On what happens after you jump off cliffs and other scary things

I did a scary thing, a bold thing. But this piece is not about taking the plunge, it’s not about gathering the guts to leave your comfort zone, it is about what you experience and feel immediately after leaving your comfort zone.

I still experience bouts of fear, I still feel jittery and daunted.

This is for my fellow cliff jumpers, are you afraid too, even after the jump? Is it a bit like jumping off a cliff into the ocean and being submerged under the waves? You know that you will come up and swim, eventually, but for now the force of your jump has you under the rolling waves.

Well this is me, this is me saying that I am still scared, and if you are too, blink twice. We are learning together, are we not?

I am still daunted, still trembling in hope and fear, still learning, still honest. I still remind myself to have a deep belief in my own somebodiness, like Dr.King said. It would be dishonest to chronicle only the glory of the mountain top moments. Let us tell the truth about the moments when the view from the mountain top is terrifying and daunting. Let’s talk about the moments after we jump off our cliffs, the days after. Let’s  question what victory is and how it plays out in a person’s life. Let me write.

“Number one in your life’s blueprint must be a deep belief in your own dignity, your own worth and your own somebodiness. Don’t allow anybody to make you feel that you are nobody. Always feel that you count, always feel that you have worth and always feel that your life has ultimate significance – Dr.King.”

 Transitions are tricky and messy, but beautiful all the same. There is beauty even in the messy things. If you ever wondered how it feels to be nineteen and female and president of a major university student body, this is it.

We are doing scary brave, creative and necessary things.

One way of describing love without using the word Love

Rivers of Pain flowing

You hitting me up in the evening

Texting me to say that these are some of the reasons you don’t believe in God anymore

They’re asking you to empty yourself

But then what Will you bring to God

It’s hard and it hurts and its me constantly trying to reach out to you and you fighting me and fighting with me

I can’t outrun my shame

I don’t know who you expect me to be

But this is what you’ll always get with me.

100% me.

Or 97% at least because I don’t always succeed.

Pouring myself out, wrists slashed, being emptied.

Hudhurungi

Hudhurungi.

A safe place for questions, thoughts, poetry and the stories we are just learning to tell.

Hudhurungi. Brown. Earthy. Lyrical. Like tea, like honey, like the dusty earth of home.

Learning to be, learning to write, learning to human, learning to adult perhaps, learning to be free.

A Non Comprehensive List of What Heartbreak Feels Like

Like shame and loss came together in a cup and i was told “drink”.

I am angry for the thousandth time; for the thousandth time i imagine myself emptying a single bullet into your skull. I imagine you dead. And then I remember how kissing you felt and my rage sinks into something that tastes like despondency.

Grasping at closure; longing for it yet despising it because then i won’t be angry anymore and dammit i deserve to be angry for as long as i can because you’re a little shit.

You make me feel violent, like maybe i could be a flood or a famine – drown you or desiccate you.

Heartbreak feels like an empty house on a barren hill in an abandoned  land; it doesn’t matter how much i scream, i am still alone.

Heartbreak feels like “I hate you for making me the kind of person that scrolls through quotes about loss at 3am on a Wednesday night”

Sitting in a class and hearing this fascinating idea that i want to tell you. Then remembering that my calls will go unpicked. and my texts unanswered. i am tired of trying to find new ways to reach you.

Bastard won’t even pick my drunk dials.

Like i’m trying to tell everybody our story in order to exhume the smell and sound of you. i am hoping that the more i talk, the faster my words, the quicker you will be pulled from my mind. i am somehow hoping that naming the pain and relating the story will leave bits of you in coffee shops all over Nairobi instead of stuck in my mind, stuck on my soul, drenching everything with shame. 
 

 

 

what happens when they suck

The lies. The lies. The lies.

The imperfections.

When imperfection isn’t poetic and beautiful like a black hole or sunlight dancing through cracked glass.

When imperfection isn’t slightly sexy; like a tendency to cuss when you’re mad.

When imperfection is ugly and grimy and disgustingly real.

When it’s a gambling habit

Or random selfishness

Or a knocked up baby mama yet he claims he still loves you.

Or having to drag your 23 year old ass to a VCT because your imperfection is unprotected sex with closed off men

Or when imperfection is that she lost your life savings on some  bullshit pyramid scheme that her stupid friend with the ugly weave told her was a sure thing.

Do we forgive even when the imperfection has been nurtured & tended to, like a well watered garden

When they refuse to even fathom the thought of cutting it down

What do we do when we love them yet they suck?

Nairobi at Night

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Nairobi City scape by Michael Mbwele

I love her most at night, when her defenses are down;

when the soft orange glow of streetlights softens her.

By 9pm, her bra is long forgotten and heels kicked off,

Nairobi leans quietly into herself, she’s not primed for battle anymore.

She doesn’t need to have her guard up

I like to imagine her quietly taking stock of the day. She’s more forgiving at night.

She forgives the corrupt policemen at the Railways Roundabout

and the even more corrupt politicians that pollute her air with their fuel guzzlers on Parliament Road.

She has so much to forgive the politicians for.

She forgives the homeless guy that takes a dump on her backstreets and the broken men in broken suits that stick old bits of chewed gum under her parks’ benches.

She forgives the noisy Matatus and noisier street preachers

She forgives the way people avert their eyes from beggars and mad men – guiltily,  embarrassed by their privilege.

She even forgives the pickpockets and con-men that thrive at Archives.

At night, Nairobi forgives them all because she sees just how intent they are on surviving.

They are all just trying to survive,

They are trying to survive her.