MOVING SUCKS.

I mean...that's all I even have to say about that.

BUT HOLY SHIT, I don't even believe it. I am on my website! I am TYPING ON MY WEBSITE. This might make me teary, and I never thought I would live to see the day. I am sure I will complain about it all in much tedious, annoying detail below, so get all psyched for that. Obviously.

DK's birthday corresponded precisely with the time that something vague and technical went wrong with the back-end of my website. This vague and technical problem started popping up, "NOT FOUND! FORBIDDEN! NO! GO AWAY!" errors every time I tried to log in. And this was...new. Usually, when my site has a conniption, all that happens is that the comments turn off and an entry or two gets sucked into the Internet ether. Locking me out entirely, however? Hello, new problem! Nice fucking timing.

So, I dug in where I could, and probably made things ten times worse by my fumbling, and then this story goes on for many more paragraphs, during which I tried to figure out if the problem was the server, which was experiencing a “DNS Failure,” it informed me, or if it was the site itself, which wanted nothing to do with me whatsoever. And so I am not going to get into the details, but I will say that HOLY SHIT, TODAY, this actual day that is happening right NOW, and for the first time in...months, everything seems to be turned back on. (I mean, I think it is. I haven’t tried to publish this yet. Maybe I am in for a big surprise that will involve cussing! Maybe I am just talking to myself. In which case: HI ME! THIS SHIT IS STILL BROKEN). Provided that this is working, then I have all this shiny new bandwidth to play with, and I am upgraded in vague ways I do not understand, and I am sort of unreasonably excited about all of it. And, hey there, world!

But, oh, you guys. So many things have happened! Nothing, like, important, but you know. Things like falling down and creating stuff and going places that are ill-advised. Some of these things have been really funny and awesome, and they would happen and I would think, "Holy shit, I've got to write about this!" before remembering, with crushing disappointment, that the Internet dumped me. The Internet dumped me, and refused to take my calls, and stole all my good earrings and scrawled my phone number on all the City Council toilet walls. 

The Internet didn't want to hear about the satisfaction of the Ten Kilometer walk in support of Cerebral Palsy Awareness, which took away life from this lovely boy I was supporting and by all means in ninety different ways needs to go hung already.
   

Or about how my neighbor Helen was attacked by a homicidal cat, or my new baking skills, or DK's new sleeping protocols or our best friend's glamorous wedding.

Because y'all; it is better to look ugly on purpose, we figured.
 
But see, I couldn't tell you about all this because the Internet had moved on, probably to someone on Instagram, and I was left a sad, clingy mess, begging, "Please? Can't we try again? I’ll be better this time!" while pouring my heart out to Coding representatives across the country ("I SWEAR WE WERE SO HAPPY ONCE"). Because I have pride and all.

In the end, I fought for our love, and won, mostly because I threw money at the Internet until it agreed to give me another chance. Because, good news! The Internet is kind of a whore. 

(JUST KIDDING LOVE YOU INTERNET NEVER LEAVE ME AGAIN).

Aaand, where was this going? Yes. So DK and I packed up our entire HOUSE this weekend and moved four thousand kilometers away. Scary. I found myself in the fetal position several times last week.

It BLOWS, y'all. Having to pack up all of our things in boxes (as that is, you know, sort of the cornerstone of the moving process), and I filled FIVE trash bags (seriously. Yes.) with crap from my drawers, and...and...ugh. It's driving me up a wall. Then now we have to unpack all of our things from the boxes and it's 6am and I'm late for work because WHERE DID YOU PUT MY COMBS? Sweetheart?

But, you know. Worth it. Our own house, bigger kitchen, greener compound, better everything, DK and I's first home. Worth it even, to open up your kitchen cabinet and discover the seventy thousand packets of SALT, SALT EVERYWHERE, that have apparently taken residence and begun to breed.

Y'all. Why do I have so much salt? Am I scaring away evil spirits? Am I arming myself to kill slugs? I do not know.

I'll be back. With gardening produce. If only this post will publish.

31 YEARS LATER

SO. Know how DK and I got all married? Remember that? It was very nice, and everyone had a lovely time, and now we are husband and wife. And this week, our little family celebrated its first family tradition.

DK's birthday. Because, people? THIS IS HOW FAMILY TRADITIONS BEGIN. Yes. I have figured it out.

A year ago, (woo, tangent) my then...uhh, oh. A year ago, DK, and I were boyfriend and girlfriend. Wait a minute. We looped from boyfriend to fiance to husband in a year? No, shut up. We are not having this conversation.

Still, also remember how I surprised DK with the love of his life for his 30th birthday? Because I am a nerd and also obsessed with getting people timeless birthday gifts? Even people who do not care TO REMEMBER MY BIRTHDAY? Although, this really, realllly, gets to me. And I want to skin them alive. And want to use their skulls as soup bowls. 

But also, because I was a smart, loving and thoughtful girlfriend?

 

Only that, see: (and here is where I try to blame my own personal mistakes on my poor, long-suffering husband; let's watch!) the past one year has proved that that, is not entirely true. Because; let me tell you something about this, you guys: Pianos are addictive. They are crack for people who like music and G-clefs and stuff, and yes, it is a dorky addiction, but holy lord. If you peep through our keyhole on a Saturday, this is what you will most likely see:

So, sadly, as evidenced by the powers of crappy art above: I was not a smart, loving and thoughtful girlfriend. I was an idiot. 

And you figured I have learned my lesson in the last one year, right? RIGHT? Wrong. 

Guess what I bought DK this year? (read: idiot)

For the love of tradition and keeping it alive, where our grandchildren will BATTLE over who remembered DK's (now grandpa's) birthday first, people, like there will be name-calling and hair-pulling, but then the whole thing will prove to be for naught when some poor great-great-grandchild forgets, DK The Great's birthday, and his mother will sob and to save skull from being used as a soup bowl, the child will have to seek THERAPY, because WAY TO RUIN FAMILY TRADITION, JUNIOR, and yes.

Happy birthday, my love.

Who Made it Monday?

Sigh. You guys? Seriously? What is wrong with me? I have been driving the last...six years (according to my driver's license), and for the majority of that time, NOTHING HAPPENED. 

I did not run into things. Things did not run into me. We just went on, happy with the universe and the road system, and even though sometimes the car broke down or caught fire, AT LEAST it did not attack nearby objects. This year's re-energized car? Not like that! It has anger issues! It hits!

And again, what it hit, was a motherfucking wall. 

(Please let us note how I like to think I am not at all responsible for this. I blame the car. Possibly I should blame the WALL, which obviously jumped out in front of the car. EVERYONE is to blame, really. YOU ARE LOOKING GUILTY TO ME RIGHT NOW.) 

Actually I know who is to blame. Ian Duncan.

I am very serious about this. Saturday last, we woke up excited about spectating the KCB Rally that was to take place in Kajiado. But guess the planning what, the Rally had been postponed! On Saturday morning! Until further notice. And given that DK and I were not armed with this bit of important information, we drove allllllllllllll the way past Kiserian enroute Kajiado, when a very tall and polite Maasai guy, (who was also hawking land; probably his father's) hit us with the astonishing fact that no speedy-rally cars had been seen on that route.

So angry and hungry, we went out for some barbequed meat in Olepolos and thank you very much y'all Crappy Organizers, my husband is now an initiate of some Maasai cult. I don't cheat you.

Proudly presenting to you; Oledikei.

But thankfully, further notice was not too far apart. The rally was rescheduled to take place yesterday in Athi River instead. And for the love of speed, we couldn't miss it.

So again, we drove allllllll the way from Kajiado County, through Nairobi County and to Machakos county. You will note that Oledikei and I spent a lot of time together in the car this past weekend, driving to and from Kajiado County. Also please note that while inside the said car, we turn the volume up to thirty five and compete in who raps best to Eminem's songs throughout the journey. This is, incidentally, an important aspect of our marriage.

The thrill of the rally cars cruising the weathered rough roads, however, is an unforgettable experience. It is especially thrilling when the vehicles would veer off the designated path, turning at sharp corners on two wheels and subsequently whomever raised the most amount of dust from its ground home, was our hero.
 
The drivers know this and embraced every opportunity to show off. Oh the crowd would cheer and our hearts couldn't be merrier.

And when the results were out, Ian Duncan, the legend, obviously, scooped the award! Again! In this car.

That guy DRIVES.CRAZY.FAST.

And drinks champagne. And Oledikei even asked for an opportunity to challenge him on the road. Told you I don't cheat.

Unfortunately, we, Oledikei, lost verrrrry narrowly. That I'm lying about; it was a big margin.

And uhm. I started this post with a story. So what happened, was that I was arriving at the office this morning. (Remember, those many pictures ago?) And I turned to park, and there was another car on the right side and kind of, another one on the other side, and so I had to eeeeeeeease in in my space in this horrible, awful parking garage. And I was going very verrrrrrry slowly, because there are walls and cars and poles, like, EVERYWHERE in this garage, and people are always banging into them, and my boss got so sick of having to repair his car from the many times he has sideswiped this one particular column that he finally decided that large scratch = FINE, and goes on with his life.

So, I eased in, and I did not hit anything! Yay! And then I reversed, so I could come in straight, kind of proud of myself for my super sweet maneuvering abilities. So as I stepped back to go forward, THAT IS WHEN I HEARD THIS:

Sccccccccrape.

At which point my heart? The one in my chest? It stopped. I slammed on the brakes, tumbled out of the car and ran around to the front side, AND THERE WAS THE WALL kissing and making out with the front bumper of the car. And of course it was huge, enormous, stoney and toothy and grinning and EVIL, and I had to bite my lip and remind myself that we do not CRY when we are wearing our Big Girl Suit. We do not cry! WE BLAME OTHERS.

So, I kicked the wall. This...did not help. And now I may need new shoes, and possibly I broke my toe, because it turns out that the walls around here are made of...stone. 

So. This is probably a sign. This could be KIND OF A FAST AND CRAPPY WEEK, with the wall attacking and the scratch and unforeseen money spending. I deserve a break today! I should go purchase some shoes.

And y'all slow drivers? I am coming for you. Because from now henceforth my driving is inspired. By Ian Duncan and the love of my life, Oledikei.

I'm not afraaaid,...Booty,Booty,Booty, To the window...And the wall...

Shetani Alishindwa

Have I ever told you guys what a religious, educated and hardworking Mother I have? And in this case we're talking Philosophic-educated? The woman holds a Master's Degree in Linguistics y'all. She's a walking Webster. A school principal and a part-time lecturer. 

So anyway, last week Mum called at around seven a.m. and after I said amid laughter that she sounded like Dad, she had to explain that she had caught the most explosive, awful flu infection that has ever been suffered by a human person at any time in the history of the world. And since I was at work early, she asked that I do a little research on some historical-comparative lecture thingy she had at 10.a.m.

So there I was, sitting at my desk, intellectually getting deep insight into the history of Language in West Africa and waiting for Mum to get to the cyber and hand over the phone to the techie who was to print the jargon for her. Then my phone rang. And I saw it was Mum, so I answered. It was a man's voice. And I asked that he spell out his email address. Instead, said man, said that Mum had been involved in a car accident. And hang up.

I was immediately, have-to-stand-from-chair panicked and who calls with such terrible news and scanty information? My head was now filled with images of Mum sneezing and the windscreen blowing out with the gale force of her projection, and shocking the driver off the road.

So I redialed but before I could figure out just how, exactly, snot forces you to wreck a vehicle, Mum answered and this is what occurred:

Mum: Eloo

Self: Mum! Are you okay?

Mum: [Sniff] I wad id ad assidend!

Self: I know! Are you okay?

Mum: I tink so. I wad ID AD ASSIDEND.

Self: I'm sorry Mum! Are you hurt?

Mum: Wiar guing do hospido.

Self: Oh my God Mum, give the driver the phone!

Driver: Hel--?

Self: What happened? Is mum okay? To which hospital are you going? Have you called Dad?

Driver: Not yet, you were the last dialed number. The driver of the Taxi she was in lost control of the vehicle and it rolled. Now we ar--

Self: Whaat?--I--Oh My God! Whaat?--Where are you now? I'm calling you back.

(Slowly sitting down, Misty Eyes, Shaky hands, Dialing)

Self: DAAD! MUM HAS BEEN INVOLVED IN AN ACCIDENT!

Dad: Yes, I'm almost there, who called you?

Self: You know? Who called you?

Dad: She's going to be Okay Kawee. Let me call you when I get there.

Self: DAA--

Dad: (Dial tone)

And he hang up. Tears immediately started flowing and I walked up to my boss all monster-red-eyed and uninvited, sat down. Then got utterly shocked that I lost all ability to speak. Seriously, I couldn't utter the words to say that Mum was involved in an accident. So I twisted my neck to one side and wrote him a note on some colored sticky note. To which he asked if I had someone to drive me home. I nodded and he said he'd call later.

I then absentmindedly walked to the basement unsure of where or what I was supposed to do next. So I called DK and my brothers who, through the Science of Information Transmission already knew and were calmly waiting for my call. Apparently Dad had been called by an eyewitness and he called everyone else but me.

Mum went into shock for about four hours. Thankfully, she had not a single scratch. 

Here's a picture of the wrecked car.

Shetani alishindwa.

Seven Days

Lucy, one of my friends, (you might remember her from this post) last week dared me to take a seven days Bible Challenge. To post Bible verses every day on my Facebook page and tag two friends on each. 

I did. 

Rather, tried. 

I posted on the first day but given the logic of "time" in my world, which has been a wee bit busy lately, what with the going back to work and the Insuring people and the Wifeing Things and the not sleeping and the removing of things in gift boxes, and the breaking of the laundry tap and the cursing of an entire generation of laundry tap manufacturers, because y'all, water everywhere, and then the subsequent excitement upon having to purchase new knitting needles,...cold weather scarf? I can do that?, I couldn't post verses the next six days. And I am embarrassed to report that it took me 10days before I remembered that: oh. I have a website. And, duh., I'll just post the verses I love on my blog and that way, I'll have killed seven days in one post. (see what I did there?)

So here we go, and in no particular order, my favorite Bible Verses. Please note that I used favorite not memory. The part of head that is supposed to hold memory verses has since inhabited Insurance Jargon and the only verses I still remember are probably from my Sunday School days. Like John 3:16, for example.

Ephesians 6:3 “If you honor your father and mother, things will go well for you, and you will have a long life on the earth.”

Remember how our parents introduced their friends to us when we were ten years and below? Her friend from College, Gillian, was Auntie. And not 'Auntie Gillian' like kids nowadays call us. It was an abomination to say a grownup's name and anyone in the capacity of your father and mother was Auntie and Uncle. What? No, no explanations were given. Or expected. RESPECT.

Jeremiah 29:11 “For I know the plans I have for you, Says the Lord.  They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope.”

This verse has been read in my presence roughly eleventy thousand times now. Especially when we neared sitting for national examinations in Primary and High School, remember? Those 'trying' times when everyone spoke in tongues? Yeah well, it worked and it still does. I strongly believe that all the achievements I have had so far are mystery clues to the greater plan He has for me.

Lamentations 3:23 “Great is His faithfulness; his mercies begin afresh each morning.”

Indeed. Even after an impossibly horrible day at work, and an envisioned worse one, I will wake up the following day with a glow because, His mercies begin afresh every morning.

Proverbs 21:5 “Good planning and hard work leads to prosperity, but hasty shortcuts lead to poverty.”

Planning. Persistence. Patience. Professional virtues that should be gained after attending those huge classroom halls of school and life which I presume are educational, and are not primer courses for building your own Instagram account, where fourteen-olds the world over can give themselves such clever screen names as "sexxxy1995". 

Oh, look; I'm old again. Keeps happening.

1 Corinthians 7:2 But because of the temptation to sexual immorality, each man should have his own wife and each woman her own husband.

DK has this...I guess we can call it a "belief" about things facing certain directions. Like, for example, he will park the car ready to go. I on the other hand, Oh hi Popo! breeeak, parking gear, handbrake and I am out already giving generous hugs. So this belief goes as far as getting into bed. Yes, people, there is a right and wrong way to get into bed. And if you don't know how, my husband will gladly show you. Because he subconsciously pulls back the duvet cover chatting, first sits on the edge of the bed then lifts his legs to enter the said bed. He then argues that I walk into bed. This way, his pair of slip-on is facing the door while mine is,...somewhere almost under the bed.


So how is this a problem? 




The problem now comes in because I wake up earlier than DK and because I am awesomely created with a multiple of them, common sense will persuade me to wear the pair of slip-on that is facing the way I am going. You would also do that, right? So when DK wakes up, well let's just say he scratches his head so hard he's almost bald now. Two months into the marriage.

Proverbs 21:13, Whoever closes his ear to the cry of the poor will himself call out and not be answered. 

This is the reason I do works such as these. Just in case you were wondering. I believe that this is the best verse to be written, which is just the coolest thing to be made out of words since...something else awesome, and word-y. That was invented before. Like blogs, for example.

And because mine will soon be getting palpitations, let us park this holy ride for a minute. Let us have story break. We will travel back in time to when I was five, and was attending Pre-Class-One-School. On that particular day, my mother wasn't home (possibly she was...giving birth to my brother, now that I think about it. Or recovering from that. Something along those lines), and somehow, my father was left with the responsibility of feeding and caring for a very squirmy and whiny me, who did not like Ugali, and who did not eat carrots in any food, and who argued to the point of hysteria that mom always lets me eat white rice mixed with warm milk ONLY, Dad, every day, GOD.

Now, the point of this story is not that I was a lying toddler. Or that my father ultimately allowed me to attend school in a Sunday School dress those few days. Instead, the point is that, had my father been in the possession of a computer, internet and these at the time, then maybe there would have been a lot less compromising to be done. That's pretty much what I'm driving at, there. Memories are precious!

1 Peter 3:10 “For the Scriptures say, If you want to enjoy life and see many happy days, keep your tongue from speaking evil and your lips from telling lies.”

Yeah. I probably should have eaten those carrots.

Blog Note: Today is our second month wedding anniversary! 
EEEEEEEEEE!!!!