Skip to main content

Vacationing


It has been A WHILE since I last posted here... especially while prompted by anything other than just pure necessity. I have been busy ‘participating’ (References to ‘The Perks of Being a Wallflower’ never grow old.) so I haven’t had much time to muse and ponder. In hindsight I should probably have taken a moment or two to think before plunging and muddling through life... but such is life.

Until just about a fortnight ago I had a whole four month vacation. It was the best time of my life... in such a twisted way. I learnt a lot. For starters, I lost nearly all faith in humanity thanks to this pregnant woman. I re-learnt how to wear my heart on my sleeve and live life with reckless abandon. I turned twenty... and most importantly, I learnt how to do ‘kange’ math.

You know, the kind where the conductor asks you to give him extra coins on top of your fare so that he could return your change in notes... that math. I am always left bewildered trying to crunch up the numbers in my head yet it takes a conductor seconds. Yet yours truly is so confident of her computation skills that she has added ‘plays at being actuary’ on her bio on twitter. Well, I finally know how to do ‘kange’ math, thanks to working at my mom’s shop for the better part of the past four months. I had also been studying for my CT1 Financial Math paper... but I’m still convinced the shop keeping is to blame for making me the mental-math guru you now see (read?) 

I suppose I could have set out to ‘change the world’ or ‘save the rhinos’ during my vacation. I should probably have set out to earn some money, seeing as free Wi-Fi is just around the corner and I still haven’t fixed Kyle’s screen. (I feel that this is the point where I add my M-pesa pay bill number at the bottom of the page. C’mon people, what happened to supporting the arts?) Instead, I settled for dishing out bundles of health, packed in ¼, ½ and 1 kg packs of wimbi and mtama flour, to the good people of Kamulu. As it is I am an expert in what ingredients are suitable for making porridge for children of all age groups... an amateur nutritionists of sorts. So, yeah... Baby mamas, baby daddies... if your baby babies get malnutrition, don’t claim that I didn’t publicly offer my services on this blog.

 Now I am back to the refreshingly geeky life of a student actuary... one who has to rush to get her ID from a guard who claimed that she was ‘flimsily dressed’ yesterday. Flimsy, really? I suppose some of us still have a long way to go before we can conquer the diverse vocabulary of the English language. 
Yes, in Strath this is flimsy.

Comments

  1. Hahaha...that is flimsy:) Just kidding, lol Anyway nice blog as usual...happy you are participating.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Girl Code... Not Neccesarily in that Order.

"The only rule is don't be boring and dress cute wherever you go. Life is too short to blend in." Society can be such a drag. What, with all the unwritten, unsaid rules and codes. Guys have an elaborate ‘Bro Code’. In fact there’s a whole website . You will be surprised that Rule no. 1 of it is not the (in)famous ‘Bros before whores’. Girls have their own code too, though it’s not set in stone and varies among different groups of girls. The Girl code is especially tricky to girls like me who aren’t exactly programmed like other girls. So, I have a list of essential rules in the Girl Code. Some come with disclaimers and modifications. Some are universal while others are just stuff that my friends and I have come up with along the way. 1.        Should a Girl be critically injured, her Side-Girls are to never make jokes about it, unless the hurt Girl does first. I love my girlfriends…very much, but if said critical injury has risen as a result of a fall (wh

Of Doing Milk and Staying Young

Boredom inspires/ drives me to do the unthinkable... like texting him to say how I couldn’t stand pretending that I didn’t like him...or drinking a glass of milk. I do not DO milk. And no, I am not lactose intolerant. As Max in ‘2 Broke Girls’ aptly points out, “Poor people don’t just run out to buy anti-biotics. You man up, grow a pair, and stare germs in the face...booyah!” I may not be poor but I am definitely not rich. People in my economic bracket don’t get fancy diseases like eczema. We get rashes, and if you want to get all fancy then you will have to do with ‘allergies’. So, no, I am not lactose intolerant. Where I come from it’s just a plain, simple ‘I don’t drink milk.’ But here I am, with a now half empty glass of milk. (I hope you can detect the pessimism there or else my pun will have gone to waste) I suppose the ‘Do Milk, Stay Young’ campaign hasn’t gone to waste. All that sexual objectification of infants wasn’t in vain. “Sexual objectification?” you ask. Yes,

Fighting for my right to be wrong.

I feel as if our relationship has been progressing at an admirable rate... progressing enough for me not to just assume that someone somewhere is reading this, but to hope that this is so. Today has been a Monday, true to form. Murphy s law through and through. Anything that  could go wrong DID go wrong...but I don't want to bore you with the gory details. I do need to mention, though, that I was diagnosed with alarmingly high levels of typhoid fever. To be frank, I didn't feel THAT ill. I was simply mildly sick with a stomach ache and a head ache but the pharmacist wouldn't give me any meds until he had run some tests.Even after the diagnosis I still felt pretty amazing considering the shocked expression on the lab tech's face as he tries to make me understand how 'grave' my situation was. Dad wasn't as flippant about it as I was (His own face-to-face encounter with typhoid had confined him to bed for a week and he couldn't believe that my body was