REHANA BLOGS

I think Its time to shut it here.

Having really lived in Nairobi for six months, I never thought I'd wake up one day and realize that there has been no day that has passed since I have come to live here that I have not seen something new, something different, something I've never seen before. And yet, It's true. The first day I saw a carpet of purple outside my window, where the jacaranda tree had shed these beautiful little gems of nature. The day after that, I saw my reflection in a high-rise building, with the big city behind me. It was strange, it was different. I looked at myself and felt that I didn't really know this person staring back at me. And then I let go and continued running towards my destination. For this is what people in a busy city like Nairobi do. No one simply takes time to be themselves. And then I saw horses in the park. I've never seen such glorious horses, with velvety noses and gentle eyes. And then I saw the military men on their backs. First illusion shattered. And then ...

COLLEGE FRIENDS, TOGETHER FOREVER Sometimes, in the deepest recesses of my heart, I wonder, Why I ever met these girls, And these guys, If I had to lose them all over again, To the oceans that separate, To the vast lands that tear apart, To the immense gap that lies between Like the sides of a pent, Never to see each other Just to wonder, How it could have been How it once was.

Interesting week so far, I think. A mega-nice paycheck that's not coming through, a fall in the bathroom, a walk into a huge rain puddle, a hot coffee scald on my leg, and a black cat crossing my path. In that sequence. Which leads me to wonder: Do black cats reverse engineer the whole bad luck process? Or is that just a somewhat cheap shot at the endangered nature of my this-week-accident-prone body? Don't know, don't much care, either! For these past few weeks, I've been talking to this guy who is so amazing (at philosophizing) that it quite makes my brain go around in circles. Had a huge discussion on the trueness of Islam and Christianity. I think I won that round. I think. Another huge row on history in circles. I don't really believe all that crap. That what happened once will happen again, and again, and again, in different periods and eras, to different folk, in different circumstances. One would think: When so much is different, even the event's gotta b...

I've had a life well lived; a childhood in which I was loved, a heart which has been nurtured into blossom by two loving parents, a knowledge of the security of my future. It strikes me, as I read out my new resolutions, that I have taken for granted a lot of things. I've taken for granted my family, my home, my parents. I've taken for granted the fact that I'll always have a home, and someone who'll be happy to have me in their life. I've taken for granted the fact that I can have anything I want for breakfast, or for that matter, dinner. I've taken for granted the happiness that I experience in being alive. As a matter of fact, I've taken for granted the fact that I AM alive. To this extent, I've had to revise my New Year resolutions. I've done this so I can learn to enjoy the simple things in life. 1) To watch a sunset once a week. 2) To sit in Central Park and swing to the sky. 3) To talk to new people, make new friends. 4) To work in an NGO...

I think the best place is home. My home. I don't mean that as in, home is where the heart is, or all those other idiotic idioms that have no place in this post. I mean that home, my home, is just simply the best place I've ever been to. The best part: The Sunrise and the Sunset. Every day brings different hues brightening up the sky, livening up the horizon, vividly tracing individual cloud linings into a majesty of form and color. I don't know, the imagery does seem very inadequate, but perhaps that's the best I can do. Here it is. A Sunset at my place.

Wanna study, can't. Wanna write, can't. Wanna party, can't. Wanna freak out over something, can't. Lol... Lots of things I can't do at the moment... Hopefully, that will alter in some time (no point in stressing it, right?) :) Whats the probability that a guy wearing a t-shirt that reads 'It's all fun and games till the cops show up' gets caught by the cops for driving without a license? Read: 1 in 200000. So what's the probability that I would know this guy? Nil. You'd think so. You'd be right? Nope.. You'd be wrong.. LOL! What's the probability that in one hostel, two people boiling water in an electric kettle can trip a fuse that causes power to fluctuate and cause one certain person's mobile charger to give up the battle against the sudden infusion of juice into its system? Nil? Wrong. There's no way I can do this to yet ANOTHER phone. First one: Lost. Second: Stolen. Third: Didn't luck out either. Why do I always hear...

As Barack Obama made history by getting elected the 44 th president of the United States , they yelled. They shouted. They cried. They laughed. They sobbed. And they sung. They clapped hands and hugged as Obama was proclaimed the winner. I’m not talking about the African- Americans. Nope. I’m talking about the Africans. The Kenyans. Those chaps who take pride in the fact that Obama is a son of Kenya . That Barack Hussein Obama Sr. was the one person in thirty million who sired the first black president of the United States : the seat of top power. It seems to be somewhat of an irony that the first black president of the US isn’t someone whose family has suffered at the hands of the land or whose ancestors were once slaves but one whose whole life wasn’t governed by the concepts and dynamics of racism and whose roots are firmly entrenched in a small country on that vast continent that was once in the hands of the same white folks who applaud the coming of Obama to the highest s...

I've been reading a lot about Maya Angelou after a new friend from my hostel gave me Maya Angelou's six-pack biography. I loved it. I'm still not finished, but I have read the first two books of the series. The first one, I know why the caged bird sings, really captured my heart. I know its considered inspirational, and truth to tell, it WAS inspirational. I Googled up Maya Angelou, and discovered that she's a much more important person in the history of Black America than I previously thought. She's written quite a bit of poetry, but this one is one of my favorites. I hope you'll enjoy it too. PHENOMENAL WOMAN Pretty women wonder where my secret lies. I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size But when I start to tell them, They think I'm telling lies. I say, It's in the reach of my arms The span of my hips, The stride of my step, The curl of my lips. I'm a woman Phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, That's me. I walk int...

Wow!!!! I just realized that it's been over 2 months since I last posted here. Well, an interesting tidbit for you guys: I've started an anonymous blog.:) It's quite the latest in political parody and the discrediting of some fellows on the world scene: MY WAY!!! Unfortunately, I've heard quite a bit about blog-haters turned stalkers, and since the situation in Kenya is a bit too volatile for anything of this level, I've had to keep it under wraps. But I do hope you Stumble Upon it someday, and get to enjoy it! As a matter of fact, I've had a few hundred hits already and its only been up a few days!:) Yay... Maybe now, Google Adsense will finally work for me!:) UPDATE: I've been on a travel rampage. Visited Nairobi for a coupla days (it was Fuckin Cold, then!), and went on to Nakuru, where it was remarkably hot! In Nakuru, spent a day at the Nakuru National Park, and if you're a friend, you've heard about the Rhino story. If you're not.. Too bad....

How many of us argue for the sake of arguing? I do it a lot. I don’t know. I just like the concept of knowing more than there is to know. Does that make sense? It’s not like I have fun annoying other people. Although maybe I do. We all do, right? I was having a chat with a friend the other day and he sort of mentioned that he hates arguing with people who think they’re right and aren’t willing to listen to a different viewpoint whatsoever. He feels, apparently, that if you know you’re right, you’ve got to have the facts to back up the fact that you know you’re right. Facts. Plural. Arguing over something when you’ve only one single solitary piece to stand up for you doesn’t count. Cut the crap. Move on. Tell me. Convince me that you’re right. And then maybe I’ll believe you. Or maybe I’ll come up with a stronger argument to support my case. At the very least, I’ll annoy you merely by disagreeing with the fact that you’re right. Wow. That was a lot of you’re right. Actually, the con...

How do you talk to someone about what you’re feeling at any particular moment and expect them to relate to you? How do you start writing a book when you have no idea what its going to be about? How do you meet the person you want to be with for the rest of your life for the first time in your life? How do you judge someone who’s done a horrible thing harshly and not understand the true concept of judgment? How do you ask someone to lie and cover for your mistake when you have no account of the entirety of the repercussions of that mistake? I know. So many questions. So many answers. So many choices. So many decisions. I start a discussion with someone and I know they can’t give me the perspective I want. They just can’t. Because what I’m asking from them is something they can’t give, not because they’ve never experienced it but because they’ve never thought it. I can count on one hand the people I know who are conscious of each decision they make, every time they make it. I’m not one o...

We were robbed yesterday night. Time: 1.26 AM. Details: 3 armed thugs entered the house. Beat my mum and threatened to cut off her arm if she didn’t cooperate and give them money. Hit my father with a rungu. Bashed my uncle’s head with the butt of a gun. Forced our security guard to lie on the floor inside the house after giving him a thorough beating. How they entered: They followed my uncle’s car into the gate, before the security guard could shut it. They got away with plenty of things. I was sleeping in my cousin’s room upstairs, since we were having guests. My mum and dad were in my room. They got into it, and turned everything upside down. They made off with my wallet, two cameras, my memory cards, my laptop bag, and plenty of other miscellaneous things. They also made off with quite a lot of money, and a bit of jewelry from our guests. What is the world coming to?

Had a darned good time on the safari this weekend! Here's a pic of a wild baboon that attempted some really good poses for us! I just love this pic.. He looked like he wanted to lift my camera a minute ago! Oh well, at least I captured him looking somewhat disappointed! I'll have the whole story sometime this week with lots and lots of pics!:)

In our lives, there are two kinds of people. Those who see the potential we have, and those who don't. If one is fortunate, then one has plenty of the former in their lives, as compared to the later. It is these people who inspire us, encourage us to perform to the best of our abilities. It is they who give us the courage to be what WE want to be, and not what others want us to become. Mrs. Khan was my teacher in Kensec. Before that, she was my tuition teacher when I was in Memon. It was she who built my dreams, who encouraged me to do something few girls had ever attempted, she who saw the person I could be one day. I am thankful that she was there, when I graduated as an electronics engineer. She gave me a hug that day, when I met her for the first time after completing my course. She's never hugged me before. When she died, the world lost something. So many students, so many people who looked up to her, were lost, left defeated, at the magnitude of the evil that was done to...

In this land, this land of the living, there are three things worth noting. First. The world is flat. It goes on and on and on. Second. Fire roars, and destroys before you even know it’s touched you. All living beings come into contact with fire at one point or another in their lives. Freaks me out. Three. We love being loved, but we can’t give that love back. It’s like we’re not emotionally capable of doing that. The human mind is weird in that manner. If no-one wants to give love, then no-one can receive it. Weird. Past, present, future; it all adds up to one thing. Time. We go on and on, and live out our days. But there are days that we relive again and again and again. I’m looking forward to tomorrow with bright eyes, even though I’ve lived it a thousand times. Every time I raise my eyes to see something, I experience that feeling that I’ve seen it before. Not just once. It’s like déjà vu, only a hundred times worse. There are conversations I have that I’ve had five years ago. ...

Forever etched on this stone lies a little bit of what I used to be. On this stone is a memory that is etched in my brain, as though with glass. It is this stone that is responsible for my foray into the land of the living. A person can never have too many memories, and yet I do. I have too many memories. Memories tied to this stone, memories that remain on this stone, even as it undergoes a daily drenching by this water of this ocean. They are memories of a life that once lived, that had a place in this world, a life that had yet to be fulfilled. A life that was wiped out of existence long ago. A life that managed to take only the essence of true friendship away, and left everything else behind. On this stone, this rock on this beach are etched memories of two girls, who sat together and played snakes and ladders, holding the board firmly against the wind. On this stone, two small lives talked about the presence of ghosts, and spirits. On this stone, two spirits met and bonded a...

A few weeks ago, as my mum was cooking in the kitchen, she put the potatoes on one side of the counter,next to the window as she went off towards the fridge, gathering the other ingredients for a potato curry. When she came back, two were gone. Who took them? The next thing that disappeared was a little brush for a litle girl, taken from the first floor room of my little niece. With a silver handle, and a lovely little mirror on one side, it's loss was a mystery. Who took it? In the rack outside the kitchen, where abound onions and potatoes, and bananas just off the market, things started running off by themselves. Or did someone take them? Then, as my grand-aunt sat in the living room performing her prayers, there appeared an answer. She's hard of hearing, my grand-aunt, in a slightly comical way. Sometimes, she hears fine, and goes, 'Don't shout in my ears!' Other times, no matter how much one tries to tell her something, she doesn't quite get it, but...

Today morning, at about 8.00 am, when everyone was on their way to work, I was on my way to scout for a job; another day of tracking through projects online, and writing proposals for the ones I felt I felt I was right for. It happened such that I was brooding about the changes that seem to have taken place in this country in the last three months, when I was stopped by a lady officer, who had somehow noticed that the left corner lamp of my car was missing. ' Hili Gari halina taa. Taa likowapi? ' She asked in Swahili. This translates into, 'This car has no light. Where's the light?' When you're stopped by a police officer in any part of Kenya, you should know that you're probably going to end up leaving the scene with a lighter pocket, or wallet, as the case may be. ' Taa imeibiwa, mama. Ilichukuliwa huku posta. ' I said. 'The light has been stolen, Mam, it was taken at the post office.' There was some kind of irony in that, I thought. To hav...

Did I mention that I was a Murph? Well, what happened this weekend merely seems to enhance the fact that I am, in fact, a Murph. As in, I’m a person who is the living, breathing true-to-life proof that Murphy’s Law persists. Since my sister was in a wedding, I volunteered to baby-sit her daughter Alishba, in the process giving up my social life for three days. Three whole days, each of which was exactly twenty four hours; seventy two hours which were more than enough to make me take a firm stand in what I now call the Motherhood is the Toughest Job in the World Cause. How was I ever so ignorant as to think that taking care of babies is a breeze? How did one small baby manage to create in me an exhaustion that is on par with jetlag? And after the whole weekend, I’ve come to the conclusion that Like Aunt, Like Daughter. She seems to be a Murph too. Which I a pity. This world surely doesn’t need more of us. Alishba is ten months old. She’s a fast crawler, and her favorite place is her...