Letters to forgiveness:Part 3

Dear Justin,

Remember that time I called ?

I know you don’t, you’re dead, I’m not sure how I feel about that. You have been a blunt emotional cocktail, you’ve never been physically there just mentally and that’s sad for you so far cause you missed out on this fantastic daughter

Let’s get back to that time I called you, a 12 year old girl , excited to know that her current dad isn’t really , and he isn’t as nice .

This 12 year old naive girl, well as naive can be, I’m happy ,yes you’ll love me , you are my father, I’m brilliant, mature ,well mannered, beautiful and I naturally stand out with this yellow yellow skin , you’ll adore me for sure.

But you don’t.

You leave me high and dry and as a mature 12 year old, I’m sad but I know I’ve survived without you in my life, I will survive… ( Still surprised at how mature I was then, of course I become a bit childish as a grown up)

You become history for a while…

Ten years later, you start calling , maybe it’s a guilty conscience … You never said a word you just breath.. and I let you breathe for as long as you want. Then I stopped picking as it’s very creepy behavior. .

After a short while the messages start trickling in +255….. Baba anahitaji 4.5 million… Amegonjeka akalazwa hospitalini.

I’m broke and relieved that I am… It would have been turmoil with my character.

And so I don’t answer.

You died, I receive more messages,

Baba amekufa … Tuko na msiba … Njoo. I still don’t answer.

And your son, my brother, a complete stranger, sends me pictures of you , a dead you. I’m completely offended but I can’t tell anyone either.

But I see you, you are a total stranger to me .. I’m not sad, I can’t feel sad for you. You’re not a part of me really… Just biologically. You impregnated a young naive teenager and left her high and dry also .. and I’m thankful for the contribution that is me.

I forgive you , I might not feel your rejection but it happened before you could even see my brave little face to convince you.

And for that I forgive you.

Yours sincerely,

Wangui Njeri.

Letters to forgiveness: part 2

Dear Max

Hey, cause you’re still alive I guess. Good bless your soul for the endless life lessons.

I remember you from my childhood and I can’t picture you without a bicycle leaning on your side. Your skin was dark, you were dark to the palms of your hands even in the cracks of your finger prints …. or was it dirt. The whites of your eyes were dark brown, your iris dark black your pupils I didn’t ever see. But I can’t forget your eyes so dark they glistened and with all this you were a good looking human, you must have been a beautiful little dark boy.

This was all before you decide you were my Dad or wanted me to call you dad which I’m sure was to feed your ego, I’m still so glad I didn’t.

I remember you pulled the ground under our feet…. wait… let me stick to my feet… You was the best example of from the frying pan in to the fire… You were the worse rock bottom I’ve ever met.

But there is nothing like a good rock bottom to test someone; it was the cracks in the wooden walls, the gunshots and caps falling on the wabbly roof, the bloody thief asking for shelter, the police men doing the search early morning, the climbing over neighbors wall to go poop, dreading the rain cause it leaked from all sides especially the bottom ,( Do you know the smell of a rotting PVC carpet from an underground leak?) Or wearing raincoats and gumboots in the house. I stole a smooth slub from a construction site so we could have a smooth surface in our house to cure the one percent of OCD I thought I had. ( PS : I don’t have OCD anymore).

I’m 14 years old, I’m not about to live like this, I didn’t know much then but I knew those life conditions were not for me or my sibling.

After some deliberations with my mom , we leave , rumors says you sharpen your panga ( machete) and sort for me , I had to be escorted to school but you never show ever. I don’t wish to see you either. But I’m grateful to you for a brave 14 year old girl was born , I’ve missed her and she’s coming back to that bravery again.

I’m not sure I ever really loved you but maannn!!! You bought the best oranges ever. Thank you.

Sincerely, Wangui Njeri.

Letters to forgiveness. Part 1

Dear Bonnie,

I don’t really remember you, I mean your face. But here goes nothing. You were like a tornado , a very silent one you just left pain and confusion in my life. I think I always felt that I wasn’t a part of you but you didn’t even pretend I was . I loved you I guess , I’m not sure either till date. You brought a looming terrifying darkness at home especially for me cause no one else noticed this though. When I saw you bring joy to others we I desperately needed to be part of that. This created a toxic foundation for my neediness , I feel left out of everything in my life always… It’s a sad story , but this is my overcoming.

You told stories that you didn’t want me to hear or get excited about that is just sad of you. You gave me eternal chores just to get rid of my presence. I yearned to be part of a family that I was already part of. Your discreet rejection was so overwhelming to me, it was that low harsh tone, a hating side eye and leaving me out of a simple walk.

You start dying, and as a child I diligently take care you; pour bloody iodine water and the basics stuff because you’re out of a job and I’m your hand maid.

You become bony and frail also a very bitter weak man .. it’s diabetes then the leg wound , the fear of losing a leg, then the cancer creeps in and gives you a peaceful send off. And I feel nothing for you , I’m 12 years old I just feel peace and relief or it was just a coping mechanism. I still feel nothing but experiences have show me that you’re always lurking somewhere around … Well not you just the experience of you in my life and so this is me trying to deal with it.,. Trying you shake you off and create a new perception of the male species.

I never said it so here goes, cheers to the ten years you tried to be my dad yes you failed me and it mostly because you didn’t know any better , cheers to me letting go and growing out of this malicious rut didn’t I know about. Good-bye old man , may you continue to rest in peace.

Yours sincerely,

Wangui Njeri


For the umpteenth time I paused a video to listen if he’s unlocking the door..he wasn’t… I’m alone…. My baby is at her grandmother’s house… So I’m just over thinking… It’s 23:47 so I decide to write.. well because it’s kind of a refuge … I shade a little tears and wonder what life is this… Waiting on a man…. Not only to come home but to bring food to send money, to buy me clothes ( which barely happens so I buy very cheap worn stuff) , to notice my hair is struggling for months now, to finally support my dreams like he promised me he would, to help me finish my studies, to actually need me or even appreciate me…. it’s a sad story as listen to the door… Like bits and pieces of nightmares come to life… I fall in love, fear grips me, violence violents me , I feel peace just in a blink… Then I’m digusted with myself for giving a man so much control over my life. And I die slowly as the year ends… Knowing I’m giving life to bigger things which I have no idea off….

I didn’t sleep that night so I entered this bad cycle of insomnia, sickness and fatigue my soul is fatigued …. Like you have malaria but worse cause it drags you down …. Drains your soul fully this is not worthy it … It’s bullshit and I’m aware of it… I should leave… But where to? How can I leave him again… I’m I too emotional or…or… I’d this man just a narssasist … I honestly still can’t really tell but I know this isn’t how people live. I know movies lie but this is too much too hard too ugly for me.

My daughter that girl is my life source , that girl is my life now , she is barely two and I could go through fire for her. She’s the reason for everything now. So I stay …I’m not about to make her life hard because this man is unkind to me … So let’s to this…

Another day I smile at my semi drunk mans because weelll… I don’t know… I don’t want to upset him .. I already call him a thousand times last night cause also I don’t really have a solid reason now it’s been months he’s been drinking.. I look forward to seeing my child, she keep me busy and we can ignore life.

This routine continues for a while and I’m not the only tired partner in this come we stay we’re all done… We’re all making plans to change this relationship just in different directions..

That night I read a few paragraphs of the book ‘How to make your marriage work without talking about it’ , then pray and ask God to remove anything that is not from Him from our lives, for Him to bless us and guide me to be a better person.


…I want to

I want to smile at him then blush and gaze at the ground fixated on what he might be thinking.

I want to just stand there and watch him walk towards me for another moment.

I want him to call me again for his voice is majestic and to listen to him just for one more time or infinity.
I want to see him laugh then quickly hide his smile cause I think its amazing.
I want him to get nervous and confused around me because it’s me.
I want to run my hands through his hair for it irritates me and excites as much.
I want him to know that I think about him more than once a day without telling him.
I want to kiss him softly, then make it a drug for me.
But if it doesn’t happen, I just want to smile and blush that I wanted to.
Wangui Njeri.

Literal smells of Poverty.

My neighbors house smells of poverty. No, wait, before you judge my strong sense of smell. Yes I know how poverty smells , I have lived in poverty for two decades so I not only know how poverty smells I know how it looks and feels.

You see my life has been a string of miracles. Being born in a middle class home then getting thrust in to pure poverty , you develop a talent (sense) for these things; who you are, where you have been and know how each of the places smell like literally.

So basically we are still at the poor level or my mam is ,for me am yet to find out.and for I still have nothing that’s how I know my neighbor is poor. Because I have been to different kinds of poor levels and I know how each level smells distinctively.

My first poverty sense of smell was aroused by common sewage smell which of course cuts across in all poor neighborhoods , but here the stench is stronger cause the Nairobi river is an actual sewage at the point we lived. And everything else is below the line of cheap all the waste products of companys  are sold here very cheaply and everything has its own bad smell from cheaps cuts of meat,sewage grown vegetables, to toilet papers ,over chlorinated tap water, badly smoked fish (mbuta)…… To all roads and alleys stenched with urine that was a product of second generation liquor(busaa) and  little water intake. There are actual busaa places with a stinging aroma of fermented maize flour with the occasionall fat woman with her young boys turning fire who reeked of smoke,rotting sweat and cheap cigarettes.

Then there was the sun warmed garbage on the side of the roads that eventually carpeted the roads that is if these roads can be called roads (for lack of a better word). And on any particular day of the week they would burn the garbage at the damping site and everything would come to you with better clarity and  then confuse you at the same time; smells and aromas from things like roasted meat, or feathers,or tyres, or plastics or feacal matter or whatever it was and there was a dark dirt smoke that clouded our plots for a day or two.

My second kind of smell pure embarrassing though I was not as embarrassed I was supposed to be,I had already developed “shock absorbers” as my mam would call it. It was the stink of moudly water that stagnated too close behind the house  with a hint of sewage that got a lot worse when cars passed through it and seeped into the house when it rained and accumulate under the cheap PVC carpet. And since everyday I cooked I burnt the carpet a little more the stench of it was unforgiving. Right outside it reeked of shit, human shit, chicken shit ,dog shit…..and occasionally blood. On weekends  we had fresh oranges, I loved it. And my then neighbor with the odor of old moudly books ,  had well kept porn magazines titled seen and stank of chopped kale and dirty sex.

We then moved to a place I like for the jolly family like neighbors and we called the place ‘upper ghetto’ it was a happy place for me. This place smelled like my current neighbor’s place ; of moudly walls from rain water seeping in , of rats, dead rats stink that never went away, it was like the walls trapped the stink in ,of kerosene that also never left ever after we cooked and left the stove outside…. Combined with the aroma of cheap spices and the never ending smell of spoilt kale. Minus the kale my neighbors are at that stage of poverty.

Our next house smelled of pure sewage, with clog sinks ,toilet, bathroom. I lived there for a week. Then my next house just across the street smelled of dust the the occasional sewage when sinks clogged.

Our current place is of course too dusty, outsides there is the sewage smell in the air, the smell of tolders , the smell of pure poverty and sweat striken men hanging about and unknowing young mothers gossips. Inside there is a deep aroma of desperate hope and nice perfumes and deodorants.

I hope my neighbors house will soon have nice aromas of deorants. 

Millennial Parenting.

As a generation that is lacking the presence of a motivator like a ‘great depression’ we are failing,failing  to be present in our lives so much so we live in our children’s lives enslaving them to live for us, in us… In the shadows of our missed opportunities, and their new privillages of internet and the bright light of inventions that has made their life easier and in turn they feel like failures not having reached their genetic role models very high standards set for them in good faith, but they don’t know that.

For these parents can’t change the little they have accomplished they invest in their kids with “I will give my children what I didn’t have” or “I will raise my kids right,not like I was” mantras and beliefs. Little do they know parenting needs virtue, virtues with commitment followed with patient consistency ,and hear this not forgetting to live out in your life as a parent IN THE PRESENT.. 

Planning for the future with out the toxication of anxiety and leaving the past behind with immense faith that time heals all things.

Parents show try to encourage their kids to live life, to go out there and play as hard as they can. To be present in all things from playing to home work.. Not to God their lives with threats of punishment so as they live in anxious fear always expecting the worst… This is how parents are creating people who literally jump in to conclusions , people with worst case scenarios mentality in them. 

And the sad thing is as kids or young adults they come together and they find out that they all live in the future, they have a worst case scenario mentality and because ‘bad things bring people together’ trend is on we create strong  relationships from weakness and glorify them in cool them ,hell!! WE create vain social media platforms for these vanities and cheer each other on deep down knowing how sad and empty it feels …knowing that some of us are just entitled with an internet connection and daft cool words.

So try make a difference break the cycle in this millennial generation ,practice being present and know yourself before role modeling another life.😁

But what do I know.✌