Doomed to dance the same routine
Like a marionette in an empty theatre
At my bleeding feet
Doomed to dance the same routine
Like a marionette in an empty theatre
At my bleeding feet
Despite not having blogged in forever, you guys are still visiting!!
I love y’all.
I’ve been writing lots and taking lots of hijabi fashion pics, just haven’t had the time to upload since….
I was MOVING CONTINENTS.
I am officially living back in Kenya, after having liked in the UK for 8 years.
I still don’t really believe it myself.
I hate it when my poetry goes all dark.
I’m not sad.
I have yellow daffodils.
And a miniature pink hippo.
Also, lots of strawberries.
Life is good Alhamdulillah
Sometimes it’s you.
Its you holding on to what is wrong for you.
If you have tried a million ways to get to your goal.
And each time there are a million and one road blocks.
Maybe, that thing that you want so much,
…its not right for you.
Maybe all those road blocks are signs.
Saying: ‘TURN BACK!’,
‘TRY ANOTHER ROUTE!’
‘DONT BE SO DAFT!’
You gave it your best shot.
Now try something new.
As always, my travels are never without drama, intrigue and most importantly, shopping.
Spending my money on shiny, new things takes me to a happy place. Sue me :p
I met a beautiful, tall, very talented MAC sales lady. As she managed to make me part with my hard earned money in return for make up and false eyelashes, while deftly complimenting my eyes and skin. She rained compliments on my gullible credit card, telling me that I have beautiful dark eyes (which I do), and gorgeous skin ( which I do not). I appreciate a good sales person. She made me feel at ease, complimented me, and helped me with my purchases.
More interesting was that she was clearly a ‘people-person’ That odd blend of person who finds other humans infinitely interesting. She wanted to know where I was from (Kenya), and then made a clear distinction by asking me where I lived (UK) She wanted to know my age (26, same as her), and how long I was going on holiday for.
Airports are my kind of place. Because I would so enjoy asking those kind of questions.
I, like my beautiful saleslady, enjoy peeling the layer of social niceties, that hide the person beneath.
Where is that man with the briefcase rushing to?
Does that harrowed looking woman own her own business?
What is that elderly lady smiling at so smugly?
Where is that group of middle aged women going?
That odd looking couple – are they married?
I love solving people-puzzles. Looking around and putting two plus two plus three.
And there is no better place to observe people than an Airport. Or perhaps a Coffee Shop. Better still, and Airport Coffee Shop 🙂
9 out of 10 I am probably wrong.
Mainly because I am also of the class of people we would most likely call ‘socially inept’
I wonder if this is behind my fascination with people.
In any case.
I sit here on this Kenya Airways flight and all I can think of is how I can’t wait to get home.
I just read an article about Africans coming home. (In Msafri magazine while on the plane coming errr..home. So it was very appropriate really. Lol. )
It was about young, professional, skilled Africans living the dream – in Africa.
Gone are the days of queuing at the US or UK embassies, hoping that the un-smiling visa officer would bestow on you the magic ticket that would allow you access to the ‘American Dream’, a land of riches and success.
A lot of people are realising, that they can have their cake and eat it, right here at home.
You don’t have to be in a tiny apartment in a foreign land, far from home and everyone you love, to eke out a living in the world of success and money.
With the right job and mindset, a beautiful life can be had in Africa. A fact known for a long time now, by many expatriates who came to Kenya and refused to leave!
Beautiful weather, gorgeous beaches, lovely atmosphere, cosmopolitan, diverse, family, friends….That is what Nairobi means to me.
Who wouldn’t want to live here?
The power cuts, and the rising cost of living, the politics and the car jackings – those are minor inconveniences in the grand scheme of things. (I may think differently after my 100th power cut)
Nonetheless, I am seriously considering coming home to roost.
The sooner the better.
Karibu Kenya 🙂
My very first blog post. On my very new mac.
Yes, Im flossing :p
SO tired. SO jet lagged. SO SO shattered. And I still have a 9 hour flight to go.
I just boarded a KLM flight from Manchester. It dropped me off in Amsterdam. And now, I’m aboard Kenya Airways to Nairobi.
After being hassled in Manchester about an extra kilo (!) of luggage, being looked at blankly as I struggled with my three suitcases (yes three!), and feeling strangely alien in Amsterdam….it was with a great sigh of relief that I saw the smiling faces of the Kenya Airways crew.
For a moment I stilled, and swelled with pride. KENYA Airways. Unapologetically Kenyan. And as I walked down that aisle, I stared back at those mzungu faces with confidence and…a bit of swag. 😛
There is this feeling that as Africans we always have to feel inferior. Like our skin colour makes us somehow…less. I feel it. In every stare. I every flat smile of every person who asks me that annoying question: ‘where are you from?’
I am Kenyan dammit.
I am African.
I am unapologetically Brown.
And I am coming home.
So I’m sitting at a coffee shop at an airport terminal. Blogging.
I’m not doing it on my phone. Nah, I’m not that fancy yet. I’m just lugging my massive Toshiba laptop around.
It feels huge.
Someone be kind and give me a Macbook? Yes? No? Sigh. Ok.
Well, I can’t help but feel I’m doing my dirty business in public.
I dunno what it is.
Maybe its the huge screen, and the crowded coffee shop. Makes me feel people are reading over my shoulder.
So I can’t even tell you guys about the She-male sitting behind me with some killer heels on.
I love people watching at airports.
You can tell a lot about people by how they travel.
Me, I’m the ‘bubbling idiot’
I drop my phone. Leave my passport at the check in desk, forget the keys to the padlocked bags etc etc etc. I am the one you see sprinting down long corridors trying to make it before the gate closes.
Yep. I am ‘DisorganisedTraveller’
And I burn with envy.
My gall bladder positively has an orgasm when I see Mr. ‘CoolAndColected’
You know the one. The man in designer chinos, who looks like he has stepped out of GQ ad. His coiff is in place. His designer man-bag dangles from his hand. He speaks multiple languages. His shoes …sigh. His shoes. ( I have a thing for a man with good taste in shoes)
Mr. ‘CoolAndColected’ I see you. I want to be you. I’d settle for marrying you though. Umm, what would you say if I engineered a meet-up. By ‘meet-up’ I mean accidentally dropping the contents of my handbag at your feet after having bumped into the rack of trolleys.
Oh hush! I didn’t say it would be totally engineered. Or romantic. Or elegant.
At least he looked at me though. Or was it through me?
Well, since we are on opposite ends of the evolutionary scale, re: the Traveller Sub-Species. I can give up that dream.
Mr. ‘CoolAndColected’ is more likely to want Miss ‘I’mTooHotTooTrot’
She has her Louis Vouitton carry-on. Her killer heels. A slash of red lipstick. And a chihuahua.
Yes, she is elegance, and opulence and class personified. She breezes through check-in. First Class of course.
This creature, is difficult to spot.
She doesn’t hang about airports much.
She gets there just in time. Checks-in. And voila, she is whisked into a first class lounge. Within minutes, hey Presto! She has arrived at her destination.
If you spot her. Please tell her I’m sorry I poured coffee over her fancy coat. Umm, it was an unfortunate combination of three bags to push, and my attempt at wearing heels while travelling.
If laser eyes were for real. I’d be a pile of smoking ash right now.
Which other Traveller Species do you know?
I would harp on, but alas, I have a plane to catch.
*Starts mad dash*
15 minutes to last call.
Travel. Who doesn’t hate it?
OK, not the beautiful, pristine beaches, the turquoise waters, the hunky boys in beach shorts, the exotic dream destinations. THOSE parts I love, as I’m sure everyone else does.
It’s the travel part I hate. The stupid, stupid insistence that I put all my ‘liquids’ in a plastic, see-through, teeny-weeny bag. The requirement that I undress every time I go through a metal detector. Belt: off. Shoes: Off. Myriad of bangles and watch: Off. Grrrr! What happened to the world that It has become acceptable to make people undress in front of each other so cavalierly???? My carefully planned travel outfit ruined in seconds. And all in front of the hunky athletic-type I was eyeing up throughout the flight. Sigh.
Ok, rant over.
My point was…emmm…… Oh yeah. I hate the travel part of traveling.
But wonder of wonders. I have discovered a new form of transportation that I do not despise entirely.
This weekend was Bank Holiday weekend in the UK (read, hooolidaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!!!) Well, all we had was Monday off work. But this allowed the overworked (and underpaid) the opportunity to indulge in a well-deserved weekend break. From camping to beach holidays; From city breaks, to girly nights out – Bank Holiday Fever was well in its stead across Britain.
I decided to journey up North. To Manchester. A friend of mine who recently moved there had been nagging me to visit for years and years and years. Lol. OK, mild exaggeration. But she had been asking for a while. So it was with excitement, and trepidation that I boarded the train on my way to another country: ENGLAND. Since I live in Wales, this was akin to travelling to an alternate universe, where trains arrive on time, buildings are taller and you can actually understand the English people speak, albeit in an infinitely less friendly manner.
While I settled in for my 3 Hour and 25 minute train ride, I suddenly realized I was still fully dressed. No security checks. No one had even checked my ticket as I boarded the train! I was ensconced comfortably in my seat, laptop plugged in, coffee in hand, watching the idyllic green hills roll past. AND NOT A SINGLE SECURITY CHECK. No one had hassled me AT ALL. The train conductor finally made her way leisurely toward me about half an hour into the journey. She recommended a seat where I could plug-in my laptop and complemented my top. Yay customer service!
Three and a half hours later, I arrived at my destination….well rested. Yes. You heard right. I was relaxed. Refreshed. And completely at ease. Oh, and we had arrived exactly on time too!
Sure train prices in the UK are ridiculous. But they make up for it with comfy seats. And meticulous timing. I don’t know about other places in Europe ( I have heard that trains are much nicer and more purse-friendly over there ) but for now, I’m putting away my passport for a bit of Local tourism.
Any invites friendly readers want to throw my way??? 🙂