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Elizabeth Muthama
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I beleive every human being has a story to tell,Not everyone though gets the opportunity to do it. I have the opportunity to: So i write for me & i write for you
I beleive every human being has a story to tell,Not everyone though gets the opportunity to do it. I have the opportunity to: So i write for me & i write for you

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#newblogpost   #firstof2017  
Who said that having an 8-5pm job and being a writer at the same time is easy? Because it's not. I was fine squeezing few hours early morning and late evening to bang copy. After two months of a crazy ass schedule I was burnt down and fatigued, I thought too much and slept too little- a bad combination for creativity. In the third month, I would stare at the laptop and words would disappear in the intricate networks of my brain. One minute I would create a story in my mind, words choking me up, eager to be put on paper and in the next, I would be blank unable to move past the first line. I could barely write and the struggle stifled me off any happiness. I quickly become the writer who never writes. The writer who was only one on her Twitter and Instagram bio. Thoughts of how much I was failing in life tormented me like a vindictive ghost. I became angry like a jilted lover who stared through the cracks of a wall watching his only love locked in another man's arms. This man telling her the things he believed only he would tell her. Doing to her things that he jealously wanted to be the only one doing to her. Words became elusive...
Best Foot Forward
Best Foot Forward
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You drive on past quiet homes, concealed by bushes and vegetation sprouting from the ground. If you look keenly & listen carefully you will see and hear their fear of never growing to maturity due to water insufficiency. If you touch the ground and pick up some soil, you will see dying grass. Grass that has been broken by tough seasons. Season in and out they try and season in & out the rains let them down. The people share in the uncertainty of the plants, but perhaps they have a better understanding of why?
Then there are the students. The ones we met in Mbeetwani primary whose spirit by the way resonates with most if not all children there. Early in the morning as the sun peeps on the horizon, they bustle along beaten paths, paths that somehow tell a subtle tale of the tens of Kilometres they have to walk or cycle to get to school. All these with their dreams tightly clasped on their hands.
Defiant Hope
Defiant Hope
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“Four years ago she was scrambling out of a crowded Economics class in Maseno University; it was one of those semester units that brought all Mathematics freaks under the same roof. She happened to drop a book and as she walked away, a guy ran behind her and handed it to her. He was a Statistics student but most importantly was well dressed. Well dressed means he was not one of the fashion weirdos who donned extremely tight rugged jeans, strategically lowered to reveal profoundly annoying boxers and an even worse fitting t-shirt printed ‘my money grows like grass’. A t-shirt that was tight enough to highlight biceps gasping for air. No, he was not dressed like that- he had black khaki trousers that were well ironed, a dark blue short sleeved shirt and brown well polished leather shoes. He had not been caught in the dread lock craze that had swept male students like a tsunami, which to be honest was just an excuse for some to evade combing their hair. His dark hair was neatly kempt, and by the looks, he had a good relationship with great barber...
Secrets of the Night [Part 2]
Secrets of the Night [Part 2]
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#newblogpost "She inclines her head upwards, to face the water gushing from the shower and let’s is beat her eyes and wash off her tears. As the tears run along with the water she wishes that it would magically do so with her burdens. She wishes they would be diffused into the water and flow down the drainage to oblivion. But what are wishes if not fairy dust that stopped working ages ago when Cinderella was still hot with a rich Prince on her heels? She wants to remember no more and she longs to cry no more. She sighs deeply as if resigning to a life of tormenting memories. Before some reprieve can set, a fresh race begins in her mind, again! A safe opens, inside dances another memory. This she doesn’t fight she cries out loud and allows herself to relive horrible days. She opens her mouth letting out a long mourn that reeks of sadness. What she feels is something between anger and dire sadness. Strength becomes quickly elusive and she feebly lowers her body to the floor then coils..."
Secrets of the Night [Part 1]
Secrets of the Night [Part 1]
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Public schools are full of manure! Absentee teachers- who have been pressured by meagre salaries to run their own businesses, which they do when supposed to be in class, overcrowded classrooms, few or no textbooks, you name it. The conditions some kenyan kids have to go through, pursuant of the Kenyan dream are heart-rending! This woman is literally breaking her back to steer her kids from this madness. She is however aware ‘academic qualifications’ has lost the credibility it once had: More and more people are losing faith in it, stripping it of its glory. Once upon a time, it was a sure highway to achieve the middle class Kenyan dream- ‘a great job with mouth whetting paycheck, a nice three bedroom house, a nice car (at least not a probox) and two kids in a private school with immaculate playing fields. We are to blame for demeaning ‘academic qualification’, we attend questionable colleges and glorify godfathers and bribery. We mock those who think the system is fair and despise those unwilling to rig the process. Needless to say, there are parents who still hope education will give their children a different life to theirs, a better life. And it does, only now it’s never a guarantee...
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"When most people were out of the office, at lightning speed I dashed to the ladies, which thank fully were not too far from the office. By this time I had already stripped off all illusory nobility, dignity and pride. I was just a mortal human being in need of the glorious service of a toilet! In that instant, only two things existed; my need and me; there was no crush to impress, no boss to hold in high regard and no colleagues to gossip about my unprecedented predicament. At the ladies section there were only two doors-two toilets. I knocked on the first one with a sense of deep desperation. Honestly I did it out of normal courtesy and I never imagine there would be someone on the other end. The moment became so perilous when I heard a faded response and a knock to show the room was otherwise occupied. I can’t remember lucidly, but am sure when I learnt there was an occupant I let out faded guttural sounds of defeat. The few seconds that followed were, a melting pot of feelings and emotions that I absolutely have no words to articulate with precision..."
After the Winds of Change...
After the Winds of Change...
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"When Michael came down, he went straight to the boardroom, right there where two men in dark suits and red ties and two women in short tight skirts sat, twirling on their gigantic leather seats, sipping their tea as they mulled over who to shortlist for an interview. There were four slots,…well actually two because the manager had sold one and the Human Resource officer another; the money had already exchanged hands in a bar. So two slots needed to be filled. The lady wearing sexy glasses picked your letter from a hoard of application letters. Michael was in the room so nobody objected. They went through your application and boy they loved your presentation (Oh!! Bless you Harvard professor)..."
The Winds of Change
The Winds of Change
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"When I joined high school, I had short hair. In fact if I wore a pair of trousers anyone would be excused for thinking I was a boy (yeah, it was that good/ bad). I was admitted to a girls’ school and most of them were brought up by parents who were modern and kind enough to allow them to grow their hair. My parents parental guide book lucidly stated that long hair was a distraction from the pertinent goals a young girl should have for herself. You know, like straight As in class and staying away from boys lest they infected you with a pregnancy at a young age and worst out of the wedlock. You would think that my peculiarly short hair was the queerest thing about me that set me apart from most if not all the girls. But no, it wasn’t. Rather, it was my introvert nature and shyness that highlighted me from a crowd of girls. Meeting confident and beautiful girls who spoke good English with exotic accents didn’t make my situation any better..."
The Shy Girl Lands a Friend
The Shy Girl Lands a Friend
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I had the feeling that I was around strangers because none of the faces of those people was familiar. Even if it was clearly our first time to meet each other, we vividly enjoyed each other company. We laughed and made fun of people who were acrophobic, occasionally one person (the most courageous in the group) would start a song and the rest of us would join in and when we ran out of depth of the lyrics some of us hummed and the others lip synced- Britney Spears style! We were not professional musicians so we didn't mind being musically incorrect. Our unfamiliarity had been quintessentially dissolved by one common desire: someone who looked at us from a distance would have presumed that we had been friends for ages. That we were of different nationalities nobody could tell except ourselves and the people who had brought us there. Our differences had simply faded out at the face of our passion and camaraderie. We were comrades in the world of creation. Our love for words had brought us from different corners of the country and the continent and assembled us there...
ABOUT A DREAM
ABOUT A DREAM
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My cup was already half full. But if the tea I was drinking went through what I had just witnessed there was no chance in hot hell of taking another sip. The universe must have had a born to pick with me that day, because as I stared at the cup whose content was now cold I noticed something yellow on the wall of the cup. I couldn't make out whether it was a mere stain or just a foreign substance in my tea. But believe me there was no confusion on how I felt about the yellow thing! My mouth begun tasting funny and revolutions set off in my stomach. The room was suddenly chilly but sweat formed under my armpits and on my forehead. My stomach and my mouth begun to coordinate as the nausea welled up. I frantically called my friend with a tone that was laced with fear and anger...
The Bizarre 'Hotel'
The Bizarre 'Hotel'
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