Hi! I haven't posted anything of late because I'm (trying) to read for my oral exam coming up next week. Thought I'd share with you another of my favourite songs this year by Tiwa Savage. She's Nigerian and can sing!!! It's called 'Kele Kele Love'.
Enjoy!
Masha.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Friday, June 17, 2011
Fear
It's 1918hrs. I'm listening to some smooth R&B from 103.9 Relax Fm. Totally gets me relaxed. Went to Toi market yesterday and bought (albeit by impulse) a brown suede jacket for just 200 bob! Can't wait to rock it!
Woke up bright and early today, warmed some bath water (I don't have instant shower) and went ahead with the morning rituals. Compared to most people who do most thinking while on the toilet, I do most of my thinking when having a bath. As I ran the bath clothe over my chest, my mind went back 7 years.......
April 2004. I was in on the final stretch of high school. We had closed school for Easter holidays but soon after we went back for holiday classes, being in fourth form and all. I don't know why the school made us go for these extra classes. None of us read! It was usually a time to make noise, have random beauty pageants (ok. It was only one, the title of Miss. Mabenda, don't ask), talking about boys, gossiping, freaking the cateress out her skin and drink a little alcohol. See, no reading at all! And we turned out pretty awesome!
One Saturday morning, as I was taking a shower, I decided to examine my body. I was actually through with the shower so.. Checked out my ass, perfect. My legs, perfect. My tummy, needed work (still does) but otherwise perfect. My breasts: left one, perfect, right one... Oh my God! What was that I felt?
I got out of the shower cubicle completely freaked out!
The rest of the week went by with me in a daze. I didn't know what to do. Who to tell. I didn't have a phone to call home. I decided to wait for the next weekend when we were to go home for a break from the classes.
When I got home, I did not know how to tell my mother or my sister what I had felt. I don't know why. Maybe it's because all that was going through my mind was 'cancer'.
As opening day drew closer, I wished to have the courage to tell Ma. My sister had noticed how I wasn't my usual self and asked what was wrong. Then the river of tears broke! She was confused! She hugged me and told me how everything would be ok... Love my sister :-)
Hours of crying later, I told her what had been bugging me.
'I have a lump in my breast'.
Those weren't the exact words. If I was to say it exactly as I said you might laught at me :-)
So the cat was out of the bag. Mwe (my sis) froze. She just stood there for like 3 minutes looking at me. In retrospect, that was freaky. Then she turned, suddenly, and went to Ma who was in the sitting room and told her the news. Ma called for me. I was still crying. She asked me to show her where the lump was, I did. Then she did something I have never ever understood.
After feeling the lump, Ma rose from her sit, said nothing and went to her bedroom and locked herself in there for about 5 minutes.
I don't know why she did that. It's still a mystery. One thing about Ma, though, is that you will never see her at her weak moments. Never. So I guess this was one of them. I'll never ask her to confirm or deny.
The following afternoon, Ma took me to Aga Khan hospital to be checked out. We were referred to a pathologist. This made it was! Isn't a pathologist for dead people, I thought. So I was essentially dead! Ha! My mind at 18.
The pathologist was an Indian lady. She didn't seem to care much about this scared little girl in her office who could possibly be facing death. She felt the lump and motioned to the nurse to take us to an exam room. The nurse, young and friendly, told me to take my top and bra off then the doctor.. eh.. PATHOLOGIST... explained what she was going to do. I've tried to remember the name of the procedure but I can't. Drat! There goes my chance to sound smart!
So I lay there. Holding Ma's hand. Topless. Then the doctor brought out (from nowhere, I swear!) a very very very extremely long needle. Yes. She was going to use it to get a sample of the 'mass' for testing. Did I say the needle was long?
She told me to relax (how now??!!) and ever so slowly the needle pierced the soft skin on my breast and when right down to the 'mass'. Meanwhile, I was a mess. Crying like I had never cried before. I squeezed Ma's hand so tight that I almost broke it. The pain! I have never experienced such intense pain in my life! I remember I kept saying my Hail Mary's... On and on and on and on..
I do have the words to tell you how much pain I was in.
Results of the test were to come out the day after next. I didn't want to hang around Ma. Looking at her just made me cry more. So I went home. Still crying. Even in the matatu... I got home to more hugs from Mwe. I was on zombie mode.
To cut the long story short, I was cancer free. When I got the news, I went to church, knelt and thanked God for my life. I have never been so relieved! That evening is when dad found out. The look on his face when he heard what I'd been through :-( For the first time in my teenage life, I sat on daddy's lap and got one of those hugs daddies give :-) Everything was ok again.
Years later, I have not yet found the courage to have the lump removed. It's still non-cancerous though. This is after watching a feature on how a Kenyan lady had gone for such a routine procedure and wound up dead. Something to do with the anesthesia. Planning to have it taken out soon though.... Like before I get my first child.
My grandmothers both died of cancer, breast and cervical to be exact. I know I am highly predisposed to any form of cancer. Yet to make peace with that. How can I? Currently, cervical cancer is the number one killer of Kenyan women... That is some scary shit.
It's 2040hrs. In between typing this, I have cooked supper and done some housework. Can you see the 'S' on my chest?
Masha.
Woke up bright and early today, warmed some bath water (I don't have instant shower) and went ahead with the morning rituals. Compared to most people who do most thinking while on the toilet, I do most of my thinking when having a bath. As I ran the bath clothe over my chest, my mind went back 7 years.......
April 2004. I was in on the final stretch of high school. We had closed school for Easter holidays but soon after we went back for holiday classes, being in fourth form and all. I don't know why the school made us go for these extra classes. None of us read! It was usually a time to make noise, have random beauty pageants (ok. It was only one, the title of Miss. Mabenda, don't ask), talking about boys, gossiping, freaking the cateress out her skin and drink a little alcohol. See, no reading at all! And we turned out pretty awesome!
One Saturday morning, as I was taking a shower, I decided to examine my body. I was actually through with the shower so.. Checked out my ass, perfect. My legs, perfect. My tummy, needed work (still does) but otherwise perfect. My breasts: left one, perfect, right one... Oh my God! What was that I felt?
I got out of the shower cubicle completely freaked out!
The rest of the week went by with me in a daze. I didn't know what to do. Who to tell. I didn't have a phone to call home. I decided to wait for the next weekend when we were to go home for a break from the classes.
When I got home, I did not know how to tell my mother or my sister what I had felt. I don't know why. Maybe it's because all that was going through my mind was 'cancer'.
As opening day drew closer, I wished to have the courage to tell Ma. My sister had noticed how I wasn't my usual self and asked what was wrong. Then the river of tears broke! She was confused! She hugged me and told me how everything would be ok... Love my sister :-)
Hours of crying later, I told her what had been bugging me.
'I have a lump in my breast'.
Those weren't the exact words. If I was to say it exactly as I said you might laught at me :-)
So the cat was out of the bag. Mwe (my sis) froze. She just stood there for like 3 minutes looking at me. In retrospect, that was freaky. Then she turned, suddenly, and went to Ma who was in the sitting room and told her the news. Ma called for me. I was still crying. She asked me to show her where the lump was, I did. Then she did something I have never ever understood.
After feeling the lump, Ma rose from her sit, said nothing and went to her bedroom and locked herself in there for about 5 minutes.
I don't know why she did that. It's still a mystery. One thing about Ma, though, is that you will never see her at her weak moments. Never. So I guess this was one of them. I'll never ask her to confirm or deny.
The following afternoon, Ma took me to Aga Khan hospital to be checked out. We were referred to a pathologist. This made it was! Isn't a pathologist for dead people, I thought. So I was essentially dead! Ha! My mind at 18.
The pathologist was an Indian lady. She didn't seem to care much about this scared little girl in her office who could possibly be facing death. She felt the lump and motioned to the nurse to take us to an exam room. The nurse, young and friendly, told me to take my top and bra off then the doctor.. eh.. PATHOLOGIST... explained what she was going to do. I've tried to remember the name of the procedure but I can't. Drat! There goes my chance to sound smart!
So I lay there. Holding Ma's hand. Topless. Then the doctor brought out (from nowhere, I swear!) a very very very extremely long needle. Yes. She was going to use it to get a sample of the 'mass' for testing. Did I say the needle was long?
She told me to relax (how now??!!) and ever so slowly the needle pierced the soft skin on my breast and when right down to the 'mass'. Meanwhile, I was a mess. Crying like I had never cried before. I squeezed Ma's hand so tight that I almost broke it. The pain! I have never experienced such intense pain in my life! I remember I kept saying my Hail Mary's... On and on and on and on..
I do have the words to tell you how much pain I was in.
Results of the test were to come out the day after next. I didn't want to hang around Ma. Looking at her just made me cry more. So I went home. Still crying. Even in the matatu... I got home to more hugs from Mwe. I was on zombie mode.
To cut the long story short, I was cancer free. When I got the news, I went to church, knelt and thanked God for my life. I have never been so relieved! That evening is when dad found out. The look on his face when he heard what I'd been through :-( For the first time in my teenage life, I sat on daddy's lap and got one of those hugs daddies give :-) Everything was ok again.
Years later, I have not yet found the courage to have the lump removed. It's still non-cancerous though. This is after watching a feature on how a Kenyan lady had gone for such a routine procedure and wound up dead. Something to do with the anesthesia. Planning to have it taken out soon though.... Like before I get my first child.
My grandmothers both died of cancer, breast and cervical to be exact. I know I am highly predisposed to any form of cancer. Yet to make peace with that. How can I? Currently, cervical cancer is the number one killer of Kenyan women... That is some scary shit.
It's 2040hrs. In between typing this, I have cooked supper and done some housework. Can you see the 'S' on my chest?
Masha.
Friday, June 10, 2011
My Favourite Place
Its 1047hrs. I'm watching (listening)CNN. I've had a nasty cold this week. Even lost my voice! It's back though. It kinda went through a rebooting of soughts because I sound amazing!
When I'm back home, my number one place is the beach. Every once in a while, I go there to walk, swim or just goof around with friends. On hot sunny days, this is the only place to be.
There are very many beaches in Mombasa; the public beach being the most commonly frequented. Don't know why they call it 'public' since all beaches are essentially public. But with the corrupt system of some of our laws, some people think they own some of the beaches. Especially these big villas owned by foreigners. Thank God for the 'new' Constitution, they've now been put in their place!
I don't go to the public beach. It's dirty and has many ummm... riff-raffs. At night, it takes on a whole different look as I was shown by @tajaid and @sahlaan. It becomes a meet up point where guys come in their cars, chew miraa and smoke sheesha. I admit I was a bit put off by this, though I did not admit it to the above mentioned despite their numerous queries on the same most likely brought on by the scowl that was on my face the entire time... I tried to hide it though, I really did. But I guess once you're taken out of your comfort zone... I'll go back and give it a second try though.
The beaches I go to are usually those that big hotels are close to. They are cleaner and less densely populated than the public beach. You might be asking yourself why I'd rather spend lots of money in these 4-5 star hotels just to gain access to the beach. Answer; I don't have to. Others discovered the beauty of such like beaches and as a result created some 'panya routes' to access them. This is not trespass. The beach belongs to all of us and we'll get to it by any means possible.
Nyali International Hotel is the hotel close to my favorite beach. I especially like it during low season. Less skimpily clad tourists and those sporty ones who take windsurfing lessons and clumsy with the kite thingy!!! Those ones are the most annoying!
The few fishermen around are polite. All minding their business. No beach boys unless it's during high season. Also less riff-raffs. This equals to having a nice quiet time to myself to think and just appreciate God's wonder. That's usually when I'm there alone. Recently held a surprise birthday party for a friend there. Fun times. You may also want to try beach rugby!!! So much fun that will result in sand all over your hair and in your eyes! Beach football/volleyball is so 5 minutes ago.
But the best beach ever is at Sand Island in Diani. Takes your breathe away!
This is where I had my first snorkeling experience. The water was so clear! So many colorful and beautiful fish. Plus I could easily avoid the urchins. Yes, your number one enemy at the beach.
I'd love to go back to Sand Island. You should too. The cottages are quite inexpensive and comfortable. While you're there, take a day off the beach to go to the Mwalughanje Elephant Sanctuary in Kwale. Last time I was there, our tour van was chased by a huge male elephant! My God! The adrenaline rush!!! I know it could have ended badly for us that's why I will advise you to have an experienced tour driver like ours. His name is Hemed. I envy his occupation.
Such amazing memories!
Remember to always keep the beach clean, that's your responsibility.
It's 1154hrs, still watching/listening to CNN.
Masha
(pictures courtesy of sandislandbeach.com. Apologies for the pics not being large enough. Zooming them would result in their distortion)
When I'm back home, my number one place is the beach. Every once in a while, I go there to walk, swim or just goof around with friends. On hot sunny days, this is the only place to be.
There are very many beaches in Mombasa; the public beach being the most commonly frequented. Don't know why they call it 'public' since all beaches are essentially public. But with the corrupt system of some of our laws, some people think they own some of the beaches. Especially these big villas owned by foreigners. Thank God for the 'new' Constitution, they've now been put in their place!
I don't go to the public beach. It's dirty and has many ummm... riff-raffs. At night, it takes on a whole different look as I was shown by @tajaid and @sahlaan. It becomes a meet up point where guys come in their cars, chew miraa and smoke sheesha. I admit I was a bit put off by this, though I did not admit it to the above mentioned despite their numerous queries on the same most likely brought on by the scowl that was on my face the entire time... I tried to hide it though, I really did. But I guess once you're taken out of your comfort zone... I'll go back and give it a second try though.
The beaches I go to are usually those that big hotels are close to. They are cleaner and less densely populated than the public beach. You might be asking yourself why I'd rather spend lots of money in these 4-5 star hotels just to gain access to the beach. Answer; I don't have to. Others discovered the beauty of such like beaches and as a result created some 'panya routes' to access them. This is not trespass. The beach belongs to all of us and we'll get to it by any means possible.
Nyali International Hotel is the hotel close to my favorite beach. I especially like it during low season. Less skimpily clad tourists and those sporty ones who take windsurfing lessons and clumsy with the kite thingy!!! Those ones are the most annoying!
The few fishermen around are polite. All minding their business. No beach boys unless it's during high season. Also less riff-raffs. This equals to having a nice quiet time to myself to think and just appreciate God's wonder. That's usually when I'm there alone. Recently held a surprise birthday party for a friend there. Fun times. You may also want to try beach rugby!!! So much fun that will result in sand all over your hair and in your eyes! Beach football/volleyball is so 5 minutes ago.
But the best beach ever is at Sand Island in Diani. Takes your breathe away!
This is where I had my first snorkeling experience. The water was so clear! So many colorful and beautiful fish. Plus I could easily avoid the urchins. Yes, your number one enemy at the beach.
I'd love to go back to Sand Island. You should too. The cottages are quite inexpensive and comfortable. While you're there, take a day off the beach to go to the Mwalughanje Elephant Sanctuary in Kwale. Last time I was there, our tour van was chased by a huge male elephant! My God! The adrenaline rush!!! I know it could have ended badly for us that's why I will advise you to have an experienced tour driver like ours. His name is Hemed. I envy his occupation.
Such amazing memories!
Remember to always keep the beach clean, that's your responsibility.
It's 1154hrs, still watching/listening to CNN.
Masha
(pictures courtesy of sandislandbeach.com. Apologies for the pics not being large enough. Zooming them would result in their distortion)
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Earworm
An earworm is a song that just wont get out of your head. Maybe if I share mine with you it'll finally get out!! No idea what they are talking about but I love it! Enjoy!
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
My Ring
It's 2212hrs as I start writing this. I've just had my dinner of noodles stir fried in soya meat. It's more delicious than it sounds. It's a polite evening. Enjoying my own company and playing R. Kelly's Love Letter album in the background. Notice how music is such an integral part of my life.
The Zahir is already making me think too much so I've ditched it for some other literary works aka Biko Zulu's blog on wordpress. He writes so well! I wonder if I'll ever gain such command over words. I would love to describe things to you better so you can see where 'the boat' is leading me. (Referenced from the Zahir).
I just read Biko's post on things people get attached to and I immediately thought of my ring.
It was initially my sister's. It was a present from some guy. He must have been insignificant because she didn't mind when I took adverse possession of it. This was way back in December 2004. I remember because I'd just completed high school. Seven years down the line, I still have my ring.
It's a silver ring with diamante stones. I always wear it on my left middle finger. It (finger) even has a tan line the shape of the ring. I don't have the words for you to visualize it...
I don't know why I became so attached to this ring. I know I've gone through milestones with it; finding and losing my first love, K.C.S.E results, first day at campus and graduation, meeting and breaking up with my ex, my first job last year and now at the Kenya School of Law.
This ring has been through a lot.
However, I've recently found out that I've neglected this ring of mine. I have acquired others like this antique looking one with a butterfly on a flower :-) It's really pretty. But that's beside the point.
Between late 2004 and 2010, I could not go anywhere without it. I'd freak out when I noticed it wasn't on my finger. As in full blown panic attack. I don't know why I was so attached to it. Maybe I'd given it too much meaning, made it a symbolic representation of whatever was going on in my life at the time. Now, I prefer my antique ring to it. Or just a bare finger.
Is this some way of my brain telling me that I'm opening a new chapter? A time to get rid of the old? To kind of disrobe from an otherwise dirty garment? To somehow make me aware that I need to move on into something unknown?
I don't know.
What I do know is that in 2011, I've left it behind so many times and not one time have I felt the need to rush back home and put it on or feel my heart sink because of it's absence. I'm strangely at peace. Who knew such an innate item like a silver ring would hold such significance?
Oh well. I'm letting go of this ring. Letting go of whatever it represents. The tan line will still be there. And for as long as it's there, the tan line that is, it will serve whatever purpose the ring served till colour comes back to my finger. What was that about bearing scars as medals? ('I don’t regret the painful times; I bear my scars as if they were medals'. From Paulo Coelho's: The Zahir: A Novel of Obsession')
My rings
It's 2248hrs.
Masha.
Note: this post was originally written on 30th March. A little nip and tuck here and there to make it look more presentable :-)
The Zahir is already making me think too much so I've ditched it for some other literary works aka Biko Zulu's blog on wordpress. He writes so well! I wonder if I'll ever gain such command over words. I would love to describe things to you better so you can see where 'the boat' is leading me. (Referenced from the Zahir).
I just read Biko's post on things people get attached to and I immediately thought of my ring.
It was initially my sister's. It was a present from some guy. He must have been insignificant because she didn't mind when I took adverse possession of it. This was way back in December 2004. I remember because I'd just completed high school. Seven years down the line, I still have my ring.
It's a silver ring with diamante stones. I always wear it on my left middle finger. It (finger) even has a tan line the shape of the ring. I don't have the words for you to visualize it...
I don't know why I became so attached to this ring. I know I've gone through milestones with it; finding and losing my first love, K.C.S.E results, first day at campus and graduation, meeting and breaking up with my ex, my first job last year and now at the Kenya School of Law.
This ring has been through a lot.
However, I've recently found out that I've neglected this ring of mine. I have acquired others like this antique looking one with a butterfly on a flower :-) It's really pretty. But that's beside the point.
Between late 2004 and 2010, I could not go anywhere without it. I'd freak out when I noticed it wasn't on my finger. As in full blown panic attack. I don't know why I was so attached to it. Maybe I'd given it too much meaning, made it a symbolic representation of whatever was going on in my life at the time. Now, I prefer my antique ring to it. Or just a bare finger.
Is this some way of my brain telling me that I'm opening a new chapter? A time to get rid of the old? To kind of disrobe from an otherwise dirty garment? To somehow make me aware that I need to move on into something unknown?
I don't know.
What I do know is that in 2011, I've left it behind so many times and not one time have I felt the need to rush back home and put it on or feel my heart sink because of it's absence. I'm strangely at peace. Who knew such an innate item like a silver ring would hold such significance?
Oh well. I'm letting go of this ring. Letting go of whatever it represents. The tan line will still be there. And for as long as it's there, the tan line that is, it will serve whatever purpose the ring served till colour comes back to my finger. What was that about bearing scars as medals? ('I don’t regret the painful times; I bear my scars as if they were medals'. From Paulo Coelho's: The Zahir: A Novel of Obsession')
My rings
It's 2248hrs.
Masha.
Note: this post was originally written on 30th March. A little nip and tuck here and there to make it look more presentable :-)
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