So life is kinda resuming after the general elections, despite the uncertainty in the outcome of the ongoing court process over the dispute of the results. The break was good enough to rest and catch up with my folks at home!

For some weird reason, I always go home with a baggage of emotional stress. This time round was not an exception. It’s always therapeutic to receive love from my folks, laugh away things and forget about the hustle and bustle of life. At least for a moment.

Having gone to Kenyatta University means that I have experienced the torture of having to line up in long queues for hours. The queues there are traumatizing. The trauma led me to joining my mum in the theory that 4 O’clock of the election day the polling station would have less people and therefore shorter queues. Shock on us! We queued from 4 O’clock to around 7:30 in the night.

The number of people flooding the polling station was intimidating. I was gripped by social anxiety. I felt like all eyes were on me and it was awkward. I met long lost primary school classmates and neighbors and I couldn’t summon enough courage to even say hey. I went through the torture of having to say hey to so many of my mom’s friends. At some point I had to walk to the front and confirm from the list of names that we were on the right queue. That felt like a long journey! I was so conscious of myself. When we finally settled on the queue, I locked my arms in my mom’s and wished no other familiar face would spot us. Social anxiety couldn’t get more real!

But do you know what is bliss? Bliss is going home to find there are mangoes at the farm. This can only be described as God looking upon me with His merciful eye. I substituted breakfast for mangoes on a few occasions. I’d carry a knife and eat the mangoes as I pluck them from the tree. The feeling is heavenly!

So now my sisters are all-grown up. It’s like they are competing to outgrow me. In one of the days my mom’s friend came visiting and only realized that I was not one of my sisters after my mum mentioned me in their discussion. This gave my mum grounds for accusing me for under-feeding. To her, I’m being outgrown because I’m not feeding well. She kept on complaining that I was serving less amounts of food and hence my loss of weight. I never feel small until I get home. I have added a kilogram or two already but that’s negligible weight to her.

I cannot possibly recognize the last time I took dewormers. My dad, one of my sisters and I form the rebellious club of people who never deworm in my family. My mum has fussed about this over and over. She sees a pimple on your face and blames it on the worms in your tummy. There was no way I was going to get away with it this time round. During one of our visits to town she bought me dewormer tablets and insisted that when I come back to Nairobi, I should take an amoeba test because I could be infested with amoeba and hence my lack of appetite. In case you see my face get smoother, you know who to thank. Long live mothers!

We have a resident DJ in our house. She knows our taste for music and she’s always up to making sure we don’t miss any radio or TV show playing our choice music, despite mom’s warnings on switching on the TV in unprescribed hours. She then stands in front of the TV set as she shakes one of her legs in a rhythmic manner. Sometimes very unconsciously. My mum says the next time we go home we’ll find the TV locked. Muthoni is also the resident errand girl who is available at our every beck and call. Her love for traveling manifested through her willingness to be sent everywhere makes me think she should just pursue a course on tours and travels.  😀 😀 😀

Being home is normally awesome. I’m already nostalgic as I write this. We thank God for family!