🤹🏽‍♀️

How do runners deal with adversity?
They take it all in strides. ➿ Marathoner, Adventurer, Mom

[K. Kimuyu @wakimuyu]

Hello, you. In a fifty-bob Toi Market dress, moving in rhythm with your curves as if calling my name. Okay, I’ll bite. Did you get that dress because you love dresses, or you got it for a special occasion: an interview, perhaps, or another kind of appointment?

You are too busy on your Infinix phone to notice that I have followed you from Kencom to MKU. Who are you texting? Is it the guy you’re trying to impress with that dress, the one whose appointments you’re always looking forward to?

You are outside MKU talking to your classmates, but there is one you’re paying extra attention to. He stands out in his sagging jeans, backward cap, and a t-shirt written, ‘Too cool for school.’ Which means he looks like a teenager and acts like one, too. Let me guess, he’s a DJ and the guy you’re head over heels about. Is this your taste? Are you shallow? Could I have been wrong about, you?

James is his name. I know because I have seen his fliers all over social media. His profile is flooded with pictures of alcohol, memes, and random women. Is this what excitement looks like for you?

I was too distracted by his profile to notice that you now have your arms around him. I should be the one you’re kissing and hugging. Wait, you’ve gotten sad. Has he said you can’t come to the club tonight because he will be busy? What are the chances he will be busy with another random? I would never turn you down, not for a thousand randoms.

You are in an Umoinner headed home, and you don’t notice me behind your seat because you’re busy on your Infinix. Does it ever leave your hand, or is it part of it? Oh, wait, you’re on Kindle. So, you read. There might be more to you than meets the eye. You might be worth your weight in gold after all.

You just alighted in Umoja, and you are in Naivas buying noodles and cheap wine, which means you live alone and you’re going to cry later today while drinking your wine with some Cardi B in the background.

“Hello, you?”

I smile at you at the check-out counter. You smile back and respond with a faint, Hello not knowing that your life is about to change forever because you are about to move from a DJ called James to a Subaru boy called Brian.

Diana
Your name is Diana. “That’s a beautiful name,” I say. “I’m Brian, we should catch drinks,” I add. You say okay, and I hand you my phone. Your hand trembles as you key in your number. You are nervous. You don’t want to screw this up.

The first thing I do when I get home is look you up on Truecaller. I get your second name, which leads me to your Instagram account. It's public. You want to be seen. Do you want to be something, or is it because you have nothing to hide?

Your bio says you’re a student. You are who you say you are. It's refreshing in a city where no one is who they say they are. You are also into saving the world, going by the photos of you planting trees. You are stealing my heart effortlessly, Diana.

The next day finds me in Umoja taking a job as the garbage guy in your area. The dirt on the overalls I’m given tells me they never get washed. The things I do for love, the things I do for you.

It’s 8:00 am when I get to your compound. Your neighbors are filthy, Diana. Their dustbins are full of used condoms and hotel room receipts, and you just woke up and opened the door, and you are staring at me. Shit! Wait, you don’t see me. In my dirty overalls, I might as well be invisible. Is that what you are, Diana, superficial?

You leave the house to buy breakfast, and as I expected, you don’t lock the door. Don’t you know Nairobi is ranked among the most dangerous cities in Africa? You’re lucky I’m here. Otherwise, God knows the sociopath who could break in. An empty wineglass and leftover noodles sit on your table. Don’t worry, when we live together, I will cook for us, I promise.

I go to your bedroom and find an Environmental Science coursebook next to Michelle Obama’s, Becoming, on your bed. You do read. I also find your pink panties. I pick them up and sniff them before putting them in my pocket. The main door creaks. You’re back, and I leave through the balcony door.

I go back to emptying dustbins, excited for us. When a Prado pulls into the compound, and a Mzee with a beer belly steps out. I cross my fingers, hoping he goes to another house. But he stops at your door, and you open it excitedly. Who the hell is that, Diana? Is he your daddy or your dzaddy?

Daddy or Dzaddy?
I put the dustbin down, open NTSA, and search the Prado’s number plate. It’s registered under Alfred Owino. A businessman who ran for Nairobi Governor in 2017 and lost. He has one known wife and three kids; you are not among them, Diana?

For a college student, you live in a nice neighborhood. Your one-bedroom apartment is furnished with the latest appliances: A Samsung Curve TV, a Bosch fridge, and a Furniture Palace queen bed. Am I refusing to see what’s right under my nose? Diana, are you a babyghurl?

I leave Wikipedia and log into Instagram to see what our favorite DJ is up to. According to his latest story, James is at a house party with loud music and an even louder crowd. The caption reads, ‘Tuko sherehe na haitaki hasira.’ #UndisclosedLocation

I click on one of the accounts he has tagged, which takes me to his friend’s profile. He also documents every second of his life on social media. Birds of a feather indeed flock together. His latest story has a location pin. They are in Nakuru. I suppose it’s no longer an undisclosed location.

Your boyfriend is passed out on the floor. Way to go, Diana. Looks like a catch. I should pay the undisclosed location a visit and save you from him. So many accidents could befall him: Alcohol poisoning, a drug overdose, he could trip and fall off the balcony…

I’m removed from my train of thought by one of your neighbors who is staring at me. I go back to emptying dustbins, and when she’s not looking, I take a photo of her and put it on Google Image Search. AuntieSu has branded herself all over social media as a relationship guru. I get back to my dustbins. The last thing I need is a jaded influencer making me a sound bite in her podcast.

I load the trash on the garbage truck that makes routine rounds in your neighborhood before returning my overalls. I get into my Subaru, which I had parked in a nearby petrol station, and start the trip to Nakuru with Sipangwingwi on the speakers. My phone trills with a message when I’m past Naivasha. It’s you. ‘It was nice meeting you, looking forward to our drinks,’ it reads, ‘How’s your evening?’ I text back. ‘It’s wide open,’ you reply. I turn the car around and race back to you, Diana.

Dating Diana
I get up from my chair with my jaw on the floor when you arrive for our date. You are in heels and a figure-hugging black midi dress. Your cleavage shows slightly. You like a little attention. Your makeup is just enough to highlight your beauty, and your cherry-red lips are disturbingly sexy. We hug. You smell of shampoo and vanilla, and I want to bury my nose in your skin forever.

You breathe a shy hello after we come apart, and you start pulling your chair. I stop you, and I pull it for you instead. As I do, I ogle your ample backside and I breathe out a gasp—glad to have volunteered to pull it for you.

The date is going well. You are intelligent. Most people's perspective is run-of-the-mill and incredibly basic, but not you. You are deep, sweet, and cultured. We have a cocktail or two in our bloodstream, and I forget and ask you how your DJ boyfriend is doing.

"How do you know I have a DJ boyfriend?" you ask with a raised brow.

"Lucky guess," I say. "There are so many DJs in this city, it would be strange if you didn’t date one." I try to recover.

You laugh. And your big brown eyes light up as if they are backlit, and I get lost in their scenery.

"It’s complicated," you say to justify your being on this date. Are you a good girl, Diana, or will I have to put you on Father Christmas's naughty list?

"What about you? How’s your girlfriend?"

"She’s fine, just a little entangled with DJs."

You get the joke, and this time you laugh from your stomach, and I’m in love. I just know there will be a second date…a wedding…kids…old age…grandkids. But wait, your Infinix chimes and you check it. Diana, don’t you know it’s rude to check your phone on a date?

"I got to run," you say, knocking the wind out of me. "It’s my friend," you lie. It’s James, isn’t it? "He’s had an emergency," you add while getting up and leaving without even saying goodbye. I open James's friend's Instagram stories. He did get alcohol poisoning after all, and he is at the ICU of Nakuru Level 6 Hospital.

Looks like it’s going to be one big reunion. I think while getting into my Subaru. My foot is hard on the accelerator, doing 100km/hr on the highway, certain that James has to go for good, for us to blossom.

Goodbye James
I park my Subaru at a lodging and buy tickets for a concert happening in Nakuru for easy deniability in case the police decide to poke around. How could I have planted a man in the ground when I was busy partying, or as James would say, ‘Nikisherehe?’ The lengths I go for you, Diana.

I find myself in Nakuru Level 6 Hospital changing into a white lab coat, surgical gloves, mask, and hairnet. Being a doctor is a welcome change from being a garbage guy. I think while walking towards the pharmacy.

If you are going to plant a man back to the earth, you need to understand what powers him. Luckily, human anatomy is extensively researched, and I have been reading a lot about it lately. You might think you need muscles to be dangerous, but you just need the fundamentals of biology.

Did you know that human beings are powered by sugar? Sure, you eat ugali dondo, and nyama choma every other day, but it’s all broken down into glucose. Unfair, isn’t it? That you eat your nyama choma yet you’re powered by the same glucose as someone who eats dondo? Well, science is nothing if not funny.

I get to the pharmacy. The hospital is so understaffed, no one notices me coming out with a syringe and a bottle of insulin. In small quantities, insulin dilutes glucose to the point of stabilizing diabetes mellitus. In large quantities, it dilutes it to the point of shutting down vital organs like the heart. Burning a man with tyres, stoning him; all so uncivilized. I think while heading towards James’s ward.

I hold the syringe, which has enough insulin to put an elephant down and look at him. He’s frail, and for a moment I reconsider. ‘Stacy, is that you?’ he coughs. Damn! You are nowhere close to his priority. I drain the contents of my syringe into his artery. The days of being with a man who doesn’t value you are over, Diana.

After disposing the syringe and the bottle, I see you arrive and watch you crying beside him. No! No! No! He is not worth your tears, not a single drop. I want to come and hold you and wipe them away. But I let you mourn him in your own way. Soon, I will be your shoulder to lean on, and with time, this ugly thing I have done for us will pave the way for something beautiful.

Good Girl Gone Bad
You call me after a week and tell me you need company, and that’s how I find myself on your couch, lying on your lap with your thong and my boxers on the floor. Night after night of masturbating to your photos, I thought this day would never come, and now it feels so easy, so right.

You are not a selfish lover. You go all the way. You also understand the music of making love. You know when to pull back and when to be ravenous, and I am deeply in love with you as we lie exhausted in each other’s arms, having pillow talk.

“I feel as if I failed him,” you say out of nowhere.

I look up at your big brown eyes with confusion, even though I know exactly who you are talking about.

“My friend. We were always arguing. I think I was bad for him,” you continue.

“Dostoevsky contended, the bad want to be punished,” I mumble.

“Crime and Punishment,” you say the name of the book, and I love you even more.

“Perhaps some spanking will make you feel better,” I squeeze your thigh, and you giggle, and as you do, the doorbell chimes. “Don’t get it,” I add.

“It might be important,” you say while putting on your robe and walking towards the door. You peek through the glass, and your demeanor changes. “You need to hide,” you say with an edge to your tone.

“Who is it?” I ask.

“Go! Go! Go! I’ll explain later,” you whisper while hiding the evidence of us.

I jump to the kitchen on one leg as I wear my trousers and hear you answering the door with glee. I take a peek, and I see the old man with the beer belly. Alfred Owino was his name, was it not?

Before I can decide what to do, you are kissing him. I suppose we now know the kind of daddy he is. Things escalate quickly, and he’s grabbing you by the neck. Your robe falls, and he is taking you from the back.

“You have been a bad girl, haven’t you?” he is asking while smacking your behind.

“Spank me harder Dzaddy! I have been a very bad girl," you are responding in between moans.

So this is why James got shit-faced. He was not the problem; you were, Diana. I stand there confused. Is this my punishment for planting him back to the earth? I could leave through the balcony door, but I stand there and watch as your moans hit a crescendo.

Not A Goodlife
He leaves immediately after it’s over. He just used you, Diana. You need a shower. I need to leave. We don’t exchange a single word. The air is full of tension and other aromas as I turn the lock on the door and close it behind me.

AuntieSu looks at me as if she knows me from somewhere, as I get out of the gate and walk towards the petrol station where I have parked my Subaru. I get in and drive towards Goodlife Pharmacy to get an antibiotic shot. I thought I could trust you, Diana, but now I’m not even sure about your status.

After Goodlife, I go to my shop. I run a small print shop in CBD. Yes, there are men in this city who do an honest day’s work. I don’t live a babyghurl lifestyle, but it’s enough to give me a decent life. I thought we could run it together, Diana, but now I am having second thoughts.

I can’t focus on work. The image of you with him is stuck in my head, and it's replaying like a broken record. What was that all about? That is the type of shit that makes a man lose his mind. Hapo umechoma.

But human beings make mistakes, and I am willing to give you a second chance. He might be the only man in your life, and you will leave him once I confess my undying love for you.

I pick up my phone and start looking him up. The internet isn’t clear on how Alfred Owino made his millions. Some sections say he got his money from a government job, and others say it was from imports and exports. The imports and exports are unclear. It’s all very cloak and dagger.

But I think I can make a good guess on how he built his empire. Isn’t it annoying, Diana, that a man like me tries to earn his money without cutting corners, and this fucker comes along and makes it impossible for me to make an honest living? If I looked hard enough, I’m sure I would find his corruption. I could expose him, but that would put you, us, in harm's way.

I could go the James route, but I can’t kill every man in Nairobi. There isn’t enough insulin in the world to do that. Besides, I’m no longer sure, Diana, is it the men, or is it you? I need to know you a little better. I need to get hold of your phone. I have to visit you again because I need to know, is there hope for us, Diana?

Crime & Punishment
I pick up my garbage guy overall, and by 8:00 am, I am in your compound. Your door creaks, and you come out. You stretch your hands and yawn. You look beautiful even with sleep in your eyes. I want to tell you how lovely you are, but I busy myself with my work and watch you go to buy breakfast through the corner of my eye.

Soon, I will be able to tell you how amazing you are every morning and that you should also lock your door when you leave the house. I find your Infinix in between your cushions. A combination of your zodiac sign and birthday, and it unlocks. I feel a sharp pain in my chest from what I uncover.

No wonder you hold onto it for dear life. You are in each and every dating app: Tinder, Badoo, OkCupid. Chatting with like ten different guys in every app. Are you this desperate, Diana?

I go to your WhatsApp and you are more miserable than I thought. Who are all these guys sending you dick pics and shirtless images? And you also film yourself with Alfred Owino doing things that are too heinous to put into words. I put your phone down and immediately feel as if I need a shower. How could I be so stupid? You never would have loved me. You just like the drama of different lovers.

The irrefutable evidence on your phone makes me realize that it’s time I left you alone. I go to open the door to leave, and as I do, I come face to face with you.

You look at me, and it’s as if you connect all the dots, and you begin to scream. I cover your mouth and pull you inside the house. You fight me, and I let you go. You stagger, fall, and hit your head on the edge of the table with a clank. Before I know it, your pulse has stopped, and blood is pooling all around the living room.

The table isn’t going down for this, and neither I’m I. I create an anonymous email and send some of the clips with Alfred Owino choking you to AuntieSu. I wipe my prints and leave through the balcony door.

As I return my overalls, I see his Prado pull up to your apartment. I would love to stick around and see the look on his face when he opens the door and realizes he will be accountable for you. But I have to go, Diana. The storekeeper gets quite irritated when overalls are not returned on time.

Starting Over
I sit on a bench on the beach eating mabuyu, watching the waves on the ocean break while trying to get Diana out of my mind. Nairobi no longer did it for me, so I moved to Mombasa. Business here is slow, but I can’t complain. I have all this time to think and mend my broken heart.

I open my phone. Alfred Owino is the number one trending topic on Twitter. I click on his name. There are a bunch of photos of him in handcuffs. Accountability suits him. He’s got large eye bags, and he doesn’t look invincible anymore.

I close the app and tune into AuntieSu’s podcast. It’s also full of the Alfred Owino and Diana saga. ‘Babyghurl Tragedy,’ she’s calling it. She really did not have content, did she? I feel a bit better about myself for playing a part in her relevance.

I toggle my phone to airplane mode and stare at the beach while sucking the sugar on my mabuyu. I distract myself from thinking about Diana by contemplating whether I should change my name from Brian to Abdallah when I see you.

Hello, you. Dressed in a dera seated on a yoga mat reading Stay With Me by Ayobami Adebayo. Turning the pages so gently, you would think they are made of clouds. Is that how you will handle my heart?

Some motherfuckers who don’t have the guts to approach you, pass by and whistle while staring at you as if your dera is see-through. Perverts! If you were mine, I wouldn’t let them disturb you. I would swat them off like the flies they are, so that you can read in peace.

After some time, you close your book, get up, and put it in your handbag. You roll your yoga mat, stick it in between your arm and waist, and begin walking, and as you do, I understand why they were catcalling you. Even in your loose-fitting dera your menacing curves refuse to be hidden, and they are screaming my name with every step you take. I bite, get up from my bench, and begin following you.

[George T. Diano @georgediano]

Among all of Raila's children, he is perhaps the one who has borne the greatest cost of his father’s political convictions, an unwitting casualty of a lifelong struggle waged in the name of democracy and justice. Many people remain unaware of Raila Junior’s quiet yet remarkable achievements.

He is not merely the son of a political titan; he is a distinguished professional in his own right. Junior holds a BA (Honours) in Accounting and Finance from the University of Wales and a MSc in Finance from the University of Leeds.

As a sharp and grounded entrepreneur, he manages the family business portfolio while serving as CEO and Executive Producer of Creative Hub, a reputable production company that crafts high-quality advertisements for mainstream media.

Having once worked there myself, I can attest to his discipline, creativity, and sense of purpose. Beyond business, Junior devotes his time to mentoring children living with disabilities, a profound reflection of his empathy and moral conviction.

Yet, despite these accomplishments, Raila Junior has long been subjected to mockery and prejudice not because of his character or competence, but because of a medical condition that was beyond his control.

He has been a casualty of his father’s political identity, unfairly reduced to caricature by those of us who see the Odinga name before they see the human being. It is easy to forget that behind every public figure stands a person, one who feels, struggles, and bleeds just like the rest of us.

It is disheartening, even tragic, that during a moment of grief as he mourned his father, some chose to focus not on his composure, intellect, or dignity, but on something as shallow as his physical appearance. Here was a man who walked into that solemn space with grace, his beautiful wife by his side, his demeanor calm and respectful, yet society’s instinct was to ridicule rather than empathize.

If an individual like Raila Junior who's educated, successful, disciplined, compassionate, and dignified can still be reduced to a mere object of ridicule, then perhaps it is not him who needs healing, but society itself. We have normalized cruelty in the name of humour and lost sight of the humanity that binds us.

Let us relearn empathy. Let us remember that kindness costs nothing, yet its absence impoverishes us all. Let us celebrate resilience instead of ridiculing difference. You never truly know the battles someone is fighting behind their smile; sometimes, a single cruel word can wound deeper than silence ever could.

Raila Odinga’s passing has reminded me of one enduring truth: political differences should never eclipse our shared humanity. I will never again despise someone for thinking differently. Because in the end, empathy not ideology is what defines us. May Raila Amolo Odinga rest in eternal peace.💔

[🤹🏽‍♀️ @kahawamoto]

Hi @KRACare
Please respond to DM

[🤹🏽‍♀️ @kahawamoto]

@Safaricom_Care Done. Please check DM

[🤹🏽‍♀️ @kahawamoto]

@Safaricom_Care Is mpesa down? My transfers are not going through

[🤹🏽‍♀️ @kahawamoto]

Hi @KenyaPower_Care please check and respond to DM

[Mwango Capital @MwangoCapital]

This from Njugush is gold 😅

[🤹🏽‍♀️ @kahawamoto]

Hi @CarrefourKe I placed an order yesterday at 5.45pm (order number 35574601346674). It's going to 11am and my order hasn't been delivered yet. What's going on? I'm so disappointed😞

[Phiniesher @phinishdem]

This indeed is the “baridi shadidi mithili ya barafu” freaking tashbihi I used to sprinkle in those inshas.

[Larry Madowo @LarryMadowo]

KG was the first Kenyan to summit the world's highest mountain - Everest - at 62 years old with bad knees! Only 15 Black people have ever been to the top. Would you do it?

[🤹🏽‍♀️ @kahawamoto]

@JackieTonui It does indeed look very fine on you! Happy birthday darl!! ❤️

[Chela @JackieTonui]

Two years ago, I spent my birthday hyping the biggest and best Safari Rally Campaign to date 😊

This year, I will spend it hyping myself and counting all the blessings.

39 looks Fine. Happy birthday to me!

[🤹🏽‍♀️ @kahawamoto]

@abrahamochieng Jeez!! You're a beast 💪🏾 Well in! 👏🏼💪🏾👏🏼

[extended mix @djmusclemommy]

the comments on this shit is like "goals" and "girl boss"

i am not a girl boss. i am a victim to capitalism. i am drowning and it is a cry for help lmfao

[🤹🏽‍♀️ @kahawamoto]

@KenyaPower_Care Well noted. Thank you. How long does the refund process take upon submission of the request?

[🤹🏽‍♀️ @kahawamoto]

@KenyaPower_Care Related to this what is the refund procedure when one buys units for a wrong meter number and how long will the process take?

[🤹🏽‍♀️ @kahawamoto]

@KenyaPower_Care I am actually not with the meter so I was hoping to save time you'd share the size so I buy it beforehand and go test it when I get home any way thank you for your help.

[🤹🏽‍♀️ @kahawamoto]

@KenyaPower_Care Can you kindly confirm the size of the batteries to replace?

[Archbishop Anthony Muheria @bishopmuheria]

Ash Wednesday announces Lent is here. A time of self denial, of fasting, of more intense prayer, of increased acts of mercy to assist our needy and distressed brethren. This is a personal choice! Above all “fast” from evil habits and deeds!

[🤹🏽‍♀️ @kahawamoto]

As far as amazing goes, this is it!!

[Dennis Kioko - KeNHA Unmarked Bumps Hitter @denniskioko]

Just done with a 12,000 kilometre solo drive to Namibia and back!

Took just over a month