‘Someone’ who is constantly in all those #SomeoneTell TTs, put him on a plane and hand him all those open letters then send him to deliver all the messages, burning issues, complaints, rants to the respective people.

The real housewives of Kawangware. I haven’t exactly watched it from start to end, and even though exaggerated, don’t housewives house helps behave that way? I have never really understood why they are all nearly similar considering they come from different geographical zones in this Kenya of ours. (Moreover, on serious matters, these women need more rights, they go through a lot especially from their women bosses, where is the sisterhood?)

In my life, I have lived through a series of house helps, I would’ve counted them had I known in future I will be posting on blogs. And they all came in different flavors;  the angry one who was always doing things in a huff and acting like you filed charges against her; the psycho one who drew a knife at my sister; the bubbly but dirty one; she was easy to love and hate at the same time, she would make you laugh but gasp for fresh air to breath; the clean one, they were always my best; the pregnant ones; the noisy ones; the gossipers, they all were; the shopper; the poser; the na├»ve and shy; Ok, we did not have so many, I’m getting out of hand here, but something notable in all of them is that their leaving HAS to be dramatic. Even the one you loved the most and treated very well will leave you surprised. Entertain yourself with one of those dramatic escapades from this post on Fannes files.

I think I am the only girl who was left behind when a bug bit every other girl lady and made them love cars. I have been in so many awkward situations where a car goes by and my friend gawks at it and starts expressing words that I do not even understand, and of course, I will be a disappointment because I will just stare back blankly or say something as flat as 

“Yeeeeeah, nice tires!” Who says tires anymore? That died somewhere in the nineties.

Forgive my ignorant self, but this girl loving cars will make sense to me only when men start going gaga in the streets over a pair of Jimmy Choo boots or Chanel bags (I know someone feels like slapping me right now.) I have a license but I am not even passionate about driving, but being driven, I have spent days on end fantasizing about what my chauffeur will be like. (Yeah right, you’ll Jav for the rest of your life.)

And of course it’s Mother’s day weekend. Celebrate every mother out there, even those who have had miscarriages, thanks to Wanjiru Kihusa I also am celebrating aspiring mothers. Miscarriages are really really painful, but motherhood begins from the moment you conceive, the process of bringing a young one to this earth, so let them be celebrated. Read more about it here.

Without forgetting, let’s welcome Shiku Ngigi to her new domain. She probably cannot get over it right now. I bet she did a happy dance when she went live. Read her recent post How we moved, very helpful if you are also considering moving to your own domain.

I think I have done enough blabbering on this post. I have exercised my writing skills and met my one post a week goal and you, my wonderful, brilliant reader, have practiced your reading skills. It is a win-win situation; we can now go back to doing what we were doing.

Do enjoy your weekend lovelies. Tune in next week for an interesting interview.

Ciao :*


  1. Lol. You should do these random posts often. They are very therapeutic. ION, I did do a happy dance. Several, actually. :)


What I've been writing :)

Life. Love. Her. Technology.

Life is funny. I think I say that way too many times. Maybe it is because of how things happen unexpectedly to the unexpected. Maybe it ...

About Me

My photo

Everyone has 24 hours a day, difference is how you use it up. I am a cocktail of a lady who loves art and is tech-savvy.

Recent Posts

Gertie Sheshe. Powered by Blogger.