When I was sixteen, I thought I was fat an ugly. I was severely overweight [5 foot 6 and 83kg!!] and everyone I met said I was ‘soooo biiig!’ It was mostly because I was a runt of a child before puberty, so the sudden explosion was a shock to everyone, including me!

Anyway, I was in a Catholic High School where we couldn’t wear jewellery or style our hair, and our uniforms were so shapeless that they’d make Salma Hayek look like a plum. So I got it into my head that a nose ring would make me look pretty. I pierced my nose and got a tiny gold stud like Esther in Tushauriane. It got me massive compliments for years until I lost it. Never been bothered to get a new one, possibly because I don’t feel fat and ugly anymore. Also, having a stud in my nose made people think I was wild and crazy, and that attracts a certain kind of guy. I enjoyed the attention, but I’m not really that person anymore.

Recently, I had a different idea – tattoos! I’ve wanted one for years, but I was afraid of the pain and the needle. I even went as far as picking a design and making an appointment, but I chickened out at the last minute. I’m not sure why I wanted a tattoo. I guess I liked the idea of seeming rebellious. Plus, there’s a tattoo fad in the office, so I figured maybe it was time to pursue my lifelong … um … craving. I started by asking where I could get one, gathering phone numbers, getting quotations, doing polls on the pain levels, picking a design, and recruiting the pretty one to come hold my hand in case I screamed like a girl.

I still wasn’t sure I’d go through with it. I figured I was just mark timing, gathering psyche. But after a particularly hard Friday at work, I woke up needing TLC and therapy, so I headed to the tattoo parlour. I got to Yaya and spent five minutes staring at the boards, trying to figure out where the shop was. The watchie saw my lost look and gave me directions.

The parlour is called Body Shock, and it’s on the second floor. They do piercings as well as tattoos, so the front of the shop is full of sunglasses and jewellery. I walked past it a few times before I realized what I was looking for. The lady at the counter called Abu, and my first thought was that he looked very … normal. Oddly enough, I can’t remember what he was wearing, but he had glasses and a silver hoop on one ear.

He asked if I had my own design or whether I’d prefer to use theirs, and I told him I wanted a spider in a web. Why? Because everyone else has a butterfly. He showed me a folder that had lots of spiders and webs, and I picked a design that had the Grim Reaper Scythe and blood, though I suggested that he leave out the blood. Abu frowned a little and explained that the design may not show clearly on my skin. Dark skin works better with tattoos that have open spaces. He recommended a few other designs, but they were all, you know, ugly.

Abu then suggested he could modify one of the spiders to make it more [yes, he grinned as he said this] pretty. I figured it might help if he made the head smaller and the tummy bigger, and he said he could draw the web around the spider to make it clearer. I then told him I’ve always wanted a crying heart motif, and that maybe I could get one on my foot, but he said I should come srore – one tattoo at a time. Yes, I stuck out my tongue.

As a compromise, I asked if he could incorporate the heart and tears into my spiderweb, but we couldn’t see how, since the web would block it out. In the end we decided to place the spider below the heart and leave that area of the web blank. He made a little sketch which was absolutely brilliant, and the lady at the cashier told me it would cost 6K, though she had reservations about the teardrop. She didn’t think it would work with my skin tone. But I’m stubborn, and I insisted, and Abu is The Master so I knew he’d pull it off. The only problem is that it was almost 12, and Abu had an appointment at 2.30. but I knew that if I walked out of that parlour, I might not come back, so Abu offered to squeeze me in and get it done in an hour. Yay for me!

The way a tattoo works is that a series of *cough*cough*tiny-but-extremely-long*cough* needles are mounted onto a scary-looking spring casing, so what the needles do is repetitively duck in and out of your skin depositting ink. Sometimes, there’s blood involved, and your skin might develop a slight swelling bruise. Yeah, sounds like fun. The lady asked if I’d had breakfast and suggested I grab a juice or something. I’d made such a big deal about the pain that I’m sure she was worried I might faint. I bought a smoothie and got lost on my way back, but I found the place just as they were sending out a search party.

The parlour is an interesting place, and I looked around nervously at the dragon books and the images of piercings. There’s also a fridge and a microwave, and I asked Abu if they were part of the tattoo ritual. No, just a regular fridge and microwave. I asked him if he’d use anaesthesia, and he said I didn’t really need it. He has a way of making you trust him, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. My trust wavered a little when he asked me to fill a disclaimer. They’re never a good sign. Still, he was very reassuring, and showed me his own tattoos as proof that nothing would go wrong.

Abu placed a stencil on my arm and pressed it, leaving the design on my skin. Then he got the machine ready and I considered pissing myself. I mean, seriously, have you seen that thing! I distracted myself by babbling, and I can’t remember half the stuff I said, though I remember asking how he got into tattoos, and he responded that he just did. He’s a brilliant artist by the way, and he paints too. I asked the price of the needle [anything between 15,000 and 100,000] and the training involved [most tattooists DIY, and it helps to have crazy adventurous relatives to practise on.]

I asked him how you get a job as a tattoo artist. I mean, somehow I can’t picture anyone filling out an application form and showing up in a suit. Well, in his case, his work speaks for itself, so he was recommended for the job. I asked about infections, and he showed me how to avoid them. He told me he sometimes refuses to do tattoos because people aren’t ready for them. After all, it’s a big commitment – you’ll be wearing that thing the rest of your life!

Yeah, so here’s the part your really want to know … does it hurt? Not really. But that’s probably because I have flabby arms, and the flesh cushioned the pricks. The shading parts stung a little more, but that’s because I wasn’t looking. I should probably explain that. See, during my pre-needle research, I was told that:

1. It hurts, but not as much as childbirth.
2. It hurts less if you focus on what he’s doing.

So for the first half hour, I stared intently at the tattoo spot and babbled about God knows what. After a while, my neck hurt from keeping it at unnatural angles, so Abu suggested I stop being a control freak and stare at the ceiling instead, which I did, and that’s when it started to hurt. Of course Abu insists it had nothing to do with the ceiling. He says it’s because he was retouching a section he’d already tattooed, so the skin was raw. Yeah, po-tay-to-po-ta-to. Either way, the pain wasn’t that bad, and I’m the biggest chicken that I know!

While he was working, Abu routinely wet-wiped the area to get rid of excess ink and make sure the design was working well. It took about one and a half hours, and when he was done, I was ready to kiss his feet. It was beautiful!! There was a little swelling, and he dressed it with a loose gauze bandage. He also gave me clear instructions on how to care for it. Grabacin for three days and white lotion thereafter. Grabacin costs 150/= at Pentapharm, but can be up to 300/= within Yaya.

He also warned me not to panic when the dead skin started to flake and fade – it’s perfectly normal. He gave me a sheet of paper with detailed care notes, and I’m still carrying it around. It’s now a week later, and the skin has mostly flaked off. The tattoo itches a bit, but it’s still as hot as ever. I love it! I called Abu this morning to give him the design for my second tattoo, I’m hoping to get it done this Saturday. It’ll probably hurt a lot more, because this time, it’s on my leg – the one part of my body with no flab – but I’m steeled for it, so it’ll be fine. Of course Princess thinks my tattoo is awesome. We share that fascination, and she wants one immediately. I stalled by explaining the process [and exaggerating the pain involved], buying her a fake flower tattoo, and promising she can get a real one just as soon as she’s 18. That should be fun!

The second design is just as weird as the first, and Abu asked if somebody broke my heart. I laughed, because it’s been a while. I’m not being dark because I’m crushed. It’s more because I’m cynic and indifferent. I’m a die-hard romantic, but love is painful, and I no longer think it’s worth the drama. Still, as I watch my tats, I wonder if I feel this more deeply than I know. I looked at my spider chasing my crying heart, and I knew there’d be a million different interpretations. My brother already thinks I’m scary and goth, so I joked with Abu that I’d get some cover stories and use them when appropriate. After all, I’m a poet. I could write a mile-thick tome on the hidden meanings on my arm. But really, I just wanted something that wasn’t too cliche. I liked the idea that people would find me scary for having a spider on my arm, and I like the way people look at me when they try to figure out why it’s hunting down a bleeding heart. I enjoy shocking people. Also, it seems to have cured arachnophobia, so yay!

My next tattoo will be a rose flower strangling a heart, sort of. I’m not sure why I thought of that idea. I originally just wanted the heart with the tear. I saw it once on Sunset Beach, when some psycho kidnapped Gabi and tattooed it on her … chest. But I like making things unecessarily complex, so I weaved in a choking rose. This despite laughing at Abu as I told him ‘everyone has a rose tattoo, it’s so cliche’ seconds before he showed me his own [immensely cool] rose-and-butterfly tattoos.

I didn’t think much about my rose-and-heart until I described it: ‘the rose stem with thorns will go round the heart like a snake and there will be teardrops at the end of the stem’. Yeah, sounds awful, doesn’t it? I suppose I should be worried that my random ideas are quite so … intense … seeing as the description – and the idea – came off the top of my head. Makes me wonder just how dark my thoughts really are, and whether a person can feel something without even knowing it. I’m told I smother people, and I know that I’m jealous and clingy, so I can see myself squeezing my loved one till he bleeds, but I wasn’t really thinking of that consciously. Oh well, those are analyses for another day. Today, I sit back and wait for The Master to show me the sketches of my new tattoo, even as I scheme and plot on how to get my hands on 6K before Friday. Wish me luck!

♫ The Deep End ♫ Crossfade ♫

I turn 30 this December, and it feels like the end of an era. I’ve had a hard year grappling with this thing, this fear of the big three-oh. It was harder because I didn’t know exactly what the problem was. I knew that I felt tense and uneasy, but I had no clue what it was about. After some sessions with my close pal and life coach, I figured it was fear and disillusionment. I had this perfect plan of where I’d be at 30, and it’s not even close to the place I’m at right now.

I’ve heard people say they love being 30. They love the freedom and the peace and the wisdom that comes with this age. I thought they were nuts. How can all this turbulence be peaceful? But I’m learning a few things about 30, and I’m learning it’s okay to get old. I’m finding out these things – and I doubt that they’re related to my age, but I know when I tell stories in the future, I’ll always start with ‘Ever since I turned 30…’

There are still some things I’m battling with, and I’m grateful for the people in my life that help me through it. I’ve learnt that it’s okay to want someone and still choose not to have them. Which is why in the last three days, I’ve been content to simply stare and daydream, because acting on my wishes is a stupid, stupid thing, at least in this scenario.

The scenario, of course, is a really pretty boy [or three] that I’d like to rip to pieces with my teeth, metaphorically speaking of course. Two of them would be bad because, well, they’re celebs, and they’d brand me as a groupie. The third I will avoid because … well … two things. One, I’d be traumatized if he turns out to be really bad in bed, and two, deep down, I’m still a lady. I don’t want to be treated like a w***e, and when you walk up to a guy and say you want him, that’s really what you’re asking for. So for now, I sit and stare and smile, and I wonder what they’d do of they could only read my mind.

I’m still trying to learn that you can love without possessing. I want to just accept this boy I love, without struggling so hard to make him mine. Things are just easier that way. Besides, when you love something, you lose it, so I’m happy just to hang around in like. I want to know that I can have him when I want, but that he’ll never feel I have him on a leash.

I suppose it’s why I don’t quite trust relationships. They come with complications like, you know, jealousy. When you’re friends with a guy, you can giggle when he flirts with you, then you can stop looking when he flirts with someone else. When you’re dating that same guy, well, cat fights. I’m not going to get into marriage and my arguments against it because life is fickle and love is moreso, but I’m glad that at two months shy of thirty, I’ve finally let go of the happy-ever-after. I don’t know what that means, since my heart is so big. I guess I’ll leave it open to love what it can, and to take what it can get.

I know I’m a very emotional being, and I play with my emotions by hiding them. I figure if you don’t know what I feel, then it isn’t really there. But I’d like to get rid of the conflict and stop acting as if. I know I’ll get there, someday, somehow. I just need to go easy on me.

At Safaricom Kenya Live, I watched as Nameless did a number with a fan. He was singing ♫ Karibia ♫ and he called this girl on stage and did a sexy dance with her. The crowds started heckling and the girl scurried off stage just as Wahu showed up, and Nameless reproduced the dance with his wife. I guess to most people, it was part of the act, but I found myself thinking a whole lot. I wondered if I’d let my man do that, even if I knew it was his job. After all, Chege had been rubbing her up earlier in the show.

Of course there was a lot of preamble. Nameless said repeatedly that it wasn’t serious, ‘Kidogo tu, si kwa ubaya’ and when he summononed Wahu to take over, he said it lightly and they were both laughing. When both routines were done he even told the crowd, ‘See? We’re still together.’

I like that Nameless and Wahu are so easy about things. I guess they have to be, since they’re both in showbiz. But in my mind, I wondered about their conversations earlier, whether he asked her for permisson, or whether she’s one of those rare people who don’t know what jealousy means. Did she mind that he was getting hot all over some other girl, or did she think it cool as long as she would reap the fruit? After all, there was a pretty evident … um … bulge … but maybe she knew that she’d be fixing it at home. Maybe it’s something that they do, like this couple I know that pretends they’re apart at the club, just to see which one of them will get hit on first. Maybe Nameless teased her about it later as they lay in bed alone, asked her if she was jealous and enjoyed her reaction.

I wonder how the girl felt, if she felt used, if she felt like a pawn in this little flirting game. But maybe she was glad just to be touched by a celeb. After all, she knew he was married when she went up there, and she looked genuinely worried when Wahu showed up. *shrug*

I know if my man was doing the grind with some girl while I was watching, somebody would die. I guess that’s why I choose to steer clear of relationships. I don’t want someone to have the power to twist my heart. Also, I’d rather not go to jail. Besides, I have such perpetual random crushes that I wonder if I’m built to be monogamous. I’ve never cheated while in a relationship, but I worry I’ll get bored of the man that I love, or that he’ll get bored of me. I fear that I’ll be jealously insane each time he flirts with some girl, and that I’ll claw the eyes off his hot boss, so I prefer to avoid feelings completely. In an ideal world, I could learn not to feel jealous, but it’s true that you can’t help how you feel. You can only control what you do about it. So for now, my defense is not to feel at all, and when I do, I try hard not to show it.

I do have guys I care about. I can’t say it doesn’t hurt me when they hang with other women. But I figure that as long as I’m not dating them, I have no right to feel that way, so I can shut up and ignore the feeling till it goes away. Then someday soon, I’ll learn to love someone and not make them be mine. I’m well on the way already, and I can tell you, it’s an amazing feeling.

I have a special someone in my life right now, and we have a good thing. No demands, no possession, just genuine affection, companionship, and honesty, no holds barred. It’s a beautiful thing, and it’s one I hope to keep for a long, long time. I always wanted a friendship like this, but I didn’t expect it to happen, so it totally blindsided me. Still, I’m grateful for my pretty one, and I hope this special thing we have will never, ever change. I’m also glad because if and when it does, I know that we can be honest and deal with it. That’s all I want, and for me, it’s the best that I can get.

♫ At this point in my life ♫ Tracy Chapman ♫

I love music. It makes me happy. I can get lost in it for days and days. I’m also fairly good with lyrics, so I sing along to everything I hear. When I was pregnant with my little one, I liked to lock myself inside my room, turn on my favorite music, and sing along for hours. I had no idea anyone knew or cared, until one day I heard the mboch complaining to a neighbour:

‘Huyo 3CB hata simwelewi. Anafungua redio na anajuo wimbo zote!’

Basically, she was amazed I sang along to everything I heard! I didn’t tell her it was tape, and that I’d had it for years, meaning I had even crammed the beats. *cheeky grin*

I first discovered headphones at age 8. My little brother had just turned 6, and he received a truckload of gifts. I decided to sulk and throw a tantrum, so I was bought a walkman as a consolation prize. It was beautiful bulky Panasonic beauty, black and red. My dad threatened to consfiscate it since it made me ‘antisocial’. But the thing is … I was already antisocial. The headphones just gave me a tangible excuse. Sometimes I’d wear them even when my battery was dead, just so people would leave me alone. Yeah, I still do that.

There’s this girl I know who never shuts up. She’s the type that taps you on the shoulder to ask you what you’re doing. I’m always tempted to reply ‘Tuning you out with my headphones. Duh!’ It’s odd, because the quality I value most in people is their ability to talk. But when I say talk, I mean actual conversations about life and feelings and philosophy, not random idle chatter. I find small-talk pointless and exhausting, so if you tap my shoulder while I’m inside my headphones just to ask what time it is …

Anyway, I digress. Recently, I started listening to music on my Ideos. Usually, I just play X FM, but it’s getting progressively more annoying. The presenters drive me nuts, and lately, they play stuff that isn’t rock. I mean seriously, I have nothing against Katy Perry, but ♫ Last Friday Night ♫ and ♫ California Girls ♫ have no business being played on a rock station. But I suppose I shouldn’t really whining since technically, ♫ What the Hell ♫ and ♫ Smile ♫ aren’t exactly rock either.

Again, I digress. Lately, I’ve been walking around with my headphones on. They’re not really headphones – they’re those tiny pretty ones that come with smartphones, and they’re not very loud. I usually just play the stuff that’s in the phone’s music gallery, and I’ve noticed that people look at me strangely. Sometimes it makes me wonder if I’m singing out loud. As it turns out, the reason they’re staring is because I’m NOT singing out loud. So what they’re seeing is a girl in purple dreadlocks dancing on the streets and mumbling to herself.

If I was singing aloud, they would smile and think I’m nuts, but since I basically lip-sync, well, they just think I’m mad! Most of the time, I’m too lost in the music to notice their looks. But once in a while, it’s fun to stare at someone pointedly and lip-sync, just to see the looks on their faces. Then I can smile as they discreetly back away. Their facial expressions are priceless!

I’ve always found it a little pretentious to walk around the streets with giant headphones, but I start to see the point now. In the matatu this morning, the girl next to me was giving me that look, the one that says ‘This girl is talking to herself – maybe I should sit somewhere else’. I noticed that she had on a hoodie, and that underneath, she had these massive headphones, so I wondered why she was surprised that I was singing silently. But then I realized she couldn’t see mine, and she was genuinely worried. Poor thing. As for everyone else, they’re quite used to my temperamental nature, so when I don’t respond to greetings, they’ll assume I’m in a mood before they think to look for headphones.

The reason I’m walking around with micro-headphones is because pinkytoes has gone deaf in one ear, so she’s resigned to stay home and look pretty. I’ve been debating whether or not to replace her, but these tiny ones work really, really well, and they have the added advantage of scaring the s**t out of people as I mumble to myself. Sweet! Now I just need a tiny iPod Shuffle that plays really, really loud.

♫ Give me one reason ♫ Tracy Chapman ♫