Tuesday, 20 January 2015

MY PHONE, MY CONVINIENCE by Daisy Waitherero Wambua

With quite a number going digital, it’s easy to have over 1000 contacts in your phone and as the numbers increase so does the annoyance and consequently the lies. Phones do belong to hell, they make us lie more than the devil does. Lie about our whereabouts just to avoid a bothersome relative, lie about a hearing problem that developed amidst so as to end the call immediately and last but not least, lie about having a phone; shout out to the people bearing a simcard with no phones. I mean how in the phone’s name would you give me your phone number yet you don’t have a phone? It’s a PHONE number, not a SIMCARD number. Unless of course your simcard is capable of picking calls and replying text messages.

When I give you my number please do not mistake me for being a helpline or 911. I fail to recognise calls immediately after 10pm. I only reply to messages up to 12am on a relaxed night and for the rest of my ungodly morning hours is for surfing the net or for writing articles to keep you busy the following day. If perhaps you get blessed enough to talk to me up to 3 in the morning, do keep in mind that it’s the first and the last time; therefore the next day, kindly retreat all attempts of chatting me up to 3am. That ship is sailed and like the titanic it also sunk.

If you think you are hot or rather physically on fire and no one is there to take a picture to post for you on Instagram, please don’t hesitate. \amonfire \ineedfirefighters \selfiebeforeiburntodeath . At this crucial and extremely flammable time, I will be there. But if you think you are hot or in other words physically captivating, kindly note that the only thing that captivates me is everything but you, I don’t care about your body temperature nor the degree that you boil at. Unless you are Chris Henceworth, I will not grace your call with my time; it would be illegal.

Before you call anyone, ask yourself three times; is this information relevant and can it be keyed in as a text message? This is the number one rule of calling. Don’t ring anyone if your answer is yes or it will be the most boring conversation youve had. The phone call will be a series of awkwardness and crickets.

Second most important rule, do not make a mistake of calling someone then you tell them ‘niambie’ I mean you called them, they didn’t have anything to say to you so why are you putting them in a situation whereby they want to hang up or keep on repeating ‘poa’. I can even bet they would have only called you when they scrolled their phonebook and found no one else to call.

Kenyans have a habit of making a call then passing that phone call to everyone in the house. If my mother makes a phone call to my grandma, the phone call will go down to her children, to her grandchildren and possibly her great grandchildren if they could talk too (yet to be born). This pesky tradition must be put to an end. If I wanted to talk to grandma, I would have called her; that’s why I have a simcard and a phone. Otherwise grandma will end up forcing me to go dig with her, sleep early and listen to her stories of her hey days in a language I can barely converse in. (ningwendete mwaitu; I love you grandma)

One more thing, if I say I will call you the following day, keep note that I don’t mean it literally. Don’t call me at 12:01am asking me if we can talk because that will be the last conversation we will ever have.

If the above symptoms persist, seek medical advice.

Sunday, 11 January 2015


Women say all men are the same; men say love doesn’t exists; politicians say they are working on it; everyone is saying I am like Njoki Chege (read Njoki Siege). All previous statements have one thing in common; crap. If not then women, men, politicians and everyone have extended this 'don't think while drunk' season into ‘Njaanuary’. No further explanation.

Do I hate color blue? NO! Do I hate Subaru? NO! All Negative. On the contrary, my favorite color is blue and I love Subarus. My brother owns one and before you start assuming he is behind the creation of this Njoki Chege menace, his car is white and not blue. It has always been white; no paint jobs. It would be politically incorrect for me to harbour derrogative feelings towards the car.

Do I have a purple skin tone? I doubt but I usually turn pale when somebody refers to me as one of Njoki Chege’s minions. I not only have a black chocolate skin complexion but i also happen to be graced by 100% authenticity. I do not mimic, echo, duplicate nor embrace any writer's form of writing at any point in time neither in the past nor in the coming future.

I have only one style of writing and it is called my own. My topics, my insanity, my thoughts and my beliefs are one with myself and are not derived from anyone but me though most times its from men who i find exquisitely annoying.I do not consider my writing to be in a similar context with hers nor is my line of thoughts.
For instance, I do not share her sentiments on having a man as a couch. Sometimes it's best to go for a stool or a beanbag. Personally its because i have a feeling that i am already well-cuishioned.

We only share writing as a pass time activity and for her, a very well paying pass time activity. Despite contrasting views, I have nothing but respect and a pinch of reality for her. Since I do support fellow women, I wish her everything but a blue Subaru.

All in all, writing is an art, just like painting, cooking and weaving. Every artist has a certain flair in their craziness. So to each their own. Not all art that is appealing sells and not all art that sells is appealing. Most notably; IT’S NEVER THAT SERIOUS.

Friday, 9 January 2015

REAL MEN DONT CRY, THEY WEEP by Daisy Waitherero Wambua

I have shared a hair salon, a masseuse, a nail practitioner, some few clothes and even earrings with the opposite gender. We as women would be dammed if we share boxes of tissues and scoops of ice cream with them. Men these days are everywhere; in the salon getting their con rows done, being given a head massage, getting their cuticles removed, coming to stretch during yoga I mean don’t you have a roof to fix or something. The only time a man is allowed in the salon is when he is picking up his girlfriend, we can’t have two Rapunzels period! You can grow hair, just not on your scalp; a beard is enough.

Men have raided our small community of women all in the name of being in touch with their feminine side. They have taken everything to a new level and at this pace they will be parading in skirts and dresses with heels, oh wait they did; drag queens. I have no problem with people switching their gender; I mean at some point in life, I thought I was my big brother’s smaller brother (read tom boy). Thank God I realized I am from a greater species. With so much confusion in the world, I can’t blame Andrew being Audrey; being a man is tough and to some great extent depressing.

I personally draw a line at men crying. You are allowed to get in touch with your feminine side but I shall not allow you to become a full time feminine. I can't wipe your tears and mine at the same time. Women date men because they are men; disorganized, ruthless, downright pain in the neck people, thus it is generally alarming and unfair to make us feel like we are dating a fellow woman; we are in no business of being lesbians. Men are made to be strong, brave, security guards and gym instructors.

You are required to give us a shoulder to lean on and not the other way around; our shoulders are not that broad frankly speaking. We are the only species that are allowed to cry and yell and throw tantrums because you called us fat. Do not expect an apology if your missus says you should lift more weights instead of having more weight. Do not run away like a little girl when your friends pick on you. Kindly try not to cry uncontrollably during a movie.

There is only one incident that a man is allowed by the general public to shed A tear (keyword A) and that is during a funeral of a loved one. Or when your girl has thrown your Iphone6 plus to the ground; the latter can make you cry like a little baby. Any other instance, you are required to be a man; we already have a shortage of men so we don’t need any more estrogen. If the urge to cry is intense, do go home and lock the door with a solex, get beneath the sheets, cover yourself with a duvet and a pillow then wail it all out.

Real men don’t cry, they weep; it’s in the Bible (Jesus wept)

Tuesday, 6 January 2015


With acknowledgement and due respect to all forms of social media that have turned women into sexual objects, I would love to criticize you but then again still maintain all my accounts. Women have gone rogue, some have turned into socialites (women who get paid depending on the likes they decipher on their pictures) others from Nairobi and from cities bearing names of close similarity with Las Vegas and U.K (Naxvegas and United Kisumu respectively) claiming to be models and some going to an extent of getting paid to get drunk and smoke sheesha in the name of hosting events (Chettle do watch your lungs); in the midst is a man looking for a mother for his children. Please quit the search. Despite all these, I still think there is hope.
A woman who has her own hustle; a woman who would rather bend her back backwards than accept a few millions for turning her head away; a woman who understands that her self-worth, integrity and merits are of more magnitude than having spa dates at Hermitage Bay in Antigua or lunch at the Hamptons; A woman who gets herself from point A to point Z without a qualm in her conscience; A woman who doesn’t let the affluent shallow examples of men to buy her into wealth in trade for a few minutes of pleasure; A woman who gets societal acceptance from the walks of all generations , serves as an inspiration to those whose dreams are confined in a poor man’s fantasies and absurd ambitions; she is the epitome of an honourable, zealous, successful overachiever in all eyes.
She creates a brainwave wherever she goes. She stimulates everyone’s thinking above what they are normally used to resulting to brain tumours to those whose brain matter is curbed in a nut shell. Her match of beauty and brains in one roll is rare yet it does not seem of importance as she still maintains a low profile. This allows her to tread the streets comfortably without anyone interrupting her for a mark of her pen worth KShs 50,000 on a piece of Karatasi brand paper that is filled with sweat and remains of last night’s supper.
Her intellectual prowess is enough to let her see it wise to mingle with everyone from levels below and heights above, not only because she can but for sheer kindness of the heart. She understands that her wealth will not be close enough to speak of what she stands for when she dies. She would prefer to leave earth being a legend rather than just another rich lass with an account balance looking like a phone number.
She spares a few words of wisdom and a bundle of coins and most significantly support to all the street children and women that she comes across. Her heart is tender and her personality hardly wavered. She is stronger than most men but suffers the limitations of all women, proof that she is human. Her ethical nature is impeccable and leaving an impression at tables of kings and shacks of men.Her belief in the girl child and women in general is her muse, she gives back to the society but she philanthropically sustains the women. Her language is giving and the only interpretation she has is sharing. She never lacks not because she can’t but because she won’t let herself to. She is her own motivation; she competes with herself to be better and do better. She wallows in the belief that there is something greater than just life. She is the clinging hope we have the future we most will never be a part of.

Friday, 2 January 2015


Friends for us (FFUS) is a conviction that i started on 1st January 2015 mainly associated with works of charity. It is an idea that has sprouted from the touching acts of Water Washes Away Stones(WWAS;a charity organisation) and Rebuild an Infinite Smile (RISE). Its not only for giving back to the society but also making everyone feel like they are part of it.

There is no better feeling than that of giving to the less fortunate in the society. Giving them material and financial support is truly wonderful but giving them your time is a priceless act. Therefore this year let's not make a resolution to do better but we make a decision to be a better people.

This year it's aiming to visit 15 childrens' home in all over Kenya. If ten people partake in this exercise, we will be able to cover 150 childrens' home by December 2015. You are all encouraged to take part in this exercise and make the 150 mark possible.Make a better Kenya.

Visit any random childrens' home from any part of the country. Let us create a revolution in our country and grow in unity and love.

Send me the photos of all the homes you have visited at waithererodaisy@gmail.com so that they feature on my blog to serve as a source of encouragement to all the children and also to other philanthropists.