Achien’g lives in constant fear of being married off to an old man

I sat down by the gate of a small rural high school- Rarieda in Siaya-sub county eagerly waiting to talk to some girls who had received scholarships from the equity group of scholarship.Dressed in a checked green and white uniform, 15 years old Achien’g sat next tome. Her dress had blue, yellow, green and red patches everywhere. Barefooted, I could see huge breakages on her heels and there were cracks on her leg; telling me how much they needed shoe to wear and jelly to apply. Her dry lips were dry and she kept licking them now and then. noticeably,she hadn’t had anything since that morning.

I started by asking question about school. what she is in loves the most, the teachers she likes the most and then to her future plans. And when her lips parted, tears split over her cheeks.  she looked about to the playing ground_ to the nearby hills _to the empty distance_ to the tall trees which were being blown softly by the breeze emerging from Lake Victoria. weeping, she told me from the time she was 13 her father has been winningly trying to marry her off.

Achien’g lives inconstant fear of being married off to an old man “my father is a fisherman; he fishes all through the night in the midst of the storm. It is in countable days when he peeps in with three small fish which he would sell.” And now seemingly oblivious to my presence, she continued, “he would then give my mother small amount for sukumawiki and save the rest for the bad days.”

The oldest of eight daughters Achien’g, carries emotional burden weighing her down and totally excruciating her. She is recalling all these tears rolling uncontrollably down her chicks.“My father will always tell my mother, how can afford to educate my children when feeding them is a problem. I want to marry her off.”

“No, No, she must learn,” my mother would insist.

“There is no need to educate a girl when after getting the so called ‘education’, she gets married and wash the dishes in someone’s kitchen…” he would say.

Her mother was married to her father when she was only thirteen and she does’t wish for her daughter to go through what she went through herself. The pain of being a young bride and a young mother. No. Not her daughter. She doesn’t want that for her. “My father keeps insisting with the marriage, he would tell me after I’m married, he would take care of my siblings with the dowry. I don’t want to get married, not now.” tears falling freely down her face again.

Achien’g, at her tender age, dreams of finishing her studies and finally becoming a teacher. She wants to enlighten her society by educating girls from poor background like her and at absolutely no cost.

“I have a dream that one day, every girl will have a say and a right to education up to any level wished by them.” A colorful soft smile drew curves on her cheeks. Unaware of me being there once more, she let herself get lost in her own world. Her determination and strength made me see into her future, and guess what? It was beautiful.

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If you continue reading this you’ll know if it’s true love

 I haven’t always written stories about love. I haven’t shown any intention of sharing them here as well. But now I want to show my addiction, I want to portray my love, I want to word my feelings towards this topic. I know it’s a little edgy for my blog but I can’t help but write.

I’ve read in a lot of books that you know it is true love when holding that special someone’s hands and you feel your heart miss beats, have that faint feeling as if you’ll die in their arms within a click of a second or when you feel that flushing sensation throughout your body. But that isn’t true at all.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                       What I feel is just different_ he makes me feel protected in his huge arms, he makes me feel safe from all my worries, and his space has stolen absolutely everything from my space, he’s the one: you always protects me from any harm,you can’t see me cry, you can’t see me hurting and you prefer seeing me smile to seeing you hurt, I’m the one.

Falling in true love doesn’t feel like falling at all_ it feels like walking into the hands of someone and suddenly reach home.Somewhere you’ve most probably waited for 23, 30 or even 40 years to be .They will extend their hand to you, and lead you home.

lilian ahonyi

 You are still here right? I’m asking to confirm when we are still in this slate because what I ‘m about to tell you is of utmost important. Guess what? They’ve been waiting for their entire life just to do that_I mean take you home.

I still remember that moment when we saw each other for the first time. It was as if I had known or seen or most probably met him before. He wasn’t a stranger I’d expected him to be. No he wasn’t. He was not any Peterson, Edly and keen. He was just different. I felt that wasn’t the first meeting but a reunion between old lovers. I will never forget that moment.


A meeting where she is nothing close to your usual crush and he is the exact opposite of your Mr right. I can’t wait for you to feel what I felt

Lilian Ahonyi
true love story never ends

Your souls will be one, sharing one fluid; becoming each other lifeblood, made for each other. The only thing that kept you away was time:The only thing that brings you close is time. There is no specific time for your meeting as destiny dictates everything. You two meeting is not by chance but when destiny feels it’s right time.

Things aren’t boarding well with us though; the same destiny that brought us together is putting us through difficulty. It started by throwing us miles away from each other to testing our love and to testing our trust. I think about him all my life and I know he misses me all his time. We long for one another touch, kiss, cuddle but we love faithfully and eagerly wait for us.

Interestingly, there is nothing in the face of universe that will stop you from being together because love will draw you close like unlike ends of a magnet, keeping you intertwined

Wrapping this up, you must believe me when I say; there is no love triangle in true love. In my way there is no chance you'll be involved in such a chaotic mess when you truly love someone. In true love both of you are done with their past. it is normal if you two had your shares of life before meeting each other but what isn't normal is when one of you refuses to burn their ragged cloths after purchasing new ones or when they are weak to let go, or even when they aren't strong enough to cut the old ties, and even much worse when they have their eyes elsewhere.

I’m posing this question to you…

can a heart house two hearts?

A heart speaks to a heart but not hearts: A heart  feels beats of a heart and not hearts. If you want to fully experience love and get lost into  the rhythm only your soul knows how; love a heart, love like you’ve never before, fall like you not falling at all.

I knew what defined me was nursing

“What would you love to be when you grow up?” My father,Thomas asked me after listening to a child call in a local radio station, Ramogi FM. I can’t recall his name but what he wanted to be stuck in my head up to this moment. He wanted to be a neurosurgeon.

I smiled and gave him a quick rare glance,not in a shy way,no,not me_ I was sure that was what I wanted. “I want to be a nurse father!”I didn’t see the expression which was drawn on my face but it must have been that of a young girl who has just been told she will be a nurse and now she can’t help but wait for that day.

“That’s great my child, work hard and make your dreams real,” he said putting down a  cup of white tea which he was holding at mouth length all this time.

I knew what defined me was nursing,my smile was nurse’s,my heart was nurse’s and my tone was nurse’s as well.

Day after day I looked forward to dressing in white dress, mounting a nurse cap and wearing white cloves; I rooted for those moments when I would inject patients with a syringe just as my mother, Norah would.nurse

My mother had just graduated as a nurse from Mombasa polytechnic and every person from our neighborhood including my grandmother Elsa would come to her for medication and consultation . I felt I took after her. I felt I wanted to follow in her footsteps. I felt being a nurse was running right through my veins and it was that very moment I vowed to stop at nothing but becoming one.

Then one day as we listen to the same program with my father,a girl called,she was called Lilian.She was 10yrs.she was in class four. I’m so interested in this particular girl because she shared absolutely everything with me. From her first name ,to her sir name, to her other name, to same class and to same nursing thing.For a moment I felt I was hearing myself talking on the radio. I wanted to meet her personally, if not then ,maybe later in the future

Days,weeks,months and years passed and that children program was still part of me,by 10 am I would be sitting close to my father listening to five,ten and fifteen children who would call the station to say what they would want to be.

Now I ‘m a big girl in my forth year at the university and attending conferences is my best thing here. Today’s conference I met with journalist across the country; I’m so exited for two reasons. One , I finally got my press card,that means I have a gate pass to press conferences: Two, I interacted with journalists one on one,something many people have done but only on live phone calls

The room was now burning hot, but when a lady walked in, everything became cool including the seat I sat on. I knew from that very moment things were going to be cool like her.
She walked onto the platform and everyone become silent. I personally saw a supermodel walking _ she was not tall,she was not short_she had short natural hair_she was simple,classy and elegant. In a black khaki trousers, purple blouse which was tucked in appropriately, she was just in for the presentation. She was dark and beautiful. They say black is beautiful but I say when a black lady is beautiful,she really is. She had a natural soft smile emerging from a heart and no one in that room responded to her smile with a frowned face.

She said “hi” and I felt I knew that voice or perhaps I had heard it before… but then I couldn’t recall where.”I’m Lilian,”she continued.

Curiosity was now building inside me when she stolen my sir name too;and it was that very moment my childhood memories flashed in my head one after the other. How I longed to meet that particular Lilian who shared absolutely everything of mine.”today is the day you are going to meet some of journalist who will entirely point your passion to the right direction….. ” she continued.

I enjoyed watching her talk and speakers who spoke after her just wasted my time. I wanted to speak to Lilian and ask so many question but first confirm if she was that Lilian or a new one had just emerged.

When we met I started by introducing myself then a bit of how I loved her voice and dressing and the rest followed. But those aren’t important. I loved how she confirmed she is that Lilian. ” Yes I had always wanted to be a nurse. I remember years back when I was in class four I called a radio station to confess how passionate I was!” She said but  this time with no passion at all. It was just a normal confession.

privileged enough, I read some of her moving articles, stories perhaps I wouldn’t have read had I not met her. knowing her in person is,another thing I’m mad about. But I’m not the only one with this privilege,you too.You are reading through her article as well:You are getting to know her in person as well. Yes you, I didn’t know I was Lilian but now I know. I didn’t know I will be a journalist but now I know.

Look at me,I wanted so bad to become a nurse but that wasn’t what dictated my heart,that wasn’t where my passion was. It doesn’t matter what you love , and wish, and want, and like to be but what you will be.

And today,today I’m going back to my father and I’m going to ask him to rephrase that question he asked  me when I was only ten.

Don’t you think it should have been something else,something like,

“What will you become when you grow up?”

style

I haven’t always loved style. I haven’t always used style. I haven’t always prioritized style as well.
I remember growing my writing skills back in high school, my essays had no beginning or ending. I wrote exam anyhow and everything was jumbled up. I mean my second point would be explained in forth point, sixth or even eighth point.  But guess what? I used to pass.
My teachers wanted well written stories. What they wanted were stories written with jargon and cliche, proverbs and says everyone else uses: What they wanted were stories written with big and difficult words that no one uses. Reading my essay you needed a dictionary beside the article.
I religiously followed this to the latter. No one in form one central had their own style of writing, no one in form two central had their unique way of writing and no one in form three central had their own signature of writing. We all wrote the same way and one could tell I belong to central just by reading my story.
As if that isn’t enough, I crammed a story, I mustered from word to sentence to paragraph; that was the same story I wrote in my national examination. And yet again I passed.

Style imagephoto courtesy

When I joined campus in 2014, nothing changed. I wrote my exams the same old way until I specialized in print journalism as a profession when I developed passion in reading articles written in magazine, newspapers and novels. I was wrapped in reading those articles until I longed for one thing.
I wanted to write like those authors whose articles I read: I wanted my stories to be like those articles they wrote. I started writing well but something was still missing. The more I tried to resonate with what was missing, the more I got lost again and again.
There was no doubt I was losing hope till I attended a stylistic class by Prof. Henry Indangasi. He showed me how to use language bringing out its artistic beauty: He showed me how to write story bringing out its original beauty. He showed me how to develop my signature writing.
“Onyango imagine walking in Nairobi streets today and then you spot a lady putting on blue glasses, same design like you are wearing: putting on black shoes, same design like you wearing. And as if that isn’t enough, she’s putting on white neck tie dress, yellow jacket,” Prof.Indangasi posed looking me straight into eyes.
“Tell me, how would you feel? Would you be happy?” He asked me.
And knowing myself well, how I love to be unique with absolutely everything I posses from my ornaments to shoes to hairstyle , I looked him straight into his eyes tongue tied and what came out after that made me want my own signature.
“I love to be unique. I love to be me. I don’t want to be like somebody else, and me walking to the street only to stumble upon that lady; I will hate her then change my dressing style forever. I just want to be unique.” I answered.
“Then what are you still waiting for? I mean after knowing what you want…” he told me
So I started by braking grammatical norms fitting them in this brand new signature, then another rude thing I did was playing with rules and yet another awkward thing I did was repeating myself to make this signature valid. I’M NOT doing all these because I have no knowledge BUT to create emphasis, to introduce new information, to make my readers engaged just as I’ve done with you.
You are drawn in right?
I know it is three yeses from you.
Last and most importantly, I wrote for the ears. I wrote just as I talked. I hope you are boarding with this well, just how I want you to. I was telling a one on one tale. I’m doing the same thing even now.
And today, I’m promising me that should I forget everything prof. Indangasi taught me in stylistics, I shouldn’t forget one thing. Writing for the ears.
I want my signature writing style, I want my unique writing style and I know how to get it.
Now that I love style,Now that I’m using style, and now that I’ve prioritized style;I’m not going to do anything fishy to forget this style. I’m not letting it slip away.

It’s time to love me

Today I’ve got this feeling I love you more

I give too much attention to you

attention you otherwise need not

attention I otherwise need a lot

its time I act like I don’t care

its time I act like you do

its time I divert this attention to me

Tomorrow  I’ll get that feeling you love me more

I don’t care

I don’t care which way but how I walk through it

I don’t care who to love but how to love

I don’t care what to eat but how to eat

I don’t care what to write but how to right

I don’t care what to say but how yo say

I don’t care what to wear but how to wear

I don’t care where to touch but how to touch

I don’t care where to laugh but how to laugh

I just don’t care about what and who and which but how.