Dear 23 year old self,
You have finished school. Post-graduation depression has hit you. You have no formal employment, just a hustle that pays the bills. But it is a hustle that you love. It has kept you all this while and you are grateful for it. You are single too, and nobody is looking your way. Sometimes, you think this is because you look like you can fight. Well, it is true—you look like you can fight. But that is not the case. The moment has just not yet come for you. Often, you do not feel like getting out of bed, and staying in bed leaves you feeling more depressed. You also want to lose weight, to watch what you eat. So, you eat your sorrows and empty pockets is the only diet plan you have.
You volunteer at a local organization. They kick you out after a few months. Someone said that you are ‘too headstrong’ and cannot do as told. You do not fit in the tiny space that they want you to fit in. Worse, you are scaling the ranks too fast for their liking. So they conspire and kick you out. In a very cold way too. And it hurts. It is not the first organization you have been kicked out of for being ‘too headstrong’. You laugh when it happens and make jokes about it. Deep down, you are hurting. It hurts because you liked being here. You love the work that you do so you give it every bit of your soul. It is the kind of work that makes a difference in people’s lives. But these people, they tell you that you are not fit to help others, and they show you the door. Nobody knows it, but this rejection pains you. Your friends tell you to go to places where you are wanted and that those people lost the best volunteer they ever had. But you wanted to be there and you feel that it is your loss and not theirs. But you move regardless. You have made some good networks after all and found avenues to continue the good work.
You run into an old gym trainer. He is surprised that you look smaller, which makes you wonder how big you were before. Maybe because it is dusk so he cannot see you clearly. You know dark themes have a slimming effect. Haha. It will hit you later the tremendous changes in your body that have occurred in the past years. This old friend introduces you to a hiking team; Fit Move Africa. You start with Ngong Hills before facing Mt. Longonot. You are excited. Longonot welcomes you, entices you, then she disciplines you, and sends you back home with aching limbs. Your whole body hurts. Every fiber of your being wants to quit but somehow you show up for the next hike; Mt. Kilimambogo. You climb this mountain as though you have been hiking for years. You put on a brave face but deep down you are suffering. Your body is complaining. You want to quit again but you show up for Kijabe Hills. This one breaks you so bad the KWS guide has to shepherd you like a new born lamb. You nearly pass out. You wail, cry and complain. In the distance, you can see Mt. Longonot and she is laughing at you. She says,”This hiking lifestyle is not for people like you who are built for comfort and not for speed.” But you are the daughter of Omam. They call you Nyabunde. So you face that hill and show her that you come from a long line of strong women. That your name is Loch. And you are victorious over everything, even stubborn steep hills that break your resolve and make you rue the day you chose the hiking lifestyle. You cross from Kijabe to Kinale on foot via hilly forested terrain. You are spent, cold and silent. All you want to do is get home. Sadly, there is no one waiting for you at home, not even a pet cat. No one. Sigh. This your life is hard.
You finally lose yourself from the shackles of society and get tattoos. Religion be damned. You like body art. And you are a feminist. The radical and bold type who burn bras, according to Jackson Biko. You get your tattoos from Mych. Good tattoo artist, that one. If not that money is scarce, you would get a large tattoo on your thigh, like most girls in Nairobi. Haha. You will. As soon as you can afford one. Apparently, thigh tattoos are not free.
You become political. In fact, you begin to identity as an Afro pan-African feminist. So you loc your hair and you think you look like revolutions and riots. It makes you happy. Others think that this is the final step when a woman throws all caution to the wind. They couldn’t be more wrong. And you spend sermons telling them so. You chant; ‘Decolonize!’, ’Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery!’ You are Malcom X. You ask them, “Who taught you to hate the color of your skin? Who taught you to hate the texture of your hair? Who taught you to hate the shape of your nose and the shape of your lips?” You are not just a feminist, you are an activist. These people, they do not know that afro hair is not just hair. It is a political statement. You are an afro hair enthusiast. You are a ras. Which means touts are extra friendly. They do not harass you like they do other people. The fact that you look like you can fight helps too. Hawkers, street urchins, everyone plays familiar with you. Ras! Ras! Hatuwezi kosana juu ya bei. Ras, Ka-lunch ivi? This is your new life. Until your loctician winds your hair so tight that you pass out from the pain of your scalp being pulled. Sigh. So much for a revolutionary. When your hairdresser is heavy-handed and you are soft-headed, you suffer. In some cases, you pass out. Lol. It does not help that you got your mother’s soft scalp and your father’s tough hair. So, when you come to, you pick a pair of scissors and do away with the locs. But you miss being a ras. So you loc your hair again.
You finally release that blog. Those stories you wrote and hid from the public like secrets, you get the courage to share them. You have always been a writer. Your life has not changed much in the pandemic except for reduced income, at some point, total loss of income. And thus there is an abundance of energy to create. So you create and share these stories that people on here are reading. You encourage these your readers to share your work. They know you give them the good stuff.
You remember your investing account. The news says the economy is crashing. Your savings have been depleted and your income has been non-existent for the past many months. Your landlord is dishing out eviction notices and deadlines like confetti so you are stressed. The last thing you would do or think of doing is going back to your parents’ house. You can’t. You won’t. It is out of the question. That is the last place you will go to no matter how life beats you. So you make a deal with him to pay the rent and the next day you are at your broker telling him to sell all your shares and give back your peanuts. It’s the one good thing you did in 2019… Opening a CDSC account upon the advice of a hot-blooded somebody’s son who thought it best to dump you, via text, on the day of your graduation. Nairobi! Nairobi men! Yaani these men just wake up and choose violence. Relationships in Nairobi are just war and vibes. Anyway, we move regardless. Things will stabilize later and you will return to your CDSC account. This time better equipped with financial literacy and the unwavering guidance of another somebody’s son. Oh, son of Mutuku, I thank the ancestors for you.
Above all, the blessings and chaos, you have a friend. You dear friend. Because the both of you are unemployed, you are the designated errand girls for all your employed friends and relatives. They send you to collect their Jumia packages, look for kitchenware and household goods in unknown malls in Nairobi CBD, and collect those heavy sacks of groceries sent from the village via Western Express. In exchange, they feed you. You have never refused free food. When you are not running errands, you are applying for jobs from which you rarely ever get a response. Even that rejection email. Ng’o! Nothing. You wonder where those your applications go to. You and your friend spend your afternoons complaining how you’re twenties are wasting away. But then again you console yourself. Bora Uhai! We move regardless. You tell yourself. Then with your little monies, you take yourselves out to get tattoos, buy shoes and enjoy the goodness that is Zucchini’s ice cream. Amidst the downs and disappointments of the year, you have these little sweet moments, you have each other. And you couldn’t be more grateful. You have a friend in deed.
I know life seems daunting at the moment. The future looks bleak and the looming uncertainty is unbearable. However, I implore you to celebrate all your wins, however small. Remember, you are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.