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Dark chocolate It was a normal school day. I took breakfast, hot chocolate and bread, and prepared to go to class as usual. I left my room and headed to class. It was a math’s class, probability and statistics II, to be exact. If you know this unit you know how crucial it is to pay attention or else, it will end in premium tears .My period had just started.   It was all going well until cramps knocked the door. It was mild at first. I would tolerate the pain until the end of the class. Unanticipatedly, the pain became so severe, that I couldn’t write or even hear what the lecturer was saying. Heeee! I started feeling nauseated and dizzy. I thought I was going to faint. I told myself (nikajiambia) to relax, and lie on the desk. It didn’t help! There’s that thing in movies they use when they are electrocuting someone, the knob they use to increase the current with. It felt like someone had that thing and was accelerating the pain as time went by. It was terrible. I gathered my courag

Wairimu's story had me thinking of my own quarantine experience which has been the opposite of  glamorous to say the least.I have honestly never been home this long and I'm proud to say its a pretty pleasant place. When the son of Jomo decreed schools closure I was quite elated for a free holiday which I never get (thank you very much DEKUT) .Had I known it was going to turn out to be an early retirement, I'd definitely have saved some of the excitement for my actual retirement if I may. As you may already know its near impossible to tell a monday from a Sunday everyday is pretty much the same. Wake up sleep eat repeat kinda like a very fattening vortex. With all the free time I decided to try something new and exciting step forward social engineering. It basically is the basis of that movie stuff I'd told you about. It was quite fascinating and surprisingly easy so it seemed. I was dead sure I had the hang of it but kwa ground vitu zilikua different(the experience was

I have always had this peculiar brownish “weak” hair since I was a kid, which was always in cornrows that would start loosening up within the first week of plaiting. Back then, every girl in every primary school either had their hair plaited in cornrows or maintained their hair in a teeny weeny afro, a really tiny one, sometimes even stayed bald, kiparangoto! Now, for us, the cornrows girls, the standard for neat cornrows was super tight lines with the scalp clearly visible in between. The standard for beautiful ones was those done on long hair which had a long twirl resting gracefully on the shoulders or at least a few centimeters downwards on the neck. (This is obvious considering the notion, which is quite flawed, that longer hair means more beautiful hair (I mean, we are still very obsessed with length to date). Having “weak hair” that wasn’t long enough to twirl at the back, ladies and gentlemen, meant that my hair was almost never ‘neat’ and definitely ‘not beautiful’ despite the

It has been a rough couple of days and I was thinking of what I would write. It then hit me, my quarantine story. Hey, I know it’s not over yet, but so far there’s a lot to tell. I am not sure it will fit in this blog but stay with me, let’s see where it goes. It’s been 12 weeks three days since I came home. I remember when I came home after the direction by His Excellency the President gave to close schools, I didn’t think it would last this long. Still, here we are. But its time it ends.  But until then, A Luta Continua (The struggle continues). I say A Luta Continua because it has not been a bed rose. This doesn’t disqualify the fact that I have had many happy times in this period. To be honest it’s been a roller coaster. Not a fun I must say. All in all, I have learnt, grown and I am grateful. I have listened to songs I never thought I would and enjoyed them. I have discovered songs from years back, not so popular but good to the soul. I love authenticity. African songs have a l