“Daddy, what’s the colour of our school gate?” Andrei asked unexpectedly, in the middle of a casual chitchat.
“The colour of your school gate is… mhh.” I hesitated because I was thinking of a few colours. But I was mostly wondering why he asked. Recently, he’s been complaining that I don’t take him to school. Last week, I had to convince him over the phone that I had gone to work, and that’s why I couldn’t be there to take him to school. He goes to school after 8am, you see the challenge with that.
“Inaanza na (It starts with) letter P…” he decided to give me a clue.
Continue reading The School Gate →
You can read Chapter 1 HERE
Thankfully, a friend offered me a job in industrial area. I was staying with friends and random people. At one point I stayed with some girls from Meru. I didn’t even know them but their compassion was familiar. I was moving on slowly; healing and starting to find myself.
Then I met another guy. I was 21, he was 2-3 years older than me, looked naïve like me, was patient with me and had a small nice place that he lived in. In my desperation, I found myself in the arms that showed me what looked like love. But I was also tired of being exiled by the Meru girls Continue reading My Father Through my Eyes – Chapter II →
One night during family devotion, after dad had taught us about Noah and the ark, I was asked to pray. I stumbled through the prayer, saying my own things. My older brother laughed. That’s the last time he ever laughed during devotion. The rod was not spared; the seriousness of God’s matters was communicated to him effectively.
I was born in Pumwani and raised in Nairobi to strict parents. My dad was extra stringent. He believed in the cane and there was no negotiation for misbehavior. We somehow knew we were loved but those words were never verbalized by dad. He would do things like remembering our birthdays which he does up to now. There are no more gifts like in childhood but he calls.
My dad was working for the government press, was a part time pastor and did quite a bit of missionary work. From an early age I watched dad Continue reading My Father Through my Eyes – Chapter I →
When you ask those born in the 80s what parenting means to them, it will include a whole lot of discipline and strict house rules. My experience wasn’t different. My mum was one strict lady although she has loosened up a bit over the years.
Listening to other stories, especially from military homes, I have come to understand that my discipline journey in the hands of my mother is nothing compared to what others have gone through. I am talking about being wound in a potato sack and beaten like a piñata. Some are hilarious, others left children with lifelong scars – physically and emotionally.
Continue reading The age of idolizing children and why it is bound to fail →
People. Stories. Life lessons