Recieving all office calls and directing them accordingly. Registering and welcoming new clients and updating existing records. Responding to clients queries in person, on phone and on email. Managing the doctors personal email, responding to straightforward queries and printing out the emails that need her personal attention. Booking and following up on appointments. Maintaining neatness in the reception area and supervising the subordinate staff. Coordinating monthly recurring bills and paying them when due, paying monthly NHIF and NSSF for all employees. In charge of invoicing, payments and billing enquiries. Managing petty cash, ordering and recieving office supplies. Reminding clients of impending or skipped reviews and vaccination for their pets. Filling, writing employments letters, warnings and congratulatory letters, and memos addressed fellow employees. Acting as the personal assistant to the doctor, assisting in any other chores as instructed.
Raised from a Christian family by a beautiful, strong, God fearing, loving and kind mother, surrounded by beautiful siblings. My mom worked hard to ensure that we never felt the gap of our missing
dad father. Our first few years were a struggle, or so they say, by the time I understood the world around me, my family was doing well, lucky Uh! We ate good food, dressed well, went to boarding school and felt like the cool kids.
I was privileged to grow up in an environment full of kids to play around with, and grown ups to look up to. Some set a good example while some, well, no need to mention. Despite having plenty of girls I could play with, love and feel loved, I always struggled to fit in. I felt unwelcome, issolated and the odd one out. This feeling became stronger as a young adolescent, that age where you have to come up with a hundred reasons why your
dad father works all year and never comes home. It’s not easy guys. Thanks to our lovely mom(she’s my life) and sisters(they are my best friends), at least home felt complete. It was a haven of peace, comfort and love. On one occasion my then best friend came to school on monady morning and told me that they bumped into my father in town on sartuday(I had never seen him myself), her mother told her about us and she used that against me for the whole term, telling every friend we shared and making sure everyone who was for me ended up being against me. It was bad. It messed with my esteem. It tormented me. Going to school everyday became the worst nightmare.
I love my mom. She has been our all for all our life. The only thing she never did was defend us from our cruel friends. She would choose friends for us, literally. She would forbid us from playing and being friends with your latest bestii. Seriously, who does that! Hell would break lose if you dared go to any of the homes of the forbidden friends. Visiting was a taboo. You wouldn’t go, they wouldn’t come, period! We wouldn’t understand then but looking back, the people she warned us about, the ones we forcefully hooked ourselves to are the ones who hurt us the most. From making us carry their bags home, doing their homework and get flogged for it, exchanging our new shoes with their old ones first thing in the morning, giving them half our food at lunch time, gosh, do hidden ever learn! But where are they now. If I start descibing them with their lifestyles I will have a hard time remaining humble so let me leave it at that. Karma is real, better treat people better.
I later went to boarding school. Away from mum and home for the first times my life. The homesick was just too much. It never seemed to adopt, like never in the two years I was there did I feel at home. Anytime mum would come visiting I was left wishing she never came. I long to be a parent, I mean I can’t want to have kids, and one thing I know for sure, I am never taking my kids to boarding school unless they ask. This doesn’t mean it was a bad idea, mum did her best to give us good education, and there were better schools then in ourneighbourhood. I am so grateful that she did, coz it contributed to shaping my life but with the many options have in our times, it’s a no for me.
On the positive, this school helped me built my confidence. The independence that comes with being away from home, the responsibilities and the need to care for your little possessions is a plus to any kids life. For a person like methods was used to being the last born, and demanding too much attention to myself, it seemed a little unfair, maybe to much of a responsibility. My dresses adopted an new look in the first month, not to mention the ugly stains on panties that are not properly washed, no judgement though, I had ever done any laundry before. Those innerwear inspection days a week after school opened were a nightmare. The female teachers and the matron would come round checking if we had five panties, five petticoats, five vests, five pays of socks…and the list continues. To be on the safe side, I would just two panties and keep the rest for the inspection so they were always clean, ready and waiting. I remember on one occassion I managed to hide some avocados in my box then forgot about them. Then there was this rotten smell. I had to get rid of them quickly before someone noticed and reported me to the matron. So I cribbed the black plastic bag, threw it in the bin and off to class. I came back to the same filthy smell only to realise that I had disposed the bag with my new panties instead of the avocados and worse still, the garbage was on fire, someone was so quick to complete his duties I dint have time to save them. I cried myself a river.
At this point in life every normal adolescent starts having crashes on the boys around. I was no exemption. The only problem was that all the cool boys preffered the cool girls. I was from the village, and I had these really dark skin around my eyes from scratching so obviously, I dint stand a chance. I was okay with it though, honestly. It dint bother me much, I was used to not being appreciated.
The first time I set my foot in my first high school, I felt no. I looked at mum and my big sister like, you really want to leave me here? First of all the school was in the furthest end of the world. It was soo cold, like freezing cold at noon. I have always been cold with unending running nose and sneezing so I knew for sure that I would die there, literally. Then there we these giant girls with skirts so tiny and tight and they were looking at us with threatening confidence, I couldn’t take it. The dormitory I was admitted to was miles away frothed rest of the school. The first night the students told us stories of how men would sneak into the dorm and rape students. I wish they never did, I dint sleep for a fortnight. It wasn’t true though. If there was any rapist in that school, I definitely was those stupid lesbians. Now here is the problem, we want and wish the best for our kids, so we take them to single sex schools to protect them from whatever it is that we think they may do. The truth is, worse things happen the single schools. The best you can do ifor your child is raise them well. Teach them to fear God and lest assured they shall walk through the valley of the shadow of death, and emerge unchanged.
I was transfered to a mixed school in Form two. Let’s just say that this is where my story began. This is the place that taught me to appreciate atnd love myself more. It built my confidence. I made solid relationships, some of which still mean alot to me. I had alot of attention, alot of it! Sounds good huh. I was new and beautiful. This smooth flawless face, long shiny black hair like my mum’s, I dint have curves yet but I was a definition of beauty. Applications were coming fast, alot of candidates, cool guys. Some even left their girlfriends before I even knew they existed. I felt like a goddess but truth is the whole awesomeness scared me. I have not grown up with men around me, my brother is ten years younger than me. I was used to girls, Period!
I am not intending to play self righteous here so I did pick on. He was always kind to me, he adored me. He was clean, neat, actually how’s the cleanest. That was an important aspect to look out for in that environment where boys believed bathing was a sign of weakness. Nose masks should have been a basic requirement on admission, it would have helped a great deal. He was not very bright academically, which was a plus for me. I like being in the front pews, on the wheel. I dint really know what exactly love is but I know for sure that I felt something for him. Something so deep it lasted for years post-secondary. You know the kind of obsession that is brave enough to take risks and not consider the what ifs. I remember going to see him at home when he got an accident. I had no idea how to explain to mum. Miracles happen, she even gave me money to shop for his family. Am still not sure if she ever discovered it was a male friend.
Being admitted to Kenyatta University was a dream come true. The day mum took me to town to shop for my necessities has always been special. Being given chance choose a handbag, it felt like heaven. I couldn’t wait, talk of anxiety. I came alone, I was to be collected at nyamakima by Mercy my elder sister, she is never early. I waited for hours, cried my heart out in the streets. I arrived some minutes to six, my hair was flat-ironed silky and delicate, I was in this perfectly tailored dress, with an length that perfectly defines village. I had these high heeled open shoes that I never saw again since.
I joined campus and reunited with my friend from highschool. It was hectic walking for kilometers from one lecture Hall to another. Sometimes lectures would end before we even located the hall. Az 39 was a nightmare, on one occasion we looked for the hall for almost an hour, then all seats were occupied, by the time we transferred seats from another hall and settled with a book and pen, the lecturer called of the class. Comrades looked at us and laughed so hard, I felt like I would never set foot in that class again. Our circle expanded with time. Am not a social being, almost all my friends are in my life coz they are a friend to my friend. I have a problem with making friends only own.
My sister, mercy helped me settle in. She took care of me and shared all she had with me. I was a self sponsored student so I dint have the helb loans, she shared hers with me. She would take me to the market and buy fancy tops and trousers for me. She would give me fare to school and more for lunch every single day. I remember a day I met her at shopping centre, she counted to her last coin and bought me lunch, then she told me she would walk home(who is cutting onions?). The cooking sessions in the common kitchen of our hostel, the late nights dancing to kidudu mtu,counting coins until 9bob and taking ugali with turungi for lack of a shilling to add up to some sukuma. Funniest thing is that we always had luxury shopping like mayonnaise and handwash that we took from Grace’s. We wore some expensive dresses, also donations from our eldest sister but life was beautiful. Charity later joined us and we were moved to a one bedroomed house in ruiru. We shared the house, each of us had their our mattress and beddings, we would do house chores in shifts. Grace would come visiting once in while and buy us a massive shopping to last us for months.
I had sweet beautiful awesome girlfriends. We were inseparable. We sat in the front pews class. We had specific sitting positions. No matter how full the class was no operated to take our positions. Mercy, one of our friends lived in a fully furnished two bedroomed house belonging to a cousin who had transferred to mombasa for a short contract. He dint want to lose his house so he left it under care of mercy. We loved this house. It was spacious and had the capacity to hold all of us comfortably. Once in a semester we would organise for a night in the house, we would contribute money, buy meat and drinks,change into boots pants and danceable night. Wow, it was fun.
now the story begins
It was during this time that I met this guy. His name was Paul. We went to the same highschool so the first time we met in campus we weren’t very new to each other. He was kinda weird, he had only one friend and would go home on every chance. He dint like to be around people and beforehand introduced him to anyone, you had give him a brief summary of what the person is like, what they do, who are his/her friends, how do you know the person, even my sisters! All these seemed quite normal to me. I thought he was just reserved. He owned a small movie shop back at home which he had been managing before he joined campus. He had completed highschool two years before me but in campus he was two years behind me. It dint make any sense but with the business to show, he may have different priorities which is allowed.
Love grew fast, we were so fond of each other. We would spend plenty of time together, watching movies I his laptop,we loved walking, we would walk for miles, sit by a bridge with our feet in the river life was a fairly tale. He lived in a small funny house that wouldn’t stand extreme temperatures. Nights were extremely cold, days were extremely hot, must have been the roofing. It was so small you would knock off utensils if you weren’t careful enough when getting out of bed. The toilet and bathroom was shared, it disgusted me. I love comfort, he had plenty of disposable money from his business so he had of move. If someone drinks I term that as disposable money that needs to be put into good use, no apologies.
He underwent a heart surgery which prompted his parent to sell his business while he was still in recovery to pay for the hospital bill. The dad was a school driver and the mum was a housewife, the clearly could not afford it. That means he dint have any means of survival, no school fees no money to pay rent. He was late on coming back to nairobi so I went to check on his house, there was a letter of discontinuation from the university. It dint explain why, it just stated that even his files and records had been mailed to his address. It was strange, I waited for him to tell me but he never did.
On coming back he told me he had to call off the semester and since he couldn’t afford rent as well, he had to take with him all his belongings and bring them back when he resumes classes. It dint make any sense to me. Charity had moved in with her boyfriend, now husband and mercy was living at home, so I allowed him to leave his whole house in our one bedroom. When I questioned about the letter from the university, he told me it was a misunderstanding trading and that a dean who was his dad’s friend had sorted it out. He would go back to school as soon as he raises the fee. Just after he completed Form four, he was hired by a group of boys from rich families to drive them a club on a sartuday night. They were all drunk and got into a fight on the streets. One of them died. He was the only eye witness, the family of the dead man reported the incident and the guys were released on bail, which the families could easily afford. Paul’s dad was advised by an ocs friend to have him look like a minor who cannot stand before a court to testify. He was therefore enrolled to a private school in Form three, which explains the delay in joining campus. He was restricted from being out of town for a period of more than two weeks and was monitored closely. When he a etc the university, he had to go home every two weeks, just to be seen around. He then started being busy with school and his new life, he couldn’t go home often anymore and he thought it was years past the incident so it was no longer that serious. He was tracked and found to be a student in the university. A letter was written to the school explains that he was a threat and other fit to belong. That explains the discontinuation. He never went back to school claiming he dint have only to pay but my guess, he was never accepted back.
He couldn’t afford rent anymore and since I was living alone in our one bedroom, it was only human to help him with storage of his stuff as he figured his life out. He tried applyingfor jobs to no luck. He started on online writing only for a clients to run off without paying him close to a hundred thousand. He had put his all in that job, he would sit on his computer from dawn to dusk. It broke his heart. He became a full time movie-watcher, gambler and video player. He would spend all day in the neighbours house doing absolutely nothing.
Meanwhile I was nolonger in school so I dint have anymore pocket money coming from mum. It was easier before sincere sent me so little cash that kept us going. Now I liveliness mercies of Grace who would send me Five hundred shillings every weekend. He started betting with the money even before I could realise that it had one through. Poverty became my everyday friend. My hair was unkept, my clothes were old and faded, I had lying onepair of shoes that was old and always dirty. It was the type that you can’t just wipe, for you to clean you had to wash it, but what could I survive on before it dries?
We started surviving on one meal a day. I would boil beans that we used to carry from home and kanga with rice or ugali for dinner. That would last us till the following dinner. Some days we dining have gas, so we would walk for almost thirty minutes to a kibanda in the outskirts of ruiru that sold chapati with stew for thirty shillings.
My sisters decided that the money mum used to send for rent would not be used to pay for our house any longer since he was lazy, so the rent started building up. We were never able to pay a single coin, we started playing hide and seek with the caretaker. We would even close the door with a padlock to look like we were away. We dictate a choice though.
He started separating me with family. He dint want them to know what was going. I was not allowed to eventual to my sisters who were just a floor above me. He would leave me in the house and take my phone as well so that no one would call me. He kept reassuring me that he was waiting for some huge amount of money in months from a project he was doing. He never told me what project and whenever I asked, he would become angry and aggressive. He would never allow met ask what he was doing about a situation, I wasnt concerned about my looks anymore but surviving on water alone all day was unbearable. I remember one day I had not eaten for two days and two nights, we dint even have water in the house coz there was a cutout and we could not afford to buy. I was so weak I couldnt get out of bed. Charity came knocking on my door. I tried to call her but I couldn’t utter a word. I tried to move but I just collapsed into bed. She may have thought that I dint want to open so she left. When he came back, I told him I had made up my mind to tell my sisters of my situation coz I would die in that house. He went and took some milk and bread on loan from a shop at the next apartment. I ate it, all of it and I dint here where it went. I was starving! I almost die that day.
The water cutout took quite a while. I go hunting for where water was free. No matter how far it was, I would carry with my back, at night so my sisters wouldn’t see me, then sleep hungry after all that labour. I got used to that life,everyone was so concerned. Grace would call me everyday to ask me if I was okay and if there is anything I would like to tell her, he would stand there holding my phone on loud speaker and demand that I tell her I was okay. After the call, I would cry myself a river.
He then started introducing me to his dark world,he told me he was working for cid, which I cameo to understand later that it was a lie. He told me he was always being followed to ensure he doesn’t do things that expose what he does coz it was a secret job. He started restricting my movement,I could no longer visit my sister in mombasa road. He demanded that I tell him where I was every fifteen minutes. I lived like a slave. It became a relationship of you can’t leave or else. I had to fake happiness. I was abused emotionally. I no longer had a right to my phone. I could only have it when he’s in the house, he had sold his and his laptop and he could not stay without a phone so hewould take mine whenever he went. One day he left and did not return. I went to mercy at around midnight to borrow her phone so would call mine, ridiculous right? When he came back the following day, he told me he was sick and spent the night admitted with his father. He went ahead to warn me never to borrow phones from my sisters or tell them what’s going on in our house. He demanded that I tell him every single thing that I had told mercy the previous night. I had not told her anything so I said exactly that and attempted to slap me for lying.
Fast forward on one fateful weekend mercy went to visit her boyfriend. He stole her laptop. I had to diclosewhat he did coz head lied to me that he was going to an early meeting that morning. Everyone but me was sure it was him but I rose to his defence and made rivals with my sister. He was investigated and discovered that he was actually a hacker who was being used by someone in the cid to get information he was not allowed to access. The person who had hired him dint know who had leaked the info so he started killing one after another. He woke up everyday with the news of someone who had been killed. We started to run. I got so confused I would be chilling in the house whenhewould suddenly tell keto grab what I could and run.
We went to seek refuge in the home of one of his cousins that he had not seeing years. He only knew that he lived there coz it was the home of their late auntie, the mother to the cousin. All I could think of is the good life I could be having if I chose my family. I would spend all day hoping for some miracle. The young family was just as confused as poor me. They dint know why we came without even saying, when we going to leave, what our story was like. We just went there without even clothes to change and stayed for almost two weeks. My miracle finally Cameroon my sister treated to hire people to look for me. It was getting scary coz they knew I was not safe within him. He was wanted by the government and by the person who had hired me. If the government found us first,I would be taken in as well to be questioned over things I dint know about. If the bad guy found him first, we would be killed both of us. God saved my life.
My sister reformed my appearance, gave me that nice red top(my husband’s favourite) took me to the salon and sent me home.
I got employed same month, by yet another abuser. Thanks to God I met my husband when I had given up on ever being happy. He are came into my life and brought meaning to it. I finally looked forward to another day.
Dennis, my love, you are my world. I may not tell you all the time, but you give a reason to smile. I love doing life with you and I would chose you aver and over again. You are all I prayed for,all I wished ever have. I couldn’t ask for more. You make my world complete, you love me the way no one else could. You came into my life and filled a vacuum that has been my heart for as long as I have known myself. You wiped all my tears and pain. Anytime I see you I look at my life with a whole new perspective. I would suffer all day at work but I knew that by the end of the day I would come home to someone who sees me as someone.
I can’t promise you that our life will always be cup of coffee, but I will do the best I can to make you a happy man, to bring best in you and to support your dreams and visions. I will be you helper, your comforter, your best friend, your companion, your wife and the everything else you like in me.
I promise to raise your children with all the love in the world, to teach them the values that make us human and to show them the importance of putting God first. I promise to take care of your mum and sibling like my own. I promise to protect you and whatever belongs to you with all my strength.
I love you. Our love is forever!
Any Facebook user is familiar with this word. You have either typed it or seen it on a post in your timeline, its closely related to the aim global jokes that post pictures in borrowed suits that barely fit; floating on air beside a sports car(even Photoshop is so sick of them it cant even do a simple job of making them look like they own the car); and promising to help you make ksh. 40,000 a day.
My main concern is on these people who claim to be selling items online, especially ladies heels and handbags. They post downloaded pictures and you are there typing interested. Guys please, lets be very careful with these online sellers. I am not saying that all of them are cheats, but if someone post pics that look soap opera and promises to delivery the item free, doesn’t even direct you to his/her shop to go and check it out…isn’t the deal too good?
I saw a post on one of the groups am following of some ankle boots that were posted by different sellers, very beautiful and tempting. People ordered and sent money and it ended up to be a scam. But who’s fault is it? Why do you send money to a stranger? Is it very difficult to differentiate between real pictures and fake ones? Then you start cursing…oh she will never prosper…she will lose all her money…may she break her right hand!
It it just me or its annoying to be asked what a book you are reading is about. Just like its almost obvious for people to ask you what breed your dog is, like its even important. I have no problem with your curiosity, I just dont understand what it is that you want to hear. So I try to tell you in summary, coz I need to get back to where I was before you rudely interrupted, but then I realize that you ain’t even paying attention.
Do other readers have the same concerns or am I being issueic? Those of you who ask, do you really want to know or its just a formality. When you find someone reading, ask them what the book is about, if someone has a baby, ask the name, if someone has headphones, ask what music they are listening to…and so on. Is it important? Is it necessary? Would it be rude to hand you the book so you can find your answers?
Darlings, lets learn to ask only what we really need to know. It doesn’t make us less interested or less humane, it saves both of us time and energy. Just ask the title of the book, if it interests you, you will look for it and know what its about. Full stop.
People can be mean. So yesterday I boarded a matatu and there was this mama who wanted to sit next to the door. She kept getting out to excuse whoever wanted to sit next to her. So people would just ignore her and cross the back sits until there was only two seats left, her self-proclaimed and the middle one. Two ladies came, together, so the mama excuses them and says ‘mmoja tu nataka kukaa!’ with this commanding voice. They board the next mat.
So guys lets agree on a few things; That is a public vehicle my friend. You want to be extremely comfortable, buy your own car or use a cab (this reminds me when we were travelling back from shags with my sister and we complained that the bus was slow and the tout said we should have taken uber, bless him!)
Secondly its impolite and selfish to expect friends who have been together to separate. They probably have unfinished business, or a hot gossip that needs to be finalized. I tend to think she comes from those places that a car is never full until its full so she exercises her freedom where she can. No offence though.
The gym is a sensitive place. In exception of the few who have perfect bodies and come here to keep fit and maintain, the rest of us have a series of issues. We have imperfections that we need to streamline. Here you find a cocktail of humans.
One group is those who are so badly off. I love them, they encourage me. They make feel like I belong to the group I mentioned earlier. One asked, ‘why do you come here and yet you are so small’. So whats the definition of small. Well, if you must know, am here because I feel I should be here. Thanks for the compliment though.
Then there is group that wants to use that which you are using that very moment. There is variety of treadmills but she feels comfortable with the one you are using for some reason known to herself. So she stands there looking at you like when are you gonna finish? This is a public facility and that I understand, but it doesn’t mean am gonna cut off what am doing just to please you. Occupy yourself with whatever else needs to be done or use the next!
Then there is this particular ones who have been examining you closely, marking what you couldn’t do and now can, which part of your body was hanging lose and is now burnt off, what you have been doing wrong. Wait, do you ever do what brought you here? That is stalking and its not allowed. If you came to the gym to look for a partner, my friend, am not the best fit, am not a candidate. Just get off my case and start making notes on the next.
Then there are those who have been here for ages, they have mastered all the moves, they do the impossibles but you still cant see a difference in their bodies, or maybe they were worse, which is scary. They look at the beginners like some ‘anti-nyitas’ who cant do at thing. When the coach asks people to pair-up, they go like ‘cant we just do it individually coz some people are gonna delay us’. Reminds me of those rich kids back in the days who had more revision books in the lockers than the school library but never had an impact on their grades!
Having been able to analyse all my mates there and knowing each of their characters, am not sure I do what takes me there as well.
Meeting people from the high end class can be interesting. There is something common with the way they expect you know them and should treat differently. So the other day one of these famous comedians of the earlier dates comes. I have a way of peeping through the window so by the time you get to me I already saw you coming up the steps so am not surprised by your presence. It feels good to meet him, but I wont for a moment act like I feel privileged. So I act composed, give him a simple ‘good morning’ and tell him to have a seat. He is giving me this look of really? you do not know me or you just pretending not to notice my presence. How can you keep me waiting am a busy man.
I love putting people in their position. You are famous, I agree. You are a busy man, I agree. I should know you, who doesn’t. You came and found these other clients waiting, they came in before you for God’s sake. Just sit down and wait! doesn’t matter who you are, what you do, where you are coming from or where you are going. If you are the kind that does not know what patience feels like, you should have come earlier.
So just to let him know that I just don’t feel like favoring him over my fellows, I call him by his stage name, and we smile, happily, but for different reasons.
So there is this plus size lady(serious plus size, the type that has trouble walking). I see her everyday on my way to work. She is always in grey skirts,(all shades of grey, but just grey) that look a size too small for her so she is always pulling them downwards after every two steps. 8 out of 10 times she has a hanging hem. I know i know i should my mind my business but am human and i have functional brains so this is what crosses my mind when i see her:
1.Unless the outfit is new, we always know exactly how our clothes fit and feel. there is no point in pulling them every two minutes..walk with the same confidence you had when wearing them.
2.Embracing colour is important. Wearing brightly makes one feel confident. It raises your spirit. Doesn’t mean one shouldn’t do dull, but having a whole wardrobe of one dull weird colour is not funny, its not normal. Period!
3. Having a hanging hem once is an accident. It happens, alot, and when it does, the discomfort is just so unbearable you fix it as soon as you get home to avoid a similar miserable day. But having a hanging hem today, tomorrow and the other day, on different skirts is unacceptable. Its carelessness. Leaves me thinking even her size is as a result of the same carelessness.
In conclusion, ladies, lets learn to love ourselves. Always wear that beautiful smile, wear that short dress like a boss. Feel fabulous and care about how you look. You may want to call it imaginary audience so that you can fit into your comfort zone, but my sister, it is NOT imaginary. its real. I will be you audience and I will expose you. Ara!
Thanks for joining me!
Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton