She likes her mornings smooth, Grace. You can cross her any time but in the morning. Just ask all the house-helps we’ve had, they’ll tell you stories.

Anyway, every morning –while my sister Krystine and I were still in primary school- Grace would stand at our bedroom door and wake us. By that time she would have our uniforms laid out and breakfast on the table.

“Five minutes mom,” we’d groan.

“Tsk. Kila siku five minutes? Ebu amkeni.”

And then she’d walk away, her angry silhouette disappearing behind the door. Grace would come back later to find the time request cut down to three minutes. That was us getting in the way of smooth running.  

“Ah, nimechoka na nyinyi sasa.”

She would have to bring in the old man now. BM. The big guns. We’d hear his voice in the corridor and spring up like a bunch of excited monkeys.

Happy New Year, by the way.

So I’ve been trying to get this blog to wake up for a few weeks now but it has refused. I bang at its door and scream and pull out my hair but it just lies there, pretending not to hear. It’s about as stubborn as its owner.

Hopefully something from Kithia here will get it off its ass nicely, as we continue that thing for love stories we were doing. She will introduce herself.

[Enter Kithia]

So who am I? A person with a terrible intro. I’m not suave like 007. I could’ve said, “Hi. I’m Kithia” but I thought, “Hey why don’t we try to be mysterious and shit?” That’s me talking to hooded me.

And while we’re at it, enough of these memes. We’re tired. We want Obama and Biden and grumpy cat. Stick to the classics. Make comedy great again.

Oops. No, this was certainly not meant to be a political post. Stick your guns back in your pockets. Let’s be friendly. I’ll start again.

I’m Kithia, an aspiring writer, a master procrastinator and a lover of donuts. How did Michael and I meet, you ask? As only Millennials know how to, of course. I liked a few of his photos, he liked a few of mine then he slid into my dm. Sparks flew.

When Michael asked me to guest write on his blog, I did not see it coming. I had no time to prepare a well-written article (notice the nerves). It was midnight and everybody knows that nothing good happens after midnight. But I took this as a sign because just today I wanted to start my own blog.

So I first took a shower to start on a clean slate. Then I took a cup of tea for courage. And then a nap for rest. Master procrastinator, remember?

I like seeing people happy so I strive to make my readers laugh. Laugh and think. Those are my goals. But this won’t make you laugh.

He asked me to write a love story. So I wrote one. The most tragic and unusual love story of 2016, of which I was a part of. Ripped my chest open and tore my heart out, that one. My love goes by the name Kiwi.

Kiwi is, was, our family cat. We named her Kiwi because she was pure black, except for a white spot on her belly. She was the runt of the litter, and her very survival was a miracle. At some point, her neck was bent at a weird angle, which we suspected was from a fall. She got better, eventually.

Later on, she came home limping. Again, we couldn’t tell from which adventure her injury had come from. But we knew she’d get better. She always did. Kiwi was a survivor. We used to say that, if she was a character on Game of Thrones, she’d be Sansa Stark. No matter how much she suffered, she always somehow survived.

And we – I –  loved her. She was a part of the family. She was one of us already.

It was midway last year when I noticed she wasn’t moving. We called the vet immediately. He diagnosed her with pneumonia and gave her a shot for it. Then told us to keep her warm and try to feed her if she woke up.

That night, I dreamt that when I woke up, I found her playing with her kittens. So I woke up and ran to her box expecting my dream to be true only to find her perfectly still, not playing with her kittens. Not purring. Not breathing.

There’s nothing as tragic as watching a living being you love die. Nothing. Mom didn’t understand why I cried.

“Ni paka tu. Afadhali hivyo aliacha watoto tutawalea,” she said.

She wasn’t right that Kiwi was ‘paka tu’ but she was right about the kittens. At least Kiwi left a legacy. Three beautiful kittens as black and strong and adventurous as she was.

The late Daisy on Blood, Sweat & Heels that airs on BET once said,

“And while you have life, think about what you bring to the world.”

That’s all I have for you this year. While you have life, think about what you bring to the world.






5 thoughts on “Kithia

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s