Ifehenia's blog

I am a sucker for letters. I wish people still wrote them more often. Well, this here was inspired by this.  Dear Aria, First off, let’s be clear that your name is Aria… and not Beyoncé or Rihanna as your father may be deluded into thinking. Your name is as beautiful as music (it actually means ‘A long, accompanied song for a solo voice, typically one in an opera or oratorio’) but let’s pretend that I was deep and philosophical enough to come up with that on my own. If you aren’t the pretty, prima-donna type of little girl, then you can tell everyone that your name means ‘lioness’… because it does. Aria, by now you must know that mommy loves words… reading them and writing them. That’s why we will take on adventures to solve mysteries with The Famous Five; we will get creeped out by the horrors of Goosebumps on many a night… and when you have been a really good girl, we’ll step out of this mundane muggle world and see what’s been happening in Hogwarts. Who knows, ...

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, ...

Fear no. 1: Babies “Shit-fuck shit-fuck shit-fuck ...” I thought as I rushed to grab the baby. “Shit-fuck,” I said as she began to wail. Her piercing cries carried across the house and did nothing to array my panic. I was afraid I would drop her again so I placed her on the sofa and paced around wondering what it is that I was supposed to do.  All I could think of was the fact that I had just dropped the baby... that and a couple of ‘shit-fucks’. Her incessant wailing prompted me to pick her up and rock her as I felt tears threatening to fall from my eyes. What kind of shit mom was I? Not only had I dropped the baby but now I was on the verge of tears instead of finding a way to help my daughter. Somehow I was able to find my phone and the cab driver’s number. He said he would be at my place in a jiffy. I smiled at that despite everything. Kimani was the only person I knew who actually used the word ‘jiffy’. The baby continued to cry all the while and I willed Kimani ...