The Inbetweeners

 So I have a dirty little secret; I read Harlequinn Romance novels.  It started when I was 16 and, literally, stumbled upon them in the supermarket. 10 years later, I can hardly say that I stumble upon them anymore. I actively seek them out, looking for a variety of romance novels with different protagonists, inciting incidents (beyond the usual Pregnancy, forced Marriage Contract, Arranged Marriage as part of a Business Merger or classic Revenge), and premises. My favourite, so far, has been After the Billionaire's Wedding Vows by Lucy Monroe where Monroe explores what happens after love, marriage and the baby carriage. But I always wondered why I was drawn to these kinds of novels. Is it because the storytelling is formulaic; hitting the same narrative beats every time? This consistency is why I like, and obsessively rewatch, sitcoms. The formulaic structure of a sitcom allows me to dip in and out of the story while still knowing what's going on overall. Likewise, the formu...

In an attempt to justify, and perhaps excuse, the next 24 hours of non-productivity, I have decided to write a post. Almost in a stream-of-consciousness way. But instead of examining why I feel the need to earn relaxation, today I'm not entirely sure what I want to talk about. I could talk about pride, and how it holds us back. Pride makes us unwilling to ask for help, or admit mistakes. But, I don't want to.  I could talk about how we are the enemies of our own progress.  At some point in the last couple of days, I realised I am not the child I was. As a child, I was fearless. Not because I didn't understand failure, or hurt or pain. But because I decided life was worth living in spite of them. Yet, at some point, I lost this understanding of life and became a coward. At some point, I let someone tell me that life isn't worth the pain. Or perhaps that pain isn't worth life. And the result is present-day me: a woman who will never have it all because she is too ter...

Gosh. I really didn't think I'd be writing about this right now. Mainly because I thought we had more time. More time to live. More years to experience. Many more decades to make mistakes. Turns out, we only have 7 years . 2556.75 days before we cross the point of no return, and the damage we have done to our planet is irreversible. Just over 61,000 hours to accept the responsibility past generations have negligently left on our laps. 7 years. And given the current state of the world, I really wish I could believe we could forestall the inevitable. But I don't. We could barely get on the same page about a pandemic; a moment in human history when we knew what was expected of us. What hope do we have on getting on the same page about climate change, and what it takes to solve it? Especially when, perhaps, the most effective solution demands a complete disruption of our capitalistic society and its' drive for short-term profits over long-term sustainability. What hope do w...

Hello!  Guess who's back? ME! I've had a bit of a busy October; filled with emotional highs, nights I, literally, can't remember and depressing lows. There was one day when I experienced all three (which was great ). In that time, I wish I could say I gained insight or appreciation into my life; at least not the kind of insight I'm willing to immortalise on the public internet. Nor is it the kind of insight that is particularly new, novel or groundbreaking.  If anything, what I learned was the value of time and a break is just the space to think and figure things out. Not everyone has the privilege of this break; of knowing that they can afford to reflect, without it impacting their ability to pay bills or their ability to cope with the world. I barely afforded myself this privilege in October because it was forced upon me when I snapped. Even in that state of pure exhaustion, I did not have the time to think. I merely focused on recovering to the point of economic prod...

There used to be a path near Village Market in Nairobi. This path was adorned with acacia thorns, unseemly rocks and random spots of green grass. It was ugly, and a bother to look at. But it was full of life. Every time you passed, you'd see boda boda drivers catching a break before their next ride. You'd see small kiosk vendors conducting business with passersby, arming them with weapons for the day's battles; the odd cigarette, the random biscuit or the necessary energy drink. You'd witness groups of people, coming together to eat and discuss the events of the day. It was life, and it was messy. Emphasis on 'was.'  That little slice of life is gone. Literally paved over after the management of Village Market rehabilitated the rocky path with grey cabro, tendered to the garden and erected a barbed wire around it. What used to be a colourful slice of human interaction and community is now bland and lifeless; perfectly manicured and just a little less accessible...

Recently, I came across a potential solution to redress the financial hurdles that limit access to tertiary education. This solution is called an "Income Sharing Agreement" ( hereinafter ISA). According to Batya Bankers , ISAs are like equity investments.  An individual ... allows investors to buy ‘shares’ in their future earnings while contributing to social value through sustainable empowerment. Students receive interest-free funds to cover their tuition fees on condition that they agree to pay the lender a specified fraction of their future earnings. By grouping these investments in individuals, lenders are able to offset risks as returns from higher earners hedge the potential losses from lower earners.    Based on this definition, ISAs seem perfectly positioned to connect individuals in need of vast resources, with individuals controlling those resources. They provide vulnerable people without the means to earn or secure collateral - what you give a bank in exchan...

The 2022 Elections are over, and Kenya has its new President and Deputy President; William Samoei Ruto and Rigathi Gachagua, respectively. And I have mixed  feelings about this development. Many of these feelings are animated by what Ruto's Presidency means within the grand scheme of Kenyan politics.  A Ruto-Gachagua Presidency reaffirms the notion that to ascend to the Presidency you must be Kikuyu or Kalenjin. Given that Kenya is a multiracial, multiethnic nation with 42 recognised tribes, this is a destructive and exclusionary notion that does not redress the sins of the past. These sins are; (1) the divide and rule politics and; (2) the establishment of a strong centralised state. Addressing the former, in the colonial era, the British chose to manage this diversity through ‘divide-and-rule;’ a governing strategy in which control is maintained by encouraging conflict between groups, thereby preventing them from uniting in opposition. As part of divide and rule, the British...

I absolutely hate admitting that I was wrong about something. But turns out I was wrong about men. I underestimated the extent to which patriarchy affects them and the ways in which women ought to respond to patriarchy as a whole.   Remember, in the 2010s women became vocal about the many ways in which men were lacking; from low emotional intelligence to the fact that they benefit from the presumption of competence ab initio  to questioning the very essence of masculinity. And I believe the consequences of the last of these that has been the most destructive. When we attempt to dismantle a system of expectations that have existed since time immemorial, without discussing a system to replace those expectations two things occur.  First, men get the message that everything they do is worthless and, ultimately, should be taken from them. This is not, nor has it ever, been the message of feminism. Feminism is about the equality of the sexes. It operates by working to dismantle...

The Imperial Powers are on a returning spree! In the last two years, Germany, France and Belgium have all agreed to repatriate stolen cultural artefacts. These artefacts include works of cultural import, as well as human remains of liberation heroes (like Patrice Lumumba’s tooth). Yet, there is one country conspicuously absent from this list . The Nation who, despite having a fraction of the world’s population, dominated and oppressed nearly a quarter of the world. The Nation that built an empire in which the sun would never set. I, of course, am talking about the United Kingdom.  As her neighbours recognise and acknowledge the harm they have caused, of course falling short of apologising and accepting moral and financial culpability, Britain has merely offered an expression of regret . This is unsurprising given that, in 2020, the British were more nostalgic about their colonial empire than its neighbours . Perhaps these sentiments are why the British have been reluctant to make g...

Two days ago, the identity of the President-Elect was revealed to the country. As usual, drama ensued.  As our newly elected officials brawled with the Chairperson of Kenya's Electoral Management Body, thus denying him the opportunity to announce the winner, and as four Commissioners rejected the Chairperson's results, the choir sang on. Literally . They sang about God's grace and his bountiful mercies, as politicians tussled, literally and figuratively, with the outcome of the 2022 Presidential Election. And for their commitment and professionalism, they should be recognised. After all, it is not easy to score the sounds of a sinking ship. Just ask the violinists of the Titanic! But as we recognise the choir for enabling a calm atmosphere, we cannot overlook the content of their performance.  As a friend pointed out to me the songs they sang, predominantly, extolled the virtues of the Christian faith. There is nothing wrong with the gospel focus; if it were being performed...

Today, the IEBC will announce who the next President of the Republic of Kenya will be. As the nation prepares itself for its new leader, I am provided with an opportunity to reflect on the nature of elections. And I've come to one conclusion; elections are weird. I know, I know. This is hardly a novel  conclusion or realisation. But this does not overwrite its importance. Elections are WEIRD. Think about it. On a single day of voting, an entire nation is supposed to decide who our next leader will be; making a choice that will define our country for the next five years. After campaigns rife with misinformation, double talk and the implicit acknowledgement by all  involved - including the voters - that politicians lie, we are provided, at most, 9 minutes to exercise our sovereign power as citizens to participate in the governance of our nation; only to have that power suppressed for the next 2.628 million minutes. With the stroke of a pen, we have the power to elevate a de...

Today, I write to kill time.  It is August 9th 2022, and I am currently standing in line to cast my vote. Every step I take, brings me closer to passing judgement on our candidates. And, as a result, I have barely moved an inch. Almost as if the powers that he know they have performed poorly and wish to forestall such judgement. In fact, my line has gotten longer somehow. So I write in an attempt to redirect my frustration and kill time. And today, I will be writing about purpose and voting. But not on the purpose, or necessity, of voting. On Voting : Voting is messy. Not the act of casting a ballot, but everything leading up to it. Procuring the election technology, establishing the guidelines, enduring campaign seasons, waiting in line and hoping to God the register has your details. Consequently, voting is a lot of work. Perhaps even a thankless task. Simply because every voter knows that my vote will not oblige my representative to act a certain way. Nor will it determine the o...

I've cracked the code! I, through the help of a mentor, figured out why I am such a perfectionist, try-hard 26-year-old with imposter syndrome. It turns out, that moving countries at a young age could fundamentally alter your personality and outlook on life. Who knew?!  Sarcasm aside, my mentor helped me realise that moving from Africa to Europe and back explains why I am keen to prove myself in any situation and why I always feel out of place. At 6, I moved from Africa - where I was a dot in a sea of black faces - to Europe - where I was the only  black face for miles. Though I doubt I was cognizant of this fact, it did change the way I interacted with myself and others around me. The racial and cultural differences marked me as an "other" at an age where being part of a community was the most important thing to me (who, of course, can forget how effective the threat "I won't be your friend anymore" was at the age of 6). As a result, I worked extremely hard...

When you think of space travel you don't think of Africa. But you should. In the 1960s, the Soviets and Americans weren’t the only ones trying to get to space. The Zambians were right alongside them, led by a man named Edward Mukuka Nkoloso. Nkoloso was a grade-school science teacher and director of Zambia’s National Academy of Space Research and Philosophy whose goals were very simple: to send a man, woman and, eventually cat, into space. There was one problem with his plan, however; there was no way it would work. In fact, the plan was so patently absurd, that many have wondered if the Zambian Space Agency was an exercise in satire, at best, or a demonstration of unbridled optimism untethered to reality, at worst.  The Programme: A clear example of the absurdity of the plan is the event that inspired Nkoloso to accept the directorship of Zambia’s Space Agency. Nkoloso was inspired by this first aeroplane flight. Whilst soaring through the air, Nkoloso desired to walk amongst the ...

In an effort to be more deliberate with this platform, I scheduled writing sessions for myself. There is just one problem with this. I have no idea what to write about. Sure, I could talk about the ongoing Ruso-Ukrainian war, the passage of the Child Bill in Kenya or the Presidential debate. I could pontificate on the practical application of contractualism (aka a school of moral philosophy that holds that we ought to treat each other in recognition of their value as human beings), or the extent to which man craves  subjugation. But none of these inspire me to reflect or engage in basic commentary. Perhaps it might be more accurate to say that I can think of no topic that would inspire me to engage in the necessary research needed to allow me to speak confidently of my opinion. So I find myself writing without purpose, in direct contravention of the purpose of this blog. Is this the first time this has happened? Not at all. Will it be the last? No, it will not be. But is this a bad...

... and I am exhausted. Not of life, or of the tedium of growing another year older and feeling like you've not done enough. I'm just tired; life is tiring and I could like to take a nap.  This year, for my birthday, I'd like to work because I want to, not because I have to. Hopefully, by 50, this will become a reality. 

I love Love Island! For the uninitiated, Love Island is a British reality TV shows that places, at any given time, 12 sexy singles in a Spanish holiday villa for 8 weeks. These bikini-clad singles are coupled up from day one - expected to share a bed and secrets - and are denied anything that might be entertaining (gaming systems, games, books and even pen and paper). As a result, couples are forced to chat with each other 24-7; getting to know each other and making and deepening connections. The objective is to remain in a couple (single Islanders are frequently purged from the Island), find love and win £50,000 (not to mention a slue of brand deals, sponsorships and a career as a verified influencer). And I love every minute of this vapid show. I know I shouldn't, I know it's not good for the contestants or me, but I do. The intellectual in me loves how the show functions as a microcosm of shifting expectations in relationships and dating in the UK. While the trash person ins...