REHANA BLOGS

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...

In the entire span of my short life, I have missed five flights, two international ones included. Maybe there’s an art to it, I wouldn’t know. It seems remarkably easy, after the first time you do it. And sometimes, it’s just the first flight that matters, and all the connecting ones are lost too. Sometimes, you land in different cities, and sometimes, your luggage gets left in Nairobi, three connecting flights away. In that case, it never helps to make a fuss; you might just as well go on to your final destination, and include the lost luggage in your nightly prayers. In time, it shall make its way to where it was supposed to be in the first place, and if you’re lucky, it’ll only be slightly wet. If you’ve had the foresight to pack it up with plastic paper to avoid moistness, odds are that you won’t be missing your flight in the first place. If you have a habit of chatting all the time, as I do, you have to be more careful. Once, I began chatting with a colleague, and the next thing I...

Ever since we’ve moved into this house; which is apparently in a residential area even though its half jungle, we’ve been surrounded by all sorts of animals, mostly of the normal domestic variety such as the goats that wander around eating off most of the lawn outside the walled garden, to the cats that try to get into the kitchen from atop the walls thereby getting themselves electrocuted, to the strange mongrel breeds of dogs that sometimes see fit to keep our security man on the alert. To a family that has never seen the use of pets of the animal sort in the house, apart from a rat-catcher in the early nineties, which was thrown out for having kittens and eating them; the concept of being an animal magnet is a strange one. When one observes the types of fauna to be found in the vicinity of man, one is almost certain to discount the presence of camels and monkeys. And yet, these are the very animals that seem to have found a home in us. When we first moved to the new house, it...

Whatever can go wrong, will. Murphy’s Law, somehow, doesn’t seem to apply to people who are smart, ultra-efficient and organized, people who know where they want to go. It applies to the scatter-brained people; those who wake up, and discover that nothing they do today will cause their hair to behave. These are the people who help old ladies cross the street, but miss their tram to work; who take time to don good clothes for an interview and get splashed; who have a good laugh imitating their boss, only to discover him standing behind them. I have been steam-rollered by Murphy my entire life. From missing flights, to finding myself about to be eaten by a croc, I have discovered Murphy riding on my shoulder. It’s as if he’s guiding you into more mischief. For all but a few of us, Murphy is non-existent. He preys more on the dreamers than the doers. Most doers are people who enjoy living their lives, and are subliminally confident that nothing can go wrong. They waltz through life, ...

I sometimes volunteer to sit at the shop, and be a sales-girl when life becomes too mundane for me. In this case, having volunteered for a stint at the shop, I had to leave from home at 2.00 pm, along with Sam, the other sales-girl, so that we could get to the shop and open it by three. This was during the time of the post-election riots, but since we sell bread, which is essential to most of the living in Mombasa , staying at home like sane people do was never an option. We called up one fellow called Richard, who happens to own a tuk-tuk asking him to come and pick us. In case you’re wondering, a tuk-tuk is a Thai word which means Auto-Rickshaw. In Swahili slang, the word tuk-tuk is substituted for piki-piki . By now, you must be coming to the conclusion that in Swahili, syllables are oft repeated to make the word; which is a rather hasty conclusion to be making of this language, for no other words have repeated syllables. Richard, unfortunately, had left for his village, ...

The Indian Auto Rickshaw (pronounced ‘Riksha’ in South India ), is typically a dull yellow conveyance with a two cylinder engine and excessive exhaust fumes. Having never sat in one before, I watched with some trepidation as a passer-by hailed one, harangued over the price with the driver, got in, and braced himself for the ride. When it started moving, I understood why. I was standing outside Chennai International Airport , on my first trip to India . The air was different, the people were different, the language was different. But it didn’t take me long to notice, that of the all differences, it was the difference in transport that was truly different! Gone were the ‘matatus’ that are so abundant in Kenya . Gone were the clear streets, and the greenery in the cities. Gone were those red metro buses that have fixed rates. In fact, a fixed rate for transport is a design that is not only not common in India , but sometimes if you mention it, you’ll be the cause of a few good laughs!...