As I flash you.

I blame it all on poor timing.

I left the house three hours prior to my LO’s appointment factoring in traffic, Nairobi’s erratic weather patterns, and the possibility of running into those dastardly politicians taking up both lanes as they profess lies and make ugly any wall they come across with their unnecessary posters. I get to the doc’s, do the usual checkup (LO has gained weight, yay me!), then the dreaded jabs are given and she screams like I never knew possible.

I figure we have made really good time, so a trip to the supermarket would not be a bad idea. 15 minutes later, we are at Galleria with Nakumatt in sight. I don’t know why, but I strangely looked forward to shopping, even if it’s just for that one soda which I am dying for given my daily dose of caffeine had not been met. I make a bee line for the refreshments aisle, and then I hear it. The slight whimper which signifies that a cry will be next if attention is not given. I rock her slightly, and tell her to go back to sleep, I need only a soda, and maybe those eat-sum-mo cookies then we will be out.

Who was I kidding.

LO got cross as a bear and did not care for my attempts at soothing her. She started screaming, my nerves started grating. I decided to walk as fast as possible towards the drinks section and be out of there before everything went south.  I had forgotten that not only was I out of shape, but also .1 of a ton. My attempts at a brisk walk were met by my back aching and my legs slowing down to a crawl, the furthest distance I had covered in months was between my living room and the bedroom, and Nakumatt was not the size of a servants quarter. LO meanwhile had switched it up, and was putting on a grand show for anyone with ears.  It was time to feed and she was not going to stop.

I asked a lady in blue where the nursing room was, she looked at me with confusion written all over her face and declared that she was new and did not know where that product was. She referred me to a Nakumatt employee for assistance. Nkt! By now, I had buckets of sweat pouring down my face, and my arms were shaking from the weight of my LO. I spotted a high chair with a table, and figured my feet could use a break.  I must have looked like a monster with all the sweat and makeup running down my neck to an already soaked blouse, huffing and puffing and being screamed at by a baby with nothing to wet my parched lips. I was at wits end. I CAREFULLY placed LO on the table and struggled to lift myself on to the chair designed for models with endless legs. I caught sight of the time and realized I had not fed LO in over two hours, no wonder she was upset. I immediately went into autopilot and followed my Tuzo routine.

I grabbed my boobs, but could not remember which one fed last. So I cupped both and “weighed” them to feel which one was heavier. The left one was a clear winner, so I lifted my blouse, unhooked the cup, positioned the boob and placed LO who immediately stopped crying, much to everyone’s relief.

That was when I noticed her.

The lady whose chair I was sitting on had been watching me in shock the whole time. I had taken over her space and she now did not have anywhere to place her Sleek merchandise which she was holding on to for dear life. I gave her a blank look and she stared back, when she pointed at me and lowered her gaze to where I guessed was my chest area. I looked down and saw it, like everyone else on that aisle.

My boobage was all out.

In my haste, I had thrown up my blouse and forgotten to arrange it after deciding lefty was the winner. So now I had one boob feeding, and the other just sitting there, waving at guys and mouthing “call me” to extra fine men who passed by. I gingerly pulled down my blouse, asked about the eyebrow pencil number 123 given mine was almost out. The girl could not find her tongue.

Thankfully, LO was done feeding, I re-cupped my now empty boob, said goodbye and climbed down.  Half way to the exit, I realized I had left my handbag behind. I hurried back only to find the same girl standing in front of the chair, right beside my handbag. I picked up my bag and followed her gawk.

I was looking at an imprint of my mammoth butt and back.

I had under estimated the amount of heat and sweat I was emitting. That a butt print was still there 5 mins after exit could not possibly be a good thing. I left without a word. I will be covering up the next time I am in public…to save face.

cover up

Image Credits

Header Credits.





Image credits.


i CAN’T deal!

Where is the rewind button for this day?

I have suffered a day marred by failure.

I do not mind doing something and failing, far from it. What I cannot deal with is the feeling that tags at my being and drains me. That emotion that feels like the grey area between wakefulness and the twilight zone. That heady sensation that links straight to the pit of your stomach, and pulls at your innards so you feel like retching but you can’t, because the emotion is not real. Still you can’t shake it. It won’t leave you.


The worst emotion of all time.

When you attend 4 consecutive interviews and you receive nothing but  glowing compliments on your achievement and amazing potential. Only to receive a letter of regret from the same people who assured you of success. They hired a person with less potential and limited ambition, and far less experience and credentials. Disappointment.

You have dated for close to five years. Moved in together. Have a savings account together. Seen various plots where you will build your future home. Picked out names for your unborn children. You are definitely getting married. And then you don’t. You find yourself single. It happened too quickly, and you cannot retrace your steps. He marries someone else, and yes, your brilliant plans are executed by her. Disappointment.

You switch from using the pill to something more reliable and at least 99% success rate. The pills made you fat, and you were not consistent in taking then on Saturday mornings. The doctor said you may experience a change in your flow, may be heavier, maybe lighter, but it will pan out after 3 months. What you got instead was no period at all. Because the two bars signify an invasion that you were avoiding.  Disappointment.

You are late for a meeting, and traffic does not make sense. Three cars and two matatus ahead of you make a U turn and take a different route. If only time could stand still for an hour so you can get to your meeting without having sweated your foundation away. Two more cars make the U turn. What the hell, you do the same and swerve into the opposite lane gunning for the “chochoro” that will save you 40 minutes in transit. Just as you turn, a cop on a bike appears in your rear view mirror. He signals for you to stop, and you know you are in deep sh*t. He looks approachable and is in high spirits. Your low cleavage and coquettish laughter is not working as it usually does. You offer him a bribe, and he declines. Because it is the holy month and he is fasting. Your case will be heard on Monday. Disappointment.

If you identify with any of these scenarios, then you know how I am feeling.

If you’ll excuse me, I need to go talk to a man about a dog, one from Tennessee!


*chochoro is a short cut, usually down a dark dangerous ally.


Image credits.