A Place Called Home

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Here is the story of a lost soul trying to find hope and meaning, in a place called home. Because sometimes hope is found in the place where the story began!

"I can see how startled you are by my arrival; i can only hope that my surprise is welcome. Am sorry i didn't tell you i would be coming, for it was kind of an emergency! Am losing hope, am crying too much and i need this brokenness inside me to heal: Am at the precipice dystopia and in desperate need of inspiration, a somewhat physical evidence of the person I used to be and the first humble steps of my life. I promise am not using you. I need you and i need all the memories you hold of me. Please hold out your hands and receive me!

Am sorry about the way i left you in 1998. Darn! i remember that day vividly i was leaving for Nairobi in search  for a opportunities to be better and may be best. I tried to teach you the pronunciation- "NA-I-RO-BI", i told you. But you kept saying- I-LO-VI! We laughed even though you were clearly sad. Nairobi... (Oh shoot! i will work with your pronunciation!). Ilovi was brutal to me; on our first minute there we lost all the money we had. It was very cold and could not give me the warmth you gave. Ilovi has given me the opportunities of my adult life. I have made friends here and got a mentor who has been helping me learn the ropes around the blogging space. She has a place in my heart, but can never replace you!

Ilovi does not care when i cry. But you care! My sadness i have come to learn makes you uneasy. So many times you have taken away my tears. You've always dried them so fast as if you don't want anybody else to see me cry, then you allow me to lay my head on your strong shoulders. I have seen you try to siphon my sadness, take my burdens so i never have to carry them again and how much failing tore you apart.

Ilovi doesn't know me like you do. She thinks my heart is made of iron and steel, you know it's not. I have my beautiful legs, she says, but you can see scars that she cannot see. She says i don't worry, you know how long i stay awake worried about the future. So allow me to be here and sock in the inspiration and say a proper thank you for everything you have done for me.

I learned that Google doesn't know much about you. How can he know me and not know you? I told him your name- 'Kitheuni'. Then he tried to correct me! Some of my friends have refused to learn to pronounce your name. "KI-TH-E-U-NI!” i ask them to say, only for them to ridicule your name; Kitheni, Ketheni- they say amid laughter. Am planning to let them go if they go on like that!

Because in you is where it all began. I want to be with you even if it's for a day. For here is where i learnt to take my first step, learnt to say- a, b, c..., though with a ridiculously heavy kao accent oblivious that decades later i would be a master of sorts in the language.

I want to stand on that road that fiercely cuts through your skin, where i had my first fight! Honestly, am a little envious of the road. Even though she tears through your skin, you have stuck with her for centuries. Many a politician have made her promises, to make her better. Make sure she is no longer muddy in the rains and dusty in the dry season. But they have all broken their promises. There is this new one called 'Governor', i wonder whether he will break her heart like the rest of them! We'll have to wait to find out. You have never left her like they did. I need you to teach me to be hopeful, perseverant and patient just like you.

Then i want to stand on that defiant tiny ridge next to the road, the one that has withstood fierce waters and hot sun. For from there i will see six year old me stopping on her way to school to look at the lazy yet powerful sun rising, proudly and gently stretching it's rays, to take away the cold in the morning air. I want to see me so happy at the knowledge that the sun woke up to walk me to school. I want to see me hold tight to my Kimbo tin full of 'githeri' for lunch, and scoop a few spoons on the way. I know it will remind me of my humble beginnings. While on the ridge, i will see my friends Mutune and Mwende waiting for my sister and i to join them for a kilometer walk to school. They were always early but never complained about it. On our way, we used to kick a polythene bag ball that Mutune made; it was so much fun. Mutune nowadays works in Mombasa. Life came between us and eroded our friendship. I have no idea where Mwende is, after form four she just disappeared into Nairobi. Some people say she married a Meru guy and went to live there. Whatever her secret life is, her mother has managed to keep it so because not even prying village women have not been able to get the truth out of her. But still i will be reminded of loyal friendship. Friendship that transcends weaknesses.

After that i will go home and join my mother in doing some farm work. While walking to the farm, i will remember the day she found my sister and i hiding in a ridge having skipped school. I will stare at that ground where it used to lay and remember how she pulled us out with furious love (literally!) and gave us a beating that resonated for a decade! This memory will warm my heart and remind me of my mother's love that has been steady for years- love that has made me a stronger woman. I will smile and know the healing has begun.

I want to catch a glimpse of a timid me one more time, so i will wake up early on Sunday and watch kids pace to church. Behold i will see five year old me walking to Sunday school on a chilly Sunday morning, wearing a dress exactly like my sister's. I will remember how much she hated it when mama bought us similar clothes. She complained we looked like twins! But that's what we were (and still are)! But i loved it when we matched our clothes, because it told everyone i was a sister to the bravest girl in the village (at least i thought so!). That thought gave me incredible courage. I will watch myself quietly dissolve in the bevy of tiny loud girls. My refreshed memory will remind me that i have not always been courageous, that there were days when nobody knew my name and i was just- "sister ya Janet". I loved it but a time came to grow out of my sister's shadow, even though i was shit scared i made it. And at that moment, i will pause to appreciate every brave step i have taken in my life (by this time i will feel healing practically flowing through my veins)

Am dying to peek at myself on Christmas day in 2001. Excited that i was wearing a new dress but freaked out as hell over the memory verse i was going to recite before the congregation. The Sunday school teacher conspired with my mother to make sure i had a memory verse. I think she just wanted the church to see her other daughter. At least i got the shortest verse and the most common one (John3:16). Thanks to this memory, i will stop to take for granted the fact that i can speak in front of a crowd of any size today: And choose to be more grateful and happier!

I also want to sit under the old tree outside our gate. There i will see fourteen year old me. Tired after a long sunny day at the farm, yet zealous enough to spare some reading time. I used to sit there as i quietly read through the lines of an old newspaper. The excitement of the thought that one day i would be a journalist was my only distraction from the newspaper; so oblivious of the twists and turns life would take me through before hitting bull's eye. Or even the fact that fate had a whole different idea in mind for me. This vivid memory will rejuvenate me and help me understand that dreaming never grows old. My energies will be replenished so i can face the obstacles at hand.

There is a stone that stands between my parents’ bedroom and the kitchen. It majestically sits on the spot where we used to put a three legged stool to sit on as mama shaved us. She shaved us with a gadget we simply referred to as- 'ka-machine'. The gadget had a small slit at the front where a sharp razor blade (Nacet) would be firmly fit. I was always shaved last cause i was afraid, so mama took more time with me. As the razor blade made fierce trips on my head tears would roll down my cheeks; it was profoundly uncomfortable and i would fidget making it difficult for mama to work effectively and she would respond with a stinging pinch that left my ear hot. My emotions would run over seeing my sisters and my brother laughing at me. I will relive that moment and it will be a good reminder that part of my heart is made of fragile material. And it's okay to fear, to cry, and to be frail when my expectations are not met. Because that fragile part combined with the iron part make me whole.

When am done i will probably be physically exhausted but my heart will be the walls of Jericho! So i will go to lie on my bed. I will be excited so before falling asleep i will stare at the strong blue iron sheets. They will stare back prejudicially, with absolute knowledge of the role they play. But they don't know my story. They don't know i can do without them; simply because once upon a time i did. I will remember when i was sixteen. The day when i lay on a bed in the same room as typhoid sucked away all my strength and a snake fell through the tired worn out sheets. I will see the days we had to wake up in cold rainy nights to shift the position of our beds to escape the angry raindrops that fell through the old rusty sheets. I will smile at that memory, for it will be a gentle reminder of where i have come from; of a day that i had less yet i was happy. I will learn to be grateful for everything i have and works towards what i don't have without complaining.

My heart will beam with happiness. The purpose i traveled for will be fulfilled. I will be stronger, wiser, happier and more grateful. And i will fall asleep like a baby. Because that's all i came here to be-a baby. For the few days i will be here i will not be an adult. I will simply be a baby of A place called Home! When am done i will go back to the city, i won't promise not to be back. I will visit often for you give me the strength i need to face the world."

 "Thank you for choosing me to be born here."