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Of sunny days and answered prayers

  For weeks on end, Fridays used to be my worst days of the week, which I think is quite ironic considering that everyone looks forward to Friday. You finally get to ‘close that laptop’ and unwind. For me however, Fridays were dreadful. But really, I think it had less to do with Friday itself and more to do with the looming reality of how lonely the weekend would be. Saturdays meant solitude and Sundays were just a cruel reminder of the insane week that awaited. There were days when I had so much to pray about but I struggled to put my requests into words and instead sat and hoped that God could just look at my heart instead. They say you can’t have your worst enemy in your bed* well, I had mine within me. I don’t know if that makes it better or worse.  Now things have changed. It could be for a short season, but it’s beautiful nonetheless. The veil of sadness has lifted and it has become sunnier. My heart is no longer heavy. I’m living in answered prayers that I did not voice...
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After all computers crash...

  Today’s post is dedicated to the people who held space for me even when I went quiet — the ones who noticed my silence before I did. The gentle reminders that I haven’t put out a post in a while. The small whispers of encouragement to write more. Ladies and gentlemen, we’re so back! A few days ago my body shut down. But before it did, it warned me. I’d just come from having a very engaging day at school and I needed to make one final application before calling it a night. That was the plan, before I got home and decided that I was too tired to do it so I set an alarm and took a nap. The idea was to wake up a few hours later and draft the document then send it. I don’t remember when -or if- my alarm went off. What I do remember is waking up in the middle of the night, feeling drowsy and lightheaded.  I ended up spilling my guts out. In that moment of weakness, when all that surrounded me were sickening floors carpeted in vomit, I questioned my decision to push myself so hard....
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Life Goes On!

  Why do we mourn yet so easily  forget the existence of those who left us? What about the existence of those who live among us but are dead within?  Why does life have to go on, despite their demise? Don’t we owe it to them to hold space for them a bit longer? Was their existence just but a speck of dust, blurring our vision? So easily wiped away in the face of their absence? I have tasted life and; I have tasted death Beloved, choose life -not because it’s worth living- but because even with your death, life goes on!
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Compassion; A tool of trade

  The Nairobi CBD remains famous for being a buzz hive of activities. Ranging from the “mrembo salon!” calls along every Best Lady store in town, to the “mrembo nails!” chants to pants being randomly draped on your shoulders as you navigate Tom Mboya Street, to becks of   “twende Kakamega” as you hurriedly scuffle to make it in time for your 8am lecture.  Woe unto you if that happens to be the day that you decide to rock your natural 4C African hair. Woe unto you if your pace isn’t fast enough to get past the calls and finally, woe unto you aren’t strong enough to resist the firm grips that drag you to buy clothes that you most definitely don’t need. At the heart of all this chaos are street families, they remain quite distinct amidst all the buzz. The other night, I  was leaving carrefour and a small girl, roughly aged four years walked up to me and said “Aunty nibuyie unga” What might seem to be a normal request from a homeless person stuck with me for the rest ...
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The One Where I Made Partner

  I hate making difficult calls. The ones that go beyond affecting just me. Let’s be real, if it was only my life on the line, the impact wouldn’t be that much. And even if it was, the damage control needed would be less anyway. It could be delayed. On the contrary, when so many lives are at stake, when people depend on you, you have to try to get things right. I recently made partner, at a firm. Now hold your horses! It’s not a real life firm. We don’t take walk-ins - at least not yet. Depending on what you consider to be recent, it’s been almost a month now since I was selected to be managing partner for one of the firms in my school’s moot court society. That should explain the “it's not a real life firm” reference.  It then goes without saying that I’m expected to lead a team; alongside an amazing co–managing partner, and to say the least, we’re fairing on well. At least that’s what I think. Now before you call me out for tooting my own horn, I promise to get feedback from...
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I met my younger self for coffee

  I met my younger self for coffee today, She was fifteen minutes early, and so was I She fiddled with the menu, I confidently placed our orders She squinted, I adjusted my prescription glasses above my nose bridge She tells me she yearns for a sibling, I show her pictures of my not so young anymore, baby brother She tells me she’s finally learnt how to skate, I tell her I’d probably fall off if I tried skating She says she can’t wait to become a lawyer, I show her pictures of me in a moot She wonders if things will change, I tell her some things will, and some things will stay the same. Her friends call her Jowe, mine call me Mueke I hope we get to meet for coffee again soon (The poem is an adaptation of the original one by Jennae Ceceilia Poetry on Tiktok)
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Is ignorance bliss?

  Is ignorance really bliss or is knowledge too hard a responsibility to bear?  Is ignorance really bliss or is it a  narrative to keep people in their place, a means to quell resistance or better yet, stop it before it even starts? Is there such a thing as being too woke? And if there is, what is the metric of weighing wokeness, why is it the right and only metric that we should go by? Individuals who are so different yet constrained by some objective rule on how to navigate life. Limited to a certain way of life. Quite the irony, don't you think? The thing with questioning existing societal systems of structure is you realize how proximal they are to your person. Not only do you notice general oppressive systemic trends and the classical patriarchal norms ingrained in pretty much everything but you also notice that they are portrayed in the very same songs you like to get down to and the films you binge watch. Could this be a mere coincidence? I think not. Music is appe...
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