Lately, I’ve had all the time in my life. So much free time in my hands. Not by choice though. I have sat and watched the woodland creatures. I am not kidding you. I sat on a seat, well, not so much of a seat, a tree stump and looked at two bush squirrel run after each other on a tree. At first, I thought they were plotting on how to make a meal out of the rabbit.

Oh yea, there is the rabbit, which I call Bunny. It’s so cute, with its big beautiful eyes and its wonderfully soft grey fur. I have watched it eating a carrot. It goes nibble-nibble-nibble on it for what seems like forever. It reminds me of my little sister. She used to eat like that in her younger years. She probably eats like that still. I am pretty sure her spirit animal is a rabbit or a bush squirrel.

I have had a lot of time in my hands. Have you seen the picture of two doves looking at each other, usually a sign of peace? I have witnessed that. Well, not doves, pigeons. They are of the same family only one is ‘the fairer one’.  Ironically, they seemed to be fighting. Or dancing. This is not an excerpt of National Geographic so don’t expect facts.

I have been woken by the flaps of the pigeon’s wings. It is such a fun thing to watch. I think they are sisters playing an interesting flap-me-I-flap-you game. Or maybe it’s a lady and a dude courting. Whatever it is, it is a fun relationship.

Talking about relationships, I think our dog and the hen are in a relationship. Every evening they sit together at the verandah harmoniously like an old couple. If only the dog knew that that is a meal-in-waiting. It is the hen, Chicky that comes to the dog. Chicky, like our today’s woman is very forward.


Sometimes Ed the dog will move to the grassy field and Chicky follows. This is a lesson to the timid lady. Make the first move. Text him first. Propose. Also, that could be a bad advice.

Some evenings are so still and all you can hear is the chirp of a bird. It tweets a lonely tune for a moment, falls silent, then starts allover again. It goes on and on.

I have watched then sunset. It is glows red hot. I am yet to see the sunrise. I am not an early riser plus the fence blocks the view. There are some nights when it is so dark and the sky seem to be painted with shiny stars. Some nights I have switched off the lights but the room remained dimly lit. I couldn’t help but take a peak through the curtains to see the moon in its night glory.

If you have free time by choice or by nature’s act, make it count. Travel to the village and get a touch of its magic. If you are going through a rough time, look for the silver lining in the cloud. Mine, I found, was the woodland creatures.




If you would be well spoken of, learn to speak well of others. And when you have learned to speak well of them, endeavor likewise to do well to them; and reap the fruit of being well spoken of by them.



Doesn’t it feel good when you say something nice about someone when they are not around? Now, doesn’t it feel even grander when somebody comes and tells you how well you were spoken of by a group of people? I call it positive gossip.

So, the one-million-dollar question is; why are human beings more inclined to say bad stuff about each other? Is it that we don’t like feeling good? Is that nice fluttery feeling inside after a good action too distasteful for us?

Hardly anything good ever comes out of slander. Let us look at various possible outcomes after gossip occurs.

Outcome 1. The other party could go and tell the gossiped. This fear of the unknown causes mistrust, fear; that knot in your stomach when your gossip counterpart seems to befriend the victim.

Outcome 2. The secret comes out. The word secret is being used very loosely. The expected reaction will probably be a big fight or the quiet seething hatred for each other.

Outcome 3. The horrible feeling inside knowing you spoke ill of someone.

Outcome 4. When they look at you and you wonder if they can see deep into your evil actions.

Outcome 5. They do a kind act to you and all you can feel is shame eating you up.

In conclusion, nothing good comes of gossip. The thrill of that particular moment when sharing it is pretty exhilarating. One might even say that it is so tasty, how we love to swallow it. You know that something feels good if you compare it to food.

It is interesting to know that human beings get a little happy when bad things happen to people they know, even their friends and family. They also tend to feel bad when good things happen. Stop looking at these words skeptically, you self-righteous person, this is science (social science) that I am imparting in you*. You might deny it but it is the hard truth. Otherwise, what is that feeling that you got when you saw your peer driving a Range Rover? Tell me what is that, for that one quick minute that you felt when you heard that your friend got promoted to a management position while you have been at the same position for the last three years with as little as a three percent raise? Can you deny that tug when your BFF shared the news that she just got hitched?

Face it humans, we lean heavily towards these feelings. That is why we slander. It takes effort to say nice things (not to their faces, mark you) especially to people we do not like. Having said all this, let us work harder to go against the grain. Give what you would like in return. Speak well of others. If you cannot, like the monkey emoji; see no evil, hear no evil, and speak no evil.


*For more information on social science and human behaviour look for ‘barking up the wrong tree’ by Eric Barker.


How Putting On A Wig Feels Like

This week I have been trying hard to be nice. I have majorly failed. Who knew saying, ‘You can talk to the hand because the face is not interested’ was still offensive and rude. I was trying to be funny but clearly was misunderstood.

This is why I have to be Miss Nice Lady this week. I decided to put on a wig. I have had this huge fear that someone will come and yank it off my poor head. I would run away, screaming like a mad woman. With the look that I have under the beautiful side-swept pixie hair-do, I would fit the picture.

I had confided to a colleague about getting a wig so when she saw me on Monday, she asked loudly, “Oh, so you got the wig?” Who does that? Also, people ask too many questions. Where did you buy it? Who fixed it? I have most of the time had to end the conversation with ‘It’s a wig’.

I actually prefer wearing a wig instead of a weave or fixing braids. I am not a big fan of salons. I really dread the pulling and unending hours at the salon. Also, I feel like I have more control when it’s a wig. I can remove it anytime (well, not between the day) I feel in need to go back to my natural hair.

If you would like to give your hair a rest or maybe you are out of inspiration on what to do with your hair, maybe you should try a wig.

Here is a look at how mine turned out:


All the best as you try.


Who are you?

When everything is stripped away,

When you lose what was gold,

Who are you?


Beauty comes, beauty fades away

Like a beautiful rose

Today it stands in its glory,

Tomorrow it hangs in shame


Money can’t buy happiness,

Investment going wrong,

Bad business decisions and bankruptcy,

We soon buy despair


Most precious things,

Are those we can’t see

Love, truth, hope, courage

For when all things are gone,

These remain.



stock-photo- girl

High school, new experience, new life. I hear people telling stories of how hard high school life was. Not me. I had the best time ever. It was not your everyday kind of high school. It was a private school but unlike other private missionary schools, with freedom and liberty. Apart from my blouses and skirts getting stolen (I think this is a common denominator), I had a blast.

I got this friend who introduced me to the world of relaxers. It would make my hair longer, shiner and easy to maintain, she said. Unlike the blow-dry, this could last for a whole school term. Her point was valid. By the mid-term, the hair was back in its natural kinky state. Woe unto you if you sweat too much or got rained on. We had a lady who slept with a shower cap on the first day of the term. We were woken by her screams in the morning. Her hair was all shrunk. Anyway, my newly-made friend had convinced me. What’s better, she told me that knew how to do it. It was my lucky day. All I had to do was buy the relaxer and she would take care of the rest.

Oh, the naivety that was me. Others warned me. My hair was beautiful, they said. Why ruin it? Might I add that I can be quite stubborn when I set up my mind? I made the purchase. It turned out the lady was not an experienced hairdresser as she had led me to believe. Within a few minutes my head was on fire. I ran for the showers. My scalp got scalded and later had painful sores. I looked like a rained-on cat. That doesn’t quite picture it. On one side, I looked like a rained-on cat and the other I looked like Diana Ross. It was a catastrophy.

Come holidays, my mum was beside herself with fury. It was a pity I was too old to be caned. Being the wise lady she was she knew prohibiting it would lead to more of such antics. Temporary solution- gives me what I wanted. She would rather take me to a professional than have me experiment some more.

So every start of the term, I’d have my hair relaxed. At the end of the term, I would be back with damaged and falling out hair. This process went on until I finished my secondary school. I doubt my hair really grew. I liked how it looked at the start of the term though.

I got my hair break (I will call it that) after high school. That is when my hair flourished. I could go for treatments, wash and set and retouches. My mum didn’t mind doing this since her other daughters could care less about their hair. It became a long curly mane. I got many compliments and questions as well. What do you use on your hair? How do you make it curly? One day as I styled my mane (can I call it that?), I looked at the mirror and remembered my prayer as seven year old. It had come true. I had long hair.

Doing my tertiary education in one of the hottest, extremely humid places in Kenya posed one problem. The sweating. I thought girls did not sweat until I lived in Mombasa. It was not surprising to see someone walking and sweat dripping allover his face. The tales from the Mills and Boons’ series that had led me to believe sweat in a man is an endearing thing did not prepare me to the true reality. If you actually think about it, if you did not sweat, what other ways is this liquid discharged? I am not trying to disgust you, just don’t believe everything the novels say.

For a girl like me, it was a hair disaster. My hair lost its curly and bouncy effect. I’d get a compliment on how gorgeous my hair was and the dark, vain side of me would rear its head. “You should have seen it before I came here,” I would say, without noticing how arrogant I may have sounded.

My hair was limp and having tweaked my hairstyle with a bang (or fringe), by the time I arrived for my lectures, it was all plastered on my forehead. I’d hold the fringe with one hand and fan with the other. The struggle was real. Don’t even ask why I couldn’t change the hairstyle. I don’t understand my then obsession with the bangs. Tyra Banks probably.

To be continued… 





It is probably the hair goal of many ladies: to have long beautiful hair. If there is a product that sells faster than the proverbial hotcakes, it is a hair product that promises extreme hair growth. Usually the advert has a picture of a model with before and after the product use and how rapidly the hair grew. One that amused me had the before lady within quite short hair and after three months the hair was shoulder length. Is it also a magic potion?

My quest for long hair started pretty early. If you are as old as I am, you probably went to a local primary school that required all pupils (no matter the gender) to have their hair shaved. My dad took the role of the family hair barber very seriously. When our hair had reached some length, we would all line up for a shave.

Once I tried doing the shaving myself. It didn’t come out as well as how the master barber did it. It was like strips and spots that ended at the centre of the head. I doubt my dad thought of me as an aspiring apprentice since he punished me by shaving my hair bald. I looked like the then famous WWE fighter, Stone Cold. I think I also acquired the name when I reported to school the following week. Kids can be mean.

The December holidays were long fully awaited for. This was not just because of the chapatti feasting during the Christmas celebrations, but also this was the time all little girls were plaited with long braids and colourful beads. I could hardly wait. My otherwise strict mum had agreed to have our hair braided. This was a Chrismas miracle by itself.

What a wonderful day when we at last were taken to the salon. I sat patiently at the chair as the hair stylist touched my hair and frowned slightly. I was prepared to tell her what I wanted. She would fix the braids and make sure they were long enough so I could look as beautiful as those photos from the newspaper cuttings that she had glued up on the salon’s wall.

“Your hair is too short,” she said matter-of-factly; the way hairdressers talk when they want to get rid of you.  She was half saying it to me, half telling the house help who had brought us. She left the work of consoling to the poor lady. I didn’t cry. But my little heart felt a pain. They were crushing my year long dream. Of course when my dad did a Stone Cold remake on my head, the hair took a longer time to grow. Now December would soon come to an end. My hair would be shaved and I’d have to wait until the following December holidays. I looked on as my two sisters’ hair got braided.

That evening, I went outside, far away from everyone (near the cow’s pen) and prayed, “God give me long hair.” I think I was embarrassed at my prayer. It was unreasonable, I felt. At the start of the year I would be probably bald again. I remember asking our house help if God answers prayers. That was pretty deep for a kid, right?

“If you believe He will, “she told me. We usually had pretty amazing house girls then. I don’t know about now. Uhm, it was not a comparison at all.

God answers prayers. At nine years, I went to a boarding school that allowed girls to grow hair. Alleluia! So with the help of other girls, I started growing my hair. We used to plait each other what we usually called ‘matuta lines’. For those unschooled, it is making a braid and joining it to make another braid and on and on to make a line. You had to learn fast so that you could also return the favour. During the visiting days, I had one of the older girls comb it and my mum marveled at how beautiful it was.

Girls. Is anything good enough, long enough or rich enough? Don’t read too much into that. I promise, I meant no pun. My school friend told me that there were ways to make my hair longer, straighter and generally more beautiful. Being a very weak kid to peer pressure, I was on board. I didn’t know what the exercise involved but I knew one thing, I wanted long straight hair. It was nearing the end of the term and I wanted to go home looking beautiful, hopefully get more compliments from my mother.

I don’t know how the girls acquired it but it was a tin with holes. Sharp were the holes that if you touched the surface, you could risk getting pricked. This was a practice in the villages, I knew, but I had never seen it happen before. They put red hot charcoal or firewood in the tin. I really don’t know how they got that too but they were set to work.

I was the guinea pig. Having been a very naïve kid, this is one of the prices I have had to pay. I think the tin was too hot or the holes, too big. You should have seen the top of my head, which technically was the only part styled. My hair got burnt and it was sort of grey. I could hear the giggles from my ‘stylists’.

My mum was dismayed. Why couldn’t I wait to come home and go the salon? What had I done to my beautiful hair? My dad was half amused and chuckled, “You decided to fry the hair?” He made what he still thinks is a joke. When someone goes to the salon, he asks them if they are going to fry their hair.

To reduce this kind of activity, my mum decided to take me for hair blow-dry at the beginning of every term. This seemed like a good temporary solution. I think it was, since my hair grew and thrived. My friends also didn’t have other tricks in their pockets or I had learnt a lesson that they weren’t to be trusted.


My hair before the big chop
My hair before the big chop

For someone trying to grow natural hair there is always one big question; to transition or do a big chop. Transitioning is where one lets the relaxed hair or heat damaged hair grow out and then cuts the chemically treated hair when the growth reaches at a length they are comfortable to wear it. For the big chop one decides to cut off all the hair and start growing hair afresh. Like many natural heads out there I faced this decision.

I loved my long straight hair or sometimes wavy after a visit to the salon. What I loved more is the compliments that came with the hair. But I had never experienced my natural hair texture and I really yearned for that. How could I have with the hot combing and blow drying which I started doing at ten years and later at thirteen graduated to relaxing? So I decided to grow out my relaxed hair. Excited at the new prospect, I shared the news with a couple of friends. They all were negative about it. How would I look? What will people think of you? Is everything alright? On top of that I was struggling with the new growth. Dealing with two textures is not a child’s play and sometimes, I felt, I looked horrid. So I gave in and went to my hairdresser and relaxed the growth. I was back again! Still there was that disappointed nagging voice. I had caved in. With each passing day my curiosity for natural hair grew. To quench it I watched millions you tube videos and imagined how it would be. I at last made a decision that I would always treasure. On December 6th 2014, I remember it because it was my 25th birthday; I visited my hairdresser and told her to cut it all. None of her words would bend me. She tried but I would not be moved. I was a woman with a resolution. She at last gave up and had one of her colleagues cut it. She gave me a birthday present, freedom.

I have never regretted doing the big chop. I actually regret that it took me such a long time to make the decision. I loved my new look. Of course one of my friends pulled me aside and asked me if everything was fine and if I needed to talk. She would not understand the joy I felt for cutting my hair. Apart from that I got so many more compliments. I loved it.

After the big chop (my 25th birthday)
After the big chop (my 25th birthday)

I am not an advocate for doing the big chop but I would highly encourage it for someone who wants to grow their natural hair. Watching your hair grow is an amazing experience. Also it gives you the chance to understand your hair, experiment with products and know what works for you. You will not have to deal with two textures and you will enjoy styling your hair in hairstyles that you would not have with long hair.

Whichever decision you make between the big chop and transitioning, enjoy the experience, love your hair and it will love you back. Glory in the compliments and ignore the naysayers.