The Memoirs

So the blogosphere is awash with relationship posts this week, perish the thought that I’d let the wave pass without throwing in an opinion or two. I want to do two posts, this one and the next on whether the role of the woman in a relationship has ever changed or we’re just kidding ourselves. First to say this is just my opinion, and I’ll generalise, this doesn’t mean exceptions to the rule aren’t there. They are there but rare.

The other day we were discussing expectations with one of my chat friends and the phrase ‘lowering expectations’ came up. And for some reason, that got me thinking about expectations in relationships and to be honest, I am not going to lower my expectations and I don’t expect the man I date to lower his expectations in a mate for me. I want you to date me because I’m the star, not a compromise candidate you settled on. I may not meet all your expectations but I want you to keep having them and communicating them to me as long as they’re attainable.

Just to be clear by expectations I don’t mean the long or short lists we have of what our ideal mate should be/look like, but I mean the role we expect said mate to play in our lives.

We perform because we know it’s expected

As much as I claim to be self driven, I’m the first to admit that for the first 17 years of my life, I performed because I knew my parents expected nothing but the best. If less than best was admissible in our house, chances are, I would have gotten complacent somewhere along the way. Even as adults, we’re driven by expectations; from our parents bosses, mates etc.

So I think it’s good to expect and expect a lot from your mate. See we’re all inherently lazy and selfish, if there were no expectations we’d just loll around doing nothing.

So I say expect from me. Expect even more than I can offer, and every new day I’ll wake up and blast those expectations through the roof. If your mate doesn’t demand more of you than you demand of yourself, who will?

‘No Expectations’ is a big lie

We like to say we get into relationships with no expectations, open mind and all that bullshit. I call you liar! That’s a lie peddled by individuals whose expectations maybe have been met but don’t want to say so, or those that want to make their mates feel guilty for having expectations of them.

It’s human and natural to have expectations. I have expectations of the guard who opens the gate for me and sometimes I feel entitled to that service, tell me you expect nothing of your mate and I’ll give you with a huge plaque reading: LIAR!

Expectations should be communicated

Someone said a relationship is like a business contract with terms that must be agreed upon. I agree totally. In my opinion, terms are expectations we carry. Problem is most of us get into relationships without voicing this and only raise hell when we get disappointed. It might not be possible to voice every expectation at the beginning of the relationship, but I say before you complain about something, talk about it first.

Damn! I want to know that you expect me to approach you on my knees. I’m not saying I will do it, but I want to know this is what you expect of me, then we can negotiate. But communicate your expectations.

Expectations can be negotiated

At the communication point, I think it’s healthy to negotiate what you will meet and what you won’t be able to. For example, if a man’s expectations of a wife is she will personally launder his clothes, personally cook for him every evening after work etc and he communicates this to me, I think it’s fair for me to appreciate the expectations but negotiate those that are hard to meet.

If he expects a 6 course dinner, will he accept that I can only do that on weekends and weekdays he has to eat third party cooked meals (which I serve), if not sandwiches? Or I can do that but he has to contend with the fact that I have to take a lower paying job so I have more free hours to serve him, so reduced household income.

We should not shy away from these conversations.

Expectations should be met and exceeded

We strive to exceed expectations at work, why don’t we do the same in our relationships? Instead of complaining everyday that my expectations are too high, meet them and ask me to demand even more and vice versa. Why are we so afraid to give our loved ones what they want?

Character expectations should NEVER be compromised

Just to be clear here. There is a big difference between character tendencies and behavioral/habitual tendencies. Behavioral tendencies are easy to modify once one is in a relationship, all it takes is a strong will and love. Behavioral tendencies are things like leaving the toilet sit up/down (simplest I could think of).

Character tendencies on the other hand are deeply rooted in our personality and I’m sorry to say cannot change because you’re in a relationship. They’re the fibre of who we are, our virtues, developed over time. Doesn’t mean they can’t change, we’re always growing, but it happens at it’s own pace.

Never compromise on character with the hope that the person will love you enough to change. Lie. Compromise if you’re willing to live with it even if it takes him/her 20 years to grow out of the weakness.

An example of a character weakness I posses:

I have CSI tendencies (too much TV). If something doesn’t make sense in my head, it will bug me to death. I remember once last year I read in Forbes Magazine (I think) that Facebook has a higher valuation than Apple. It didn’t make sense to me. I collected revenue data from both companies, did my own valuations, talked to everyone I could and in my opinion, that article was a con! I remember someone getting pissed at me, that I should trust the article after all it’s written by a reputable financial publication. Unfortunately, in my mind that didn’t lend the story credibility. To this day I talk about that article. It didn’t compute!

Being investigative works beautifully in my work setting. If my partners want inconsistencies pointed out in financial documents, they just need to give them to me for 5 minutes. In relationships, this is a weakness, because sometimes it’s human nature to fib here and there, to flatter here and there and it’s very unpleasant to have your mate point this out to you.

Now, let’s say you decide to date me in the hopes that I will change once you point out that you don’t like this about me. Chances are, I will quash the instinct to go all CSI on you, but in my heart, I know I’ve not changed. It blows over at some point.

We’re all a work in progress, maybe I’ll outgrow the trait but what if it takes 10 years? If your prospective mate has a substance abuse problem, date him/her because you can live with it, not with the hopes that they will change. If you can’t stand lies, then for God’s sake steer clear of that woman who is always telling little lies. It won’t change just because she’s now dating you and you’re an honest soul!

Realistic expectations

Self explanatory really. Don’t expect of others that which you aren’t.

Before I get to it, there’s a reason I’ve done two posts today. It’s 4pm and my brain is mush. Reason being, I’m trying to form this habit of 7 hours sleep from 10pm sharp to 5am sharp. Second day into said habit, the results at best are comical. See everyone knows waking up is usually an uphill task for me, I’ll do anything. ANYTHING to remain sleeping. So this morning I woke up alright. Got out of my double duvet and prayed. Then decided it’s too cold I’ll go back in for 10 minutes, strictly eyes open, then decided that’s being weak and ran to the bathroom. It’s a battle of will in action but this time I must win!

I was telling my friend what’s on my wishlist for the next 2 years. My self loving wishlist.

I want to go to Coast. This isn’t a wish. It’s a plan. In July for 3 days where all I will do is wear my bikini (yes), hat and sunscreen and lounge by the pool reading chic lits. Then come back to Nairobi.

I want to travel to France. South of France. The land of good wine, good food and men speaking a strange language. I don’t think I have the patience to learn the language, but I’ll manage. I’m told in France they don’t shower, maybe I’ll take advantage and not shower too 😦

Then I want to go to Italy. Rome. See the Vatican. Then go to Milan. Fashion capital of the world. Dare I say shop there? I’m also curious if the Italians are openly flirtatious as advertised.

After that go to Spain. And go on a Mediterranean cruise. There’s a joke here that I’ll tell them to offload me in Tunisia, after all Africa is home, and chances are I’ll be too broke to afford a flight home. When you look at a map of Africa, trekking from Tunisia to Kenya doesn’t look too hard on paper.

Then I will come home and work to pay the debts.

I want a cooker. An Ariston 6 burner is in my wishlist but will happily settle for a 4 burner because after all I’m an accountant.

I want to learn to ride a bicycle. Because I’m tired of people laughing when I tell them I can’t. Already got a teacher for this, let’s hope I have the guts because the last thing I want is to break my leg again.

I want to blow a month’s salary on useless things. I haven’t done this.

Finally, I want to own land. Good land.

What are your wishes?

It’s easy to assume that when I say I have the best Mom in the world, I’m biased. I wouldn’t blame you for thinking I’m a spoiled brat after watching Mom and I relate. We joke around with each other, SHE will sometimes come over to cook for me, she is protective of me and I’m still just a baby.

I think the first is true. If a Mom-Meter were to be invented, my Mom would lead as she does in so many other things. And I’m not a spoiled brat, just that with age, we’ve grown to be best friends. We fought some growing up, but as an adult, I can confidently say I wouldn’t trade my Mom for yours. I got the best there is!

Mom taught me about God. She taught me to pray, to read the Bible, led me to Christ when I was 6 years old. Sure I’ve strayed one too many times, but I always find my way back. I’m a true testament of Proverbs 22:6 which says: Start children off on the way they should go,and even when they are old they will not turn from it.

Mom taught me to give. She showed me that you don’t have to have enough to give to a less fortunate person. We didn’t have much growing up, but we always shared with everyone else.

Mom taught me to give to God. By having me, at 5 years old do household chores to earn 5 shillings to take to church. Because she said, if she gives us offering, she get’s blesses not us.

Mom taught me to save. When I was less 1 year old, Mom, a housewife who grew sukuma wiki  for income opened a Postbank Account for us, and she saved for her children. She later upgraded to Barclays Junior Savings account, who kicked us out cos we couldn’t afford the high minimum balance, forcing us to use money to make new outfits when we were 13, but you get the point.

She taught me business. From the earliest I can remember, Mom was a business woman. That hasn’t changed, and looking at all of us girls, it’s a lesson well learnt.

Mom taught me integrity. First by stiff punishment for lying, but the best lesson of all, by living a life that’s full of integrity. As an adult I’ve forgotten how the caning hurt when I lie, but to remember the lesson all I have to do is look at Mom’s life even today.

Mom continues to teach me to never leave a job unfinished. She got us when she was very young, hadn’t finished studying. Mom joined campus 2 years after me and we made quite the team, traversing Kenyatta University Streets together. Soon, we’ll be going for her Masters graduation. She puts me to shame because 5 years after I graduated, I’m yet to complete a course, but it’s a learning process.

Mom taught me to be a good custodian of others’ property. I remember we’d borrow pangas to do farm work from Taata our neighbor, and Mom’s sole condition was that at sundown, we’d return them washed clean. Of course as kids we stretched this and it not only earned us a beating, but she often banned us from borrowing stuff. She taught us to be better custodians of others’ property than them. To this day, having someone else’s stuff in my house bugs me.

Mom taught me to go for quality stuff. This caused me to defy my mentor when I was making my car buying decision. My mentor had advised that I go for a local run second hand car, as I hadn’t built a sufficient financial base to justify spending over Kshs 500,000 and it was my first car so I was bound to bash it about. Well, what Mom taught me too is that quality need not be expensive, so I was able to import a cheap but quality car.

Mom taught me to date. When I got my first boyfriend at 19, he was working while I was in school. I remember Mom telling me to never buy or overspend on something just because the man is paying for it. She told me every man I date is a potential husband and for that reason, if I wouldn’t waste my husband’s money, I shouldn’t do the same for a boyfriend. I am not sure how well this has worked out so far, but I hold it true.

I could be at this all day, but to conclude;

Mom taught me not to rush to find love. While other parents are pressuring their 28 year old daughters to get married, Mom recently sat me down and told me not to settle for less than what I give. That I’m a princess in making, I deserve a prince in making. And just like all the other lessons, Mom has lived it.

In a little over a month’s time,my sisters, her parents and I will be handing our queen over to her king. Giving her up go be a Mom to many, grateful that we were gifted with such an awesome Mom.

…on budget.

This morning I had a short meeting with the team. On getting back to my desk, I find my chat window blinking. My girl had logged in and sent me this. No greetings even. The story brought tears to my eyes and sparked the longest discussion I’ve ever had on Facebook. As my girl and I discussed the common excuse men give on the lack of romance in the relationship (lack of money), she challenged me to do a post on how to make a woman’s evening on a budget.

I wish money was the problem really. It’s not. It’s very easy to make a lady’s evening with very minimal spend, all you need to do is listen to her, and do the simple things that show that you actually listen. So the first thing is to listen. Women talk alot and it’s hard to concentrate, but who said relationships are easy? Anyway. Onto the evening:

1. Set the stage:If you live together, pick on an evening where she’s scheduled to work late, or if you don’t, invite her to your house after work, at a specific time (to give you ample time for preparation). Cost – Kshs 1 to send a text. On this day, have the cleaning lady clean the house thoroughly, change the bedsheets, basically leave everything sparkling. I’m assuming you clean your house weekly, no extra cost here.
2. The Real Work: Prepare her favourite meal. (See why I said listen?) Please note that her favourite meal may not be what she says is her favourite meal, so asking her outright what it is might not work. It requires you to take active interest in her eating habits and to listen too! Cost Kshs 1,000 I’m working the idea that you won’t need to buy all the ingredients.
3. The Setting: Light candles (Kshs 300), this is on budget so lay out some juice (Kshs 145) and wait for her.
4. Arrival: Greet her with a kiss. A proper kiss. Take her laptop bag (very important), and settle her in to eat. Cost Kshs 0
5. The Dinner: Serve her (very important. Women serve others all the time, feels good when its reciprocated). Have dinner together and dedicate the evening to her. Don’t bring up your work day, let it be all about her. Whatever she wishes to talk about, listen. Don’t zone out. Take interest, ask questions, just try and understand. Clear the dishes (make sure she doesn’t have to wash them), and retire for the evening. Cost Kshs 0

For most of the time, I’m not aware of my body. I don’t have a full length mirror, its on my To Buy list, but way down. I have never seen the need for one, though it would be nice to have.

A friend who has known me since I was 19 once told me I’m the one woman he’s met who is so comfortable in her skin, it’s like I’m not even aware said skin exists. Well, this was after I’d cut my hair and stopped wearing make up.

That doesn’t mean I don’t have physical flaws, God knows I need to firm up my abs, but it doesn’t stop me from just being.

One thing I’ve always been aware of is my legs. I blame my Mama.

Growing up, she always told us ladies have flawless legs. So I grew up a semi-lady. Didn’t climb trees, ride bikes and such. Tried basketball and on the 3rd day I scrapped my knee and that was the end of my short sporting career. I loved my legs. They’re not a model’s legs, a bit too thin for that, but they were flawless.

Till the blast.

I remember the day bandages came off my left leg and I cried. I didn’t expect flawless legs, but it was full of wounds! Well, a month ago, they ‘unwrapped’ the right one and it’s worse! In addition to the site where the bone had broken through, and the 4 scars where the surgeon had inserted the external fixators, I have a jagged suture line quarter way up the leg.

Death to my short outfits I thought. Even bought a couple of long skirts (which look extra dowdy cos I’m not gifted with height or large hips). Not to mention I’m no longer allowed to wear heels.

Till one morning I got an epiphany. If the scars were on my face, what would I have done? Walked around with a brown paper bag over my head maybe?

I decided I will do everything possible to minimise my scars (short of surgery), but I will rock my short clothes. Whoever has a problem with my scars, they can ask Al Shabaab.

So today I’m in a short skirt. Barely conscious of the scars.

I’m having an out of skin experience.

Unrelated: Kenyans are a rude lot! OMG I’m so tired of strangers asking me what happened. Now that I’m up and about, it’s crazy. Sample this from a random parking lot in Nairobi:

Stranger: Hi, pole, what happened to your leg?

Me: I had a small accident but I’m well now.

Stranger: What kind of accident? Car accident?

Me: Well, something like that.

Stranger: In your car?

Me: No, well I’d rather not talk about it. (starts to walk away and the stranger follows)

Stranger: Ok, and you are driving?

Me:Yes.

Stranger: How?

Me:Using my left foot. Ok, have a good day.

Stranger: Gosh! That’s possible? (I leave him talking to himself)

I get this at least thrice a day. Including at board meetings. My left foot driving was discussed for a full 5 minutes at a board meeting on Saturday. I’m so tired of talking about it!!!!

What keeps me up at night?

Not literally though, of late I seem to have mastered the science that is falling asleep. Waking up is another story altogether.

However, if I were to stay up at night, it would be because every day I struggle with the feeling that I am destined for something great. I don’t know what that is, but each time I want to settle for ‘normal’ or less than the best, the feeling comes back  full force.

That I wasn’t meant to have an easy life. I was not created to take the familiar path, to bow to the pressure, to conform to that which man deems as the ‘correct’ way to live. And the feeling that if I followed this path would bring just a fleeting feeling of fulfillment, the feeling that I have finally fitted in with the world, but a lifetime of discontentment and disappointment in myself.

The struggle at every decision point, to search within me and establish if the decision I am making is in line with my destiny or I’m choosing immediate comfort.

The discomfort that comes in being a societal mental misfit.

The derision and taunts that come with turning away from popular paths, to seek that which is best and right for me.

The unpopularity that comes in choosing not to conform and walk with the crowds.

The increasingly many moments of complete silence. Trying to hear the voice of God, and calming the fears within, associated with charting familiar, yet unfamiliar waters.

The uncertainty that comes from walking out of a warm cocoon, in search of something vague, something that might be there or not, but knowing that you must.

The excitement in waiting. Even when you know the waiting might be in vain. Because I was not created to live a simple life, but then could be what I was created for.

That’s what keeps me up at night.

I’m sure I’ve written about this before, but that doesn’t stop me from doing it yet again. Oh yeah, here’s the post. When I was searching for that post I landed on another I’d written from such a similar place, that I wonder if I’m just making circles.

So a friend is on his last week  of his MBA. I blame him for this post. See I started considering an MBA and leaving the country the same time or before he did, he’s done and I’m still here with the Wharton Business School website open on my laptop. Now I feel jealous and this is a sinful emotion to feel.

Do I wish I’d flown out? Well, I am not sure I had the ability to, though looking at my life, everything I’ve wanted to have I’ve gotten, so we can say I regret not wanting to fly out badly enough to actually do it.

I keep feeling like I’m an actress on a stage that’s too small. Like the Kenyan Dream will leave me yearning for more, like I need to do something bigger with my life and the window to do it is closing on me very fast.

I was having this conversation with a friend and they asked me to maybe have a more defined plan. There’s a reason this has persisted for so long.  I felt like stamping my feet like a small petulant child because I don’t want to plan and fail. But then, even on the stage I am on, I could fail.

I don’t know. Even as this stage is trying to expand to fit me, I still don’t feel this is what I was created to do. I do it, I’m happy and I excel at it, but I’m not passionately in love with it. I wouldn’t do it for no pay. In fact, it’s nagging and irritating me a little bit.

So here we go again.

I think it’s only fitting that I do a post today, after all, word is Osama Bin Laden is dead. I don’t have much mojo really, so forgive me if this is disjointed.

I’m a firm believer in God’s will. Everything happens for a reason, and when God created me, He knew that December 20th would happen, and He would use it to grow me into the person He created me for.

Through the 4 months, I’ve been stressed, tired, I have cried mostly out of frustration and inability to walk, or just out of fatigue. I don’t remember a day I’ve ever cried at just how unfair it was that someone wanted us dead. Till today.

I’ve never really allowed myself to deal with that, and it’s incredible how sad it makes me. That a human being considered it a mission failed because we didn’t die. Really, we’d done nothing to deserve the pain both pyschological and emotional. That it was unfair! Mostly I try ignore that it was a terrorist attack. I once told Zack that I’ll start saying I was in a car accident, and it’s like I’ve half believed it. I hardly remember anything from that night. Well, you can say it’s a coping mechanism, but it’s worked. I’ve tried to just live as I did before the blast, with minor limitations.

Today I got two texts. one from my birth father, consoling me that Osama is dead, no one will hurt me no more. The other from Jamal, the gentleman who took me to hospital that night, just checking on me.

How I wish life was as simple as my father puts it. That no one will ever die from selfish acts of terrorism. That Obama has delivered world peace. A few hours after Osama was killed, a suicide bomber in Pakistan killed a woman and three children. So it continues, till our Lord takes us away from this earth.

It’s very hard to think and believe that all this is part of God’s plan for my life, but I know, even when my head refuses to comprehend, my heart knows that God reigns supreme, and I chose to praise Him through this. So I’m going to let myself wallow for today, I will allow myself to feel the defeat, then tomorrow, life will go on.

Update: The cast came off on the 20th of April and I’ve been making baby steps. My legs are full of scars, but I thank God for progress. Hopefully in a month or so I’ll be crutches free, with a slight limp but crutches free.