3CB

I woke up to some interesting news yesterday. A lot of people on Twitter were bashing Deputy Chief Justice Nancy Baraza. It took me a while to figure out why, but as it turns out this was the cause of the furore. According to The Star, The DCJ had walked into Village Market, refused to be frisked, and pulled a gun on the guard instead.

My first instinct was to question the validity of the story. As much as the media is compromised, I still believe The Nation over The Star as a rule. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time The Star had published a story that was slightly less than true. Plus, a woman who was smart enough and accomplished enough to be publicly vetted as a Deputy Chief Justice is no ordinary person. At the very least, she’s smart enough not to go brandishing a firearm in public.

I also wondered exactly how the weapon would have come into play. I mean, we’ve all lost our tempers with security measures, so I can see someone asking a s guard, ‘How dare you frisk me!’ But it makes very little sense to follow that up with ‘Now get on your knees and look at my shiny new gun.’ That would be implausible, even in a Philipino Soap.

It surprised me how quickly the online community was ready to accept the story and begin attacking first the DCJ, then the female population in general. Of course the ladies on Twitter responded with equal anger, which then led the guys to accuse us of double standards. In their opinion, if they don’t get mad when we say ‘All men are dogs’ then we shouldn’t get mad when they say ‘All women in power are crazy’.

My question all this time wasn’t about the gun. I really didn’t think that was valid, plausible, or logical. My worry was more about how easily we accepted the article as truth, and how quickly we turned on the target, and subsequently, on each other. That’s what worried me. It worries me because while only a small percentage of the country is online, we do represent society at large, and if a regular day on Twitter represents a regular day in the world, then I quite hope the Mayans are right.

Incidentally, The Daily Nation has a version of the DCJ ‘gun fiasco’ which explains it was a verbal altercation, and that no guns were involved. In fact, according to the Nation, The DCJ doesn’t even carry a gun. You can read the story here.

This incident brought out some rather interesting debate from highly unlikely quarters. Most people were content to just make jokes. Some people believed in the DCJ’s alleged actions and defended them, saying they have mentally shot many guards themselves. Others said that when Obel shot a matatu driver, he was considered a hero, while the DCJ was villified.

Others said the only reason we were defending the DCJ’s alleged actions was because she’s a woman. Some even equated her alleged actions to Sonko and wondered why he gets flack while Nancy Baraza doesn’t. Never mind that until this morning, Ms Baraza was considered to be immensely more credible than Sonko.

I heard someone say that you should never argue with a watchman, even if you own the building. You simply won’t win. A lot of watchmen and makangas have an innate belief that the world looks down on them, so they try to right that wrong every chance they get. Hence the attitude. I’ve also heard someone say that little bit of power is the high point of their day, so it’s kinder – and faster – to simply let them have it. Plus there’s the little matter of security checks being for our own protection…

Still, as annoying as security guards [and makangas] can be, as a public figure, the DCJ should have known better. She’s human, but since the day of her appointment, she’s also public property, which means her actions hold a lot of weight. If a regular woman had thrown a bitch fit at a security guard, she may have been called names and possibly locked in a store for a few hours. But as the DCJ, Nancy Baraza’s response to the security guard not only became falsified national news, it may also put her credibility in question. Since she is in charge of a large docket that includes the New Constitution, a lot of important issues could get scuttled by that one quick decision.

The sad thing is that now every time we look at Nancy Baraza, we will think of Rebecca Morara on her knees with a gun. It doesn’t matter how many retractions will be issued or what Ms Morara’s intentions were – the damage has been done. She could have been genuinely afraid and aggrieved, or she could have been a pawn in a much grander scheme, but Rebecca Morara has opened a box much larger than Pandora’s.

Plus, every time a woman in power makes a faux pas, she makes it that much harder for women everywhere to get into authority. I heard an interesting joke in the Axis of Evil Comedy Tour. The joke said the main difference between white people and Middle Eastern people is that white people don’t suffer as a group when one of their members does something bad. One white guy goes on a shooting rampage and it dies there, but one Middle Easterner blows himself up and all Muslims are suddenly viewed with suspicion. It’s the same with women. One man does an idiotic thing and it passes, but one prominent woman hits a Vitz and it’s ‘All women are bad drivers’. Makes it harder to build up credibility. I’m not a feminist, but I admit that I’ve benefitted from the fights of my sisters. So it’s sad that any time a woman makes a bad call, the ’cause’ is taken several steps back.

Kenyans are funny. We forget things very quickly. In a few days, something else will happen and we’ll forget all about the Village [Market] and the gun. But actions have consequences, and this incident has long-term repurcussions for the Office of the Deputy Chief Justice as an institution. And as for Kenyans on Twitter, I don’t suppose we’ll ever learn, but it would be good if we could gather all the facts before we get that tweet on.

♫ Love the way you lie ♫ Eminem ft Rihanna ♫

… I’m blogging at 4.30 in the morning. For some people, that may be sad, but for me, in some ways, it’s a good thing. Good because writing is my work, but its also my life. In the last few months, I’ve been so caught up in the ‘work’ part that I’ve forgotten about the ‘life’ part, so it feels good to be writing again. Bad because the only reason I’m awake and writing at 4.00 a.m. is that my baby is really, really sick.

I spent most of last week in bed with what I thought was a bad cold. Last night, my little one came home all excited from a sleepover. This morning, she was whining about unusual aches and pains, and by 4.00 p.m. she had the same symptoms I’ve had all week, so we headed to hospital and got some blood tests. For me, not for her. I figured – and the doc agreed – that she’d caught whatever I had, so my week-old blood would give better results. For her, they just checked urine.

The doctor declared it a bacterial infection of some kind and issued us a cocktail of pills. Our neighbourhood hospital is right next door to Kenchic and Bonjour, so we have this unwritten tradition of getting fries, chicken, and chocolate every time we see the doc. But after spending 5K at the hospital, I could barely get a quarter and a single pack of fries. I whined about it for a bit, then remembered what my appetite was like all week. Fries and a teensy-weensy-drumstick was my best chance at getting her to eat.

Being at the hospital was scary, but I got a lot of support from my friends on Twitter, and I’m grateful for that. You have to love friends who can make you laugh over something as freaky as STDs, especially when they’re people that you havent even met! Thank you China, Louis, Shiroh, Shiko, Farmer, Greenie, Waithash, Maso, and a very special shout out to Boyani.

As soon as we got to the hospital, my baby was instantly better. She was jumping all over the place, asking her uncle endless questions, and laughing at me for threatening to faint when the lab guy drew my blood. Once we got back home, she was fine for a while, but then the fever kicked back in. Her skin was blazing and she was in so much pain that she screamed if I tried a stroke or cuddle. She could barely walk for her bathroom breaks, so we haven’t gotten much sleep.

I was hesitant to mix meds, but in the end, I gave her some of the banana flavoured syrup that saved my *** all week, which has cooled her body a little and has lulled her back to bed. Thank heavens for Lotem. I’m too riled up to sleep though, and most of Twitter is out partying, which leaves me to seek some solo therapy.

Two nights ago, I had a really disturbing dream. I dreamt I’d somehow lost my baby in a time warp. The dream world was creepy and was constantly morphing from Amazon to Waterworld to Desert, and there was this woman who looked a lot like Yoga from Ugly Betty. She was an oracle of some sort, and kept giving me cryptic hints that led a few steps forward. It annoyed me that she wouldn’t just show me where my baby was!

After some wandering and a potential meet with snakes *shudder* I finally found my baby in the dream! She was in a quiet little shags-like village playing with friends, and I rested and hung out with her a while. I decided to leave her there until I figured out where we were, because this strange dream world was scary and uncertain. In the entire time I had searched for her, I’d had no food, water, or help except for the cryptic oracle lady.

I was just explaining to the princess why she had to stay behind when the oracle lady appeared. We both realised in that instant that the oracle lady was … me! Well, a future version of me. She had left our baby here in this village years ago, and when she came back to find her, she was gone! So she had done a time jump to warn me not to make the same mistake. And the reason she could only give me hints was because she didn’t know the way out herself! She could only tell me what she knew!

I suppose she also couldnt tell me who she was because if I’d realized I’d be wandering for over 20 years, I’d have given up and simply hugged a snake! I’ve heard people say dreams are a reflection of our subconscious, and that they spell out our desires, hopes, and fears a lot more clearly than we can while we’re awake. So my dreams really worry me sometimes.

One of the most painful experiences in the world is listening to your baby cry and not having the power to stop it. My baby cried for most of the night, but after a little Lotem, she’s managed to get some sleep, and I should too. I’m glad my illness has mostly passed, because now I’m fully focussed on my baby, but I’m glad I’m not 100%, because now we can relax and nap together before life goes on next Tuesday. Here’s to 2012, smiles, happiness, bananas, and my new lucky colour.

♫ Yellow ♫ Coldplay ♫

I’m not sure how I feel about the end of this year. For most of the week, I was down with a really bad flu, and every time I stepped outside the door, I felt like my bones were rattly and hollow. I was dizzy, unsteady, and terrified of falling down because my ribs hurt like a mother and I was sure that if I did fall, they’d shatter like a cheap shot glass. For the first time in years, I wished I had a boyfriend, just so I could call and ask for chicken soup. Unfortunately, Dial a Delivery only does pizza, and while my adorable baby brother did bring me some medicine, it turns out he was sick too, so we ended up both blacked out with the doors locked and the curtains closed. Thank goodness for family.

The plan for the week had been to take some down time. In other words, sleep and watch back-to-back crime documentaries. My little princess was at a sleepover with her cousin, and my supernanny had gone home for the holidays, so I had the house all to myself. It was awesome until the germies kicked in and I was too sick to pick up the remote.

I had a house full of junk food since I didn’t plan to cook, but I had zero appetite, so the pizza and the yoghurt and the sandwiches just danced inside the fridge and mocked me. I can’t be sure they were actually dancing, but between the Lotem and the Syndol and the Coldcaps, I can’t be entirely sure of anything. I did get to spend some time with a very special person, and I’m grateful that the flu stayed down long enough to let me enjoy that.

Today the flu eased up a bit, so I vegged out on the sofa watching Bridal Plasty and Kendra. Also, the Kardashians. I don’t know what it is about those shows, but somehow, once I get them on, I just can’t look away! I’m glad they mostly show them in marathons. I’m also glad I have a really fast trigger finger. You know, so I can quickly change the channel when the neighbours walk by. After all, I’m supposed to be the kind of girl that watches Viasat Crime & History, not Girls Next Door.

Speaking of the kind of girl Im supposed to be, I quite like Justin Bieber’s ♫ Love Me ♫. It’s pretty catchy, as long as you don’t compare it to The Cardigans. But then again, I also like Britney Spears and the Furi Furi Remix Video, so hey *shrug*. Yes, you may judge me *cheeky grin*.

Anyway, questionable musical taste [and meds] aside, the end of the year makes people think about a lot of stuff. I got a message from a friend late last night. He has just achieved a lifelong dream that we share, and I’m really proud and happy for him. But it made me a little sad because I have quite a few dreams [including the milestone my friend is celebrating] that I’m yet to accomplish, and I have no idea how I’m going to reach them.

Some people take courage from others. I hear them say, ‘If so-and-so can do it, then I can do it too.’ Im not like that. When I see what so-and-so has done, instead of noticing the similarities between me and that person, I see all the differences. Then I poke a million holes in that idea and end up thinking that if so-and-so did it, there’s absolutely no way that I could ever do the same thing.

For example, I asked myself an important random question – how can I describe myself as a likeable person when I know so many people that don’t like me? My Life Coach would probably say I should look at the one person that does like me [preferably without declaring them crazy for doing it]. I’m fortunate and blessed to have more than just one person. I have a friend who called me at 2.00 a.m. just to wish me a happy birthday, while another friend walked out of a meeting to call me that morning, even though we haven’t seen or talked to each other in years!

I have a little brother that ploughed through the rain to bring me medicine, only to black out on my sofa right after because he was so sick himself. I have another brother who travelled all the way from Uganda just to bring me birthday cake. I have a friend who spends hours on the phone with me every single day just making sure I don’t kill any of my playmates.

I have a supernanny who is so fond of my baby that she came back from her holidays three days early to beat the fare hikes. I even have a friend who’s giving me free driving lessons in his brand new car! It’s heavily insured of course, and there’s plenty of chocolate involved, you know, to keep me watching out for that tree. With such a strong support system around me, it’s hard to listen to the naysayers. But we’re human, and I’m depressive, so sometimes, it’s just as hard not to.

Anyway, for the first time in a long time, I’m thinking about shutting down my blog. It started when I was watching Kendra earlier today. She’d been asked to do a Playboy shoot, and she wondered if she should, now that she has a baby boy. I mean, granted there are lots of saucy pictures of her everywhere, but like Hank said, those were ‘before’ pictures. I’m not sure what she’ll tell her little boy one day when he’s with his teenage buddies and they’re playing with some magazine and suddenly his mum pops up, literally.

It made me think about my blog. When I write, I’m very open and uncensored, probably a lot more than I should be. I write what I feel in the moment and I don’t always think about how it will affect other people – or even how it will affect me. The passion and desire to express myself is always so insistent that I have to get it down. But when I think about it later, I wonder if it was a good idea. Mostly when the person that I wrote about asks me to take it down. With my little girl spending so much time online now, I start to wonder if an open online journal is the best thing for my princess to bump into.

It’s like that fashion blogger from the Philippines, I forget his name. I watched him on FLN a few weekends ago. He said in the beginning, he put everything on his blog – his messes and his greatness. When he got high, when he got arrested, when he got wasted – he wrote it all down. But once he got big and realized he had some younger fans, he started to censor himself a little, just to keep his readers safe from nasty influences.

I tell myself sometimes that it’s good. When my princess reads my blog, she can see me as human, realize all the issues that I struggle with, know that when she faces some of these things, she won’t be the first and she won’t be alone because mummy has been there and mummy will always be there. But I also worry about her peers using it against her. I mean I’m sure when Hank Jr’s buddies show him pin-ups of his mum, it won’t be with a pat on the back and congratulatory beer. That only works on American Pie and Fountains of Wayne.

I’ve lived my life, found some enemies, held some grudges, made some mistakes, but I’d hate for anyone to use them against my daughter. I’d like her to be judged on her own blank canvas. I’d like her to paint her own picture. I’d hate it to be like that Jeffrey Archer book where Richard’s dad won’t let him marry Jesse because of who her father is. And no, its not weird that I can remember the character names but have no idea about the title of the book. I think it’s part of the Kane and Abel series. Maybe. Or it might have been a Daniel Steele book about Jewels…

I’ve also wondered about explaining some mistakes to my little girl. How can I tell her not to have sex in her teens when I gave birth at 21? How can I make sure she finishes campus when I didn’t do it myself and turned out so well? How do I explain why I always have condoms when I’m clearly not married and don’t particularly plan to be? It’s hard enough getting her to church when I have no interest in it. Thank heavens for Sunday-School-Teaching-Grandads.

My little girl isn’t so little any more. She just turned 9, but she looks [and acts] a lot older than that, and the boys are starting to notice. We had ‘the talk’ when she was 5, because her classmates were already ‘doing it’ in the toilet. Doing what, you ask? In her words, ‘kissing and playing with tails’. I give the anti-rape talk every chance I get, and sometimes she asks me to stop because it scares her, but I need her to know when to defend herself, and how.

I want to keep her safe from all the evil in the world, but I sometimes wonder how to keep her safe from me, from everyday events like having a glass of wine at the office party, or nibbling green cookies at a birthday thing, or dropping a durex from my jeans pocket, or Twilight and Vampire Diaries! [The cookies were medicinal by the way, and very, very scary. I am never ever ever doing that again. Ever! *shudder*]

I believe that I’m a good mum. I believe it because my baby is healthy and happy and doing well in school. I believe it because when she gets home from a sleepover, she gives me a giant hug and I know she actually missed me. I believe it because she asks a lot of questions, and we talk about everything.

We’re at the stage where she still thinks I’m cool and wants to try everything that I do, so she had dreads until the school made us shave, and she has fake tattoos every other week. She wants makeup and smartphones and gooodness knows what else, but we’ve agreed at what age she can try all those things, and that age is a long way away. Besides, since I have two tattoos, a hole in my nose, a love for rock music, and dreadlocked purple hair, then the only way she can rebel is by becoming a nun that loves Beethoven.

Still, I do worry. There are few things she would ask for that I wouldn’t let her do. Not because she’s spoilt, but because I’ve done them all myself. But there are also lots of things I’ve done that I pray she never tries, and those are the tricky ones. For now, I take it one day at a time, do the best I can, and keep my eyes open for a shotgun, because teenage is getting here faster than I can worry about it.

Conclusion? Well, flu meds are more useful for end year thinking sessions than booze is, mostly because you spend the entire time asleep, there’s no potential for a hangover, and they’re infinitely cheaper. This is the first time I’ve been online all week, and now that my ribs are feeling glassy once again, it may be time to slip back into bed.

All year, Ive been saying I want nothing but to sleep for three days straight. This week, I have, but that was mostly because I was too sick to do anything else. I do feel good though, and positive for the year to come, so if the world does end in 2012, I’ll be going out with a smile … mostly because I didn’t get that chance to use that shotgun yet. Happy New Year all, belt up, glove up, play safe, and see you at the Mayans!

♫ Closing Time ♫ Subsonic ♫