THE NEW WUEH OF LIFE!

Wueh! I have been preparing myself psychologically to write, and when I finally got to this blank canvas, I thought of my first line, and all I had to say was that term we proud Kenyans use when wueh is wuehing. Okay, seriously, it’s used as an exclamation when things get really tough or incomprehensible, and you have no more words to express yourself. I had to explain that for the sake of my international audience. But why the wueh? Because, wueh! Mjango, life? Life has been happening.

I know, I know, there’s nothing new under the sun, and life has been happening ever since Eve ate the apple and Adam absolved himself of responsibility. I think now I know why wanaume huruka ball—they learned it from their forefather. (Not good though). But I say life has been happening because I, and most of us reading this, have reached that age where the veil on our minds is lifted, and we start to experience life as it is.

Reason? We are not kids anymore. The curtain that was before us, heavily guarded by our parents—which shielded us from the harsh realities of life—was slowly drawn as we steered past 18. These realities are innumerable but partly include the responsibilities that living comes with. I think when you are not responsible for something, you have no clue about what it takes to handle it. You are so oblivious, and I mean utopia oblivious, to anything and everything. And worse, you don’t even care.

Another side to these realities is how life is expensive, both in the financial sense and in the sense that life is precious. Again, since we were kids, we, of course, didn’t know how much it costs just to have food on our tables, clothes on our backs, and a roof over our heads. The oblivion! Fine, backgrounds are different, and even if you came from a humble background, as a child you almost still couldn’t fully comprehend that cost—especially if there was someone who looked after you in one way or another. When the veil starts to drop off and the curtain is drawn, you realize that damn, living is just so freaking expensive.

Furthermore, I told someone recently that living, in itself, is an expense, in the sense that everything just demands money from you. I will amuse you with the example I gave her for saying this. One evening, I was alighting from a matatu after work; a matatu that I had paid for transport so I could go work somewhere to get money to fund this expensive life. As I was getting out, my jeans—not material trousers—were ripped by the door. It was a small rip, yes, but I was pissed because now I was being forced to buy another pair so soon, yet this one had some time left in its fabric. Suddenly, I incurred a loss. And who is going to buy the new pair? Everything just costs money. You get sick, you need money to get treated especially because freaking SHA is a scam. You get money like this, you get a call from your relatives that your cow just died. So that's a plus one minus one situation. You're just sat at the bar counter having your mimosa, you turn on your phone and find yourself in a Whatsapp group for contributions towards your former classmate's send off. Sigh.

And now about life being precious. Sigh. Just sigh!

Allow me to take a break on that note and properly introduce the agenda for this piece. If you have related to the ink I have spilled so far, congratulations! You are a young adult! You are the intended audience for this blog. I haven’t written here for dog years. For those who, out of goodwill, came to my chambers with an umbrella to see where the rain started beating me, and hopefully help relieve the beating—thank you. You probably heard me give one reason here and another there, but all of it was fumbles and tail wags to say life has just been happening. I reached places where I questioned my mortality, fainted at the well where I used to derive purpose, and it drove a wedge in my creative will.

Right now, looking back, I reckon that it’s all part of growing up. It is a necessary process that I now believe everyone should go through. I was the child every parent would use as an example while telling their kids, “Be like so and so…” I was the teenager who looked like he had it all figured out. I would pull my hair whenever I spoke to a peer, and they said they didn’t know what they wanted to be in life. When they said they didn’t know what to do in college, they could hear how I was building something ‘constructive’ like a blog while they had nothing to show for their time on earth. Possibly, they felt like they weren’t living as they were supposed to. That their life was going to the gutters, and mine? Mine was going to the moon and possibly the stars. But today? In this age, I’m already about to Google, “How to shave nose hair?” I humbly say they were okay not to know. And it was only a matter of time before I got to such a phase myself—a time I find myself saying, “I’m just going with the motions, mahn. I don’t know what to do or what I am doing with my life.” It was worse for me because I not only didn’t know what to do, but I also didn’t know why I was doing what I was seeming to do!

I had to question: why do I have a blog? Why do I have a podcast? Why do I work so hard to get this and get that? Why do I believe what I believe? Why am I with so and so, and not so and so? In fact, I will call it 'The Why Phase of Life.' I said it’s a necessary process because sometimes you have to get lost to know the way. Ever been taken to a place so many times but never contemplated whether you’d know the way if you were left to go on your own? It’s like when I got to the age where I NEEDED to know my way around Nairobi Town. In my early years, like most, I had been in town with Mum or Dad countless times, but never to master the way. The time came when I went to high school, and there came the need to know how to navigate. I always depended on my older schoolmates.

Then one day during school holidays, I can’t remember where I was coming from. I needed to meet my dad somewhere so we could go home. He had to ask a neighbor of ours who worked in town to pick me from wherever I was so he could stay with me in his office until my dad arrived. (God continue to rest that neighbor’s soul, by the way. He was such a good soul. A very chill guy. He departed too soon, shortly after his first child was born.) I remember sitting in his car, and he asked, “Haujui town? Hii ni Moi Avenue. Ile side ingine ni Tom Mboya Street. Hio side ya Tom Mboya Street, kuenda chini, ni downtown. Moi Avenue, kuenda juu, ni uptown. Moi Avenue is like the spine of town. At the end of it is Railways; stage yetu iko hapo.” Mjango! Since that day, I set foot in town and navigated my own ways, following the cheat code I was given. I wasn’t afraid of getting lost because I knew where true North was. To date, there is nowhere in town I can ever be and say I am lost. But it took some solo ventures to get to that confidence level you know.

In the same way, I have had to be baptized into the wilderness of my being so I can cease to do things out of childhood ambitions, societal expectations, peer pressure, solely chasing the bag or mere perceived passion. I need to start doing things out of intentionality, with realistic views of life—not just out of passion or money but, more importantly, for personal fulfillment. For instance, now? I’m not writing this piece because I love writing or because I have or had defined myself as a writer. Or because y'all expect me to or the hopes that one day I'll hit the jackpot from this. I’m writing this because I’m finding fulfillment in thinking out loud and connecting with you, likeminded people on grounds you can relate to as well. I’m finding joy in sharing my story.

And so this is my story: lately, I have gathered thoughts concerning the stage of life I am in. I have put them into perspective, and I am amazed at what I’m discovering as the days go by. These reflections are more bewildering because we have the reflections of life in our primary years on one side and the transformation of our newfound adult life on the other. Oh, how young, naive, mindless, and oblivious we were!

If we could, we need to apologize to every older person we ever judged. Heh. Either our parents for forgetting things, or our math teacher for wearing the same pair of shoes every day and coming to eat supper with the boarders. Or that guy who comes to your cell group fellowships so he can have tea and mandazi and then overstays until you cook supper. Or that mama who is fighting with the conductor over ten shillings. That guy who sits by the huge concrete pavement along Thika Road every evening, or those who sleep on the grass at the Pangani interchange. Those old men who drive mkokotenis, or those boys who walk around neighborhoods with a gunia in one hand and a stick fitted with a magnet in the other.

That boda guy you overheard his lamentations over how his heart is broken because someone stole his fat and only rooster on the eve of his fiancée’s parents visiting. Your parents when they said they don’t have money. Your aunt who doesn’t have children. Your uncle who was always drunk at family gatherings. Your older sister who always stored a condom and pepper spray in her purse. When people cry on the news saying, “Serikali saidia.” The watchman in your court who was always sleeping on his shift because he has to work two jobs. The househelp who came to work in your home with her own kids. The French teacher who was pregnant and had a hard time bending to pick a piece of chalk. Parents who took loans.

The school cook who would take bribes from students. Your older sister when she got pregnant, or your brother who got a girl pregnant. A family friend who was always on a strict diet. The neighbor who used to drive a big car and is now borrowing fare from your father. The potty tummy your family friend got after giving birth. The couple that stopped coming to church. The beggar on the street who speaks very good English. People who do DNA tests. The Muslim widows who sit at a distance outside the mosque. The new couple in church that didn’t disappear for a honeymoon. The couple that got married on a weekday with only the pastor and bridal team present. Your friend’s father who came for visiting day with a newspaper. Your classmate in primary when she said they never go to ushago (upcountry).

Couples that employed surrogates. The matron who was always going to pray the rosary on her own or your mother when she woke up every night to pray. Single mothers. Your father when he strictly forbade you and your siblings from eating at other peoples’ places. Your mother when she secretly handed your father a note so he could pay the bill. Your mom when she chased away the househelp, never to employ another. Your father when he sold his car to buy your brother a powerful laptop he needed for work. Couples who separated. Your friend’s mother when she lost hair and became emaciated.

The list goes on and on. Now you understand. You may not have judged them, but you may not have understood why they were in some states or did certain things. The veil is gone; the curtain is drawn. Now you can see. Now? Now you humbly understand. This is adulting—the new way of life. Or shall I say, the new wueh of life!

To be continued…