The Contemporary Woman

Category: Me

  • The Most Toxic Person in Your life Can be Yourself-and so Can Your Biggest Fan!

    The Most Toxic Person in Your life Can be Yourself-and so Can Your Biggest Fan!

    I took a much-needed (or was it?) sabbatical these past two months. Well, if I’m being honest, it was just supposed to be a short break but thanks to self-doubt, procrastination, and well life, what was supposed to be a two weeks break escalated to a two months break which might have just been what I needed, or maybe not, who knows? Oh yes, I do. While it might have been necessary, at first, I think it was a bit exaggerated.

    While I was away, I loved that I could still see some growth on my page, well even though small, it was good affirmation for my soul. Also, while I was away, so much happened in the public eye­, that affected the contemporary woman, so yes, it really caught my attention and I’m sure going to address it in due time.   

    What I have learnt during my sabbatical of self-evaluation and well, procrastination, is that you cannot pour from an empty cup. You must always, take care of yourself, even when it means sometimes, taking a break, and or focusing on one thing first.

    Almost Empty Spilled Water Glass

    And do you know what else I have realized; you must always be ready and able to stand on your own. Be your cheer leader, your greatest fan. It doesn’t matter who told you they got your back. Because you know what, they might not always be there-they too are busy slaying their own demons and might not always be at your beck and call. Or even worse, as it is in the human nature, they might change, you might fall apart, etc. So, who will hold you then if not yourself!

    Interestingly, being ready to stand up for yourself includes standing for yourself, from yourself. You’ve got to learn to be sick and tired of your own shit. Your own poor choices, your excuses, your poor patterns, bad behavior, and toxic characters. This is the only way you’ll totally learn to be the best version, by keeping not only being your biggest cheerleader, but also your greatest critic. Because honestly, sometimes, we really are our biggest setbacks, it’s not even funny. ­­­

    Oh, and guess what, you see those things that are always triggering you, you have to learn how to deal with them. Because nobody cares, and people cannot always walk on egg shells to protect you.  It’s not their responsibility to protect you. Yes! that is just how selfish and ruthless the world is. It is up to you and only you to learn how to survive.

    Finally, I have heard this quite a lot, and I just didn’t know how true it was. Here it is, you’ve got to unlearn so much of what you know or believe in. because well, you were taught by adults who were also learning. And maybe it was best suited for their time and now it just doesn’t cut it today. Or ̶̶and this is quite a twist- you were taught by adults who didn’t know any better, probably because they were still learning and figuring things out themselves.  

    So, what I’m I trying to say? You know that deep passion we always have when talking about our woes and misery. How you have been and/ or are going through a lot. We need to learn how to channel that same passion and more when addressing the good in our lives. And maybe then, we’ll learn that it really isn’t that bad. Or maybe, just how easily we can make it work for us.

    ❤️❤️❤️❤️

    Nyambura Macharia

  • My Mother’s Story Part Two: Getting Help

    My Mother’s Story Part Two: Getting Help

    We had quite a smooth trip after which we arrived at the hospital  around 10:30 a.m. I remember thinking, we are only thirty minutes late, that’s got to be some kind of record I’ve made(I’m always late, which makes everyone late) However, just as we were about to get in the hospital, we got the shock of a lifetime. We had left behind the most important documents of all. Well, not literal documents–the CT and MRI scans. This is what would have been referred to as a classic Joyce move, had I been the one given the responsibility to carry the images. I still don’t understand how the images were left behind. But in hindsight, I believe that it was really God’s way of showing us that–like my mother had said before–everything was happening just as He had planned.

    December, 2022

    Despite our disappointment, we really had to think fast, and organized for the images to be sent through a matatu. This would take 3 hours for us to get them but what choice did we have? Also, coincidentally that day, Dr. F.Koech, the one my mother had an appointment with, was running late. Now this was a blessing in disguise, and part of God’s plan, because we could not see him without the scans. Three hours past and the driver said he was still on his way. Apparently, there was a lot of traffic jam as the road was under construction. At this point we had started to panic because doctor F.Koech had arrived. But who is God? Turned out he first had to go round the wards checking on the other patients and possibly discharging those he deemed fit. I must say that, the wait had become too long that we had started to get sceptical about the efficiency of the hospital. But it’s just because we were anxious and scared of history repeating itself–shame on us for doubting them.

    In an hour’s time, we already had the images and we were carefully directed to the waiting room–just me and my mother. There were quite a number of people waiting which was sad because they all had the big CT and MRI scans. It was sad because I realized just how many people are dealing with health issues everyday, and just how far some travel to find medical help. Seeing my mom, the nurse who took her blood pressure was so sympathetic. She pulled me to the side and told me, “I really wish you could see the doctor first, but it will be unfair since the others have also waited, seeing that he was late today.” However, she told me that after the first five patients went in, she would squeeze us in. And to her word, she did. That meant that in less than 30 minutes after the scans arrived, it was our turn to see the doctor. 😊

    Finally, he sighed, looked at my mother and asked, “Mama you mean all this time you have not been helped?” “naona umesumbuka na umezunguka sana,” he added. He then finished with, “Lakini usijali, umefika.”

    At this point I really had to ask whether he could help her just to be sure, and he said yes. Again he rechecked the images (which I loved, because it showed he really was being meticulous in his work). The interesting thing was that he never even once examined my mom. Nothing, he just carefully analyzed the images. After around 15 minutes, he now started explaining to us, her exact condition and what really needed to be done to treat her. He told us that as a neurosurgeon he would be the main surgeon, but her tumour covered other areas. Thus, he needed a team of surgeons; an eye surgeon, an ENT surgeon, and a beautician (I intentionally avoided using their professional names since this isn’t a medical blog). My mother was shook when he heard this because she had heard it before in her previous hospital and it had taken a year. But to our surprise, Dr. Koech started making the phone calls immediately. My mother and I were in total bewilderment when he said that she could even have the surgery that night! I mean literally, “tulikua tumefika.”

    Sadly, the ENT specialist was not available  as he was scheduled for another surgery later that night. However, he promised to be fully available the following day. By this time, it was around 5 p.m. so we really did not mind waiting until the following day. I mean, my mother had waited a whole year! Plus, actually it was for the better, so that we’d all have settled in and rested from the journey. We thanked Dr. Koech and headed to the admission desk where he directed us.

    The following day, February 19th, we were told by the hospital that my mother would need at least 12 pints of blood for her surgery. This meant that we had to find donors so that the world blood bank would provide the paints of blood. Remember my brother and I had never once, set foot in Eldoret. Luckily, Leroy’s dad had, and his cousin-brother was fortunately in Eldoret. We then called my cousin who called some of her friends to come donate–she had schooled in Eldoret  and pretty much grown up there. God was seriously overseeing everything for us because when we could not find enough people to donate—some of us were deemed ineligible to donate–we were given an exception.

    Finally, around 3 p.m, my mother was wheeled into the theatre room, and we did not see her until the following day. Get this, my brother and I were the signatories to her surgery. I know I’m a mother, but that has to be the  most  “adult” responsibility ever. During the surgery, my brother and I stayed outside the hospital, trying as much as we could to avoid that discussion–I honestly think distraction is the best way to handle tough situations. Still, it was hard to avoid the many calls which kept coming in, especially on mom’s phone.

    At around 9 p.m, one nurse came and told me that my mother was out of surgery and had been wheeled to the I.C.U and we could see her the following morning (I was the only one allowed to sleep in the hospital, as the caretaker)  She said it with a smile so even though she didn’t tell me, I knew the surgery was a success. I called everyone who had contacted me, informed them and finally I could sleep.

    The following morning my brother was at the hospital by 6:30 a.m. and fifteen minutes later we went to see her. Miraculously, she was already awake, and the swelling, was gone! We could barely acknowledge the bandage on her head, nor the discomfort she must have been in from excitement. She was back to her “old self.’’ Believe me, it was almost unreal! The good thing was that she was not in pain as the stitched part was still numb, and she was under heavy pain medication.

    The third day, she was stable and she was transferred to the ward. At least there, I’d keep her company so she wouldn’t get bored. We stayed at the hospital for ten days through which we were treated with uttermost professionalism, hospitality and kindness. By the time we were discharged, my mother might not have been fully healed, but her improvement was nothing short of a miracle. And for that, we’ll forever be grateful to God, and the entire Tophill hospital fraternity. Because that is where we got help.

    One year later, my mother is doing so much better and resuming her normal life 😊

    ❤❤❤❤

    Nyambura Macharia

  • My Mother’s Story Part One: Finding Help

    My Mother’s Story Part One: Finding Help

    This past Saturday, 19th February 2022, marked exactly one year since my mother got her life-changing surgery. Over the past year, I have mentioned in several of my stories about taking her to the hospital but I have never really written about it in detail. I have intentionally avoided writing about it because of various reasons. 

    First, I didn’t want to attach her before pictures to the story, because they just break my heart. Second, part of me felt (still feels) like by writing about it, I would be trying to use her illness to popularize my blog which would be the last thing I would want to do. Finally, I don’t know. I just wasn’t (still isn’t fully) comfortable writing about it.

    So why I’m I writing about it today? Because my mother—God Bless her Soul—insists that the story could help someone.

    “You know you’re scared of posting the before pictures because of how bad you think they are. But those are the ones that need to be seen the most. There could be someone in the same or worse situation and once they – or their friends and family see them – they would know where to turn to.” Her actual words.

    She had been going to KNH for almost a year following a twisted web of appointments that led nowhere. Her condition got exceptionally worse and turned into our worst nightmare. Of course, she’s right. Nobody should go what she had to when there was another way out.

    So now more than ever, the story needs to be heard.

    After my mother had been in Kenyatta for a while, we started looking for options. That’s when I learnt about Top Hill hospital. I mean I had heard about the hospital before, but it so happened that Leroy’s father had recently taken a friend of his to the hospital and he had received the help he deserved. What amazed me, was the convenience with which he went and got his treatment (which happened to be a surgery).

    So one day I was telling him (Leroy’s dad) about how my mother had not yet received help, and she kept on getting worse. Her face was literally swelling by the day. That’s when he suggested that we try taking her to Top Hill. I had thought about it, but it was just one of those thoughts that you did not fully have because you brushed it off too fast. Somehow, I did not find it feasible to ask my mother to travel all the way from Thika to Eldoret to get treatment. I myself had never even been there. Also, you know the typical thing is for a patient to travel from Eldoret to Nairobi to get treatment. I also didn’t think that the thought would even be embraced by my mother herself, leave alone the rest of the family.

    Either way, I googled Top Hill, trying to get their contacts, and I did. You know what even seemed more unbelievable to me, as soon as I texted via WhatsApp, I got instant feedback. And not, it wasn’t the WhatsApp autoreply messages. The hospital actually had a functional customer care service desk and helpline.

    I told my brother about it and he told me to pursue the enquiry before I could ask mom about it. However, ” the guy I was talking to” through the helpline number asked me for my mother’s medical history. You see, he wasn’t a doctor, he was just the receptionist, so for him to confirm whether the hospital could help my mother, he needed her medical history to confirm with an actual doctor. I had told him that my mother was in Murang’a at the time, so it would really be a bother to have her travel all the way when she had no assurance that she could get the help she needed. And honestly, he really got me.

    However, this also meant that I had to call my mom to ask for images of her medical records, and so I had to tell her about “my plan”, ready to do a lot of convincing if I had to. But contrary to my expectations, I didn’t have to. She was ready to try anywhere else. With the excruciating headaches she was having, she said was ready to try anywhere. “Handū ha ndūre ngirītīte Kīnyata,” as she put it–Kikuyu to mean instead of always trying to pursue help from Kenyatta Hospital.

    After my mother sent images of her medical history, everything moved really fast from then on. I forwarded the images to the guy and within two hours or so, he confirmed that my mother could get help. He further advised that it was best for her to meet the hospital’s main surgeon, who is also the founder of the Hospital, Dr. F. Koech. Now the tricky part was that he was only available on Tuesday and Thursday from 10 a.m. When I received this information, it was on a Tuesday evening. That meant that if my mother was to make it to see him that Thursday at 10 (the much-desired outcome), she had to travel the following day. So we had to act fast, and I wasn’t sure such a long journey could be planned in such a short time.  Either way, I called my brother and according to him, Thursday was the only option. (He had taken mom to KNH the previous day, and according to him, her state was an emergency).

    So that evening he went home and together with my dad they made the necessary arrangements and my brother was to travel with my mom the following day. The plan was for them to come and spend the night at my place, Kaplong, which is a reasonably close distance to Eldoret. Either way, we still needed to wake up early the following day since it was still a 3-4 hour drive to Eldoret. I had not seen my mother for a while so when I saw her, I understood why my brother thought it was an emergency.  Her eye and entire left face were so swollen that she looked nothing like my mother😞💔.

    19/2/2021: the day she was to receive treatment

    I couldn’t even get myself to look at her. I felt bad that she had been going to KNH from the time it was just a minor swelling up to the point where her face was literally deformed. What broke my heart the most was that all they had done on her last visit was tell her they would call. As if they hadn’t told her that before.  And I felt I had failed her terribly for not seeing her often enough to know she needed a way out. But, she kept on saying not to worry because everything was happening as God had planned and I just could not fathom the faith in that woman. It was admirable, palpable even. And as we later found out throughout her treatment process, she was right again, it was all in God’s timing.

    So on the 18th, Leroy’s dad, my brother, and I took my mother to the hospital…(to be continued in part two)

    ❤❤❤❤

    Nyambura Macharia

  • Boy If this Skirt Could Hear (and Talk)

    Let me give you a short–interesting–story about this here skirt. When I bought this skirt, over the December holiday, I bought it huge. When I saw it in the market, I liked the print so much that I just couldn’t leave it. I knew that I would never get it–or the chances of me getting a similar print in my size were extremely slim, if at all.

    I thought it was cheesy to buy it in such a big size–it was like a size 20–so I left at first to buy that which I had gone to buy.  On my way back home, I saw the skirt again, and this time, I felt like it literally called me,😂
    I had been looking for a similar skirt for a while so I was like, kama mbaya mbaya and I bought it. The lady selling it even gave me a discounted prize to cater for the cost I would pay to have a tailor slim it down for me. Interestingly, I got this really loud vibe from her that she knew it would be an epic fail. You know, she really hastened the “transaction.”

    When I got home and showed my mom the skirt, she was baffled. She could not believe that I had actually bought the skirt. She kept on asking, “Wee wakenio nī iyo” (you actually liked that one). She even went a head to say that she could not even wear the skirt herself. It could fit her, but was slightly bigger around the waist.

    Now when my dad saw it, he was shook. But of course, to his nature, he used humour. And what surprised him most, was that I liked it so much, that I had bought it in such a large size. So he was like, “Īyo anga kaba ūngīgūrire material” 😂 (instead of buying that one, it would have been better for you to buy the material) Like so I could simply have it made in my size😂
    Fast forward to the following day and I really nagged my mother to take me to her “best fundi” to slim it down for me. For a pleated skirt, I needed a tailor who has had ample experience or they could have ruined the skirt for me, just like everyone envisioned.

    Lucky for me, my mom knew of this lady whose work is quite impeccable–starting from the dress she was wearing.  She carefully aligned the pleats as she cut out the excess part of the skirt and diligently stitched back paying attention to the slightest of details so that the pleats could align seamlessly like no work had been done on the skirt.
    All this while she asked me to put it regularly so she saw how it was coming along, and as she fitted even more to have all the pleats inline. Not to exaggerate–don’t mind me if I do–but she was the real deal! The best part was that in around 30 minutes, she was done. Needless to say, I was a happy client! 😃

    For the first time, my mother got an idea of what I envisioned with the skirt. And even though she could not understand why I was interested in it–she felt the look was way off of my interests–she actually loved it.
    When my dad got home in the evening and heard that I had fixed the skirt, he was intrigued that I actually put it on for him to see. Of course, he said, “anga tinjūru” ( its like it’s not bad)–you might not believe this, but coming from him, that was actually a compliment.😂

    The interesting thing is, I was not shocked that they reacted like so. Because if I’m being honest, two years ago, I would never have even thought I would be interested in a pleated skirt. And to even buy it?!

    I guess, I am evolving, which is a good sign. I mean, it is growth. But sadly it’s a classic sign of growing old😭
    But also, I’m certain so many of y’all contemporary women can relate.

    Bonus–Side– Story…….

    When I first wore the skirt and took a picture in it, my cousin replied to my status calling me a “wife material.” Coming from her, that was an insult—a huge insult. ( I had on a tank top, so honestly nothing going on) So I sent her pictures of other girls wearing  similar pleated skirts–the look I was going for– and she was wowed. Now I wondered, how come they get a wow and I get a boo.😭

    So she said, “the skirt is nice, I love it, but if you are to look good in it, wear a crop top.” Or as she put it “don’t be boring, show us some skin” 😂 I must admit, it did look better like so. Except to my cousin the top still wasn’t short enough lol😂


    ❤❤❤❤

    Nyambura Macharia

  • How was My 2021 you Ask? 🤔

    The Perfect Image Representing Me for the Bigger Part of 2021 😅

    This year has been quite an bizarre one. I cannot explain whether it was short or long. When I look at it in the context of wow, it’s the very last day of 2021 I am in awe. I mean, damn! didn’t we usher in “the new year” just the other day?

    However, when I look at it in regards to the numerous events that have happened to me, the people I know, our country, and the entire world, it has been quite a long year. I mean it has really dragged it’s feet!
    Before I started writing this piece, I felt that this year was totally bad to me. But now that I think about it, it hasn’t been all bad. For starters, this year my mother received treatment in the clearest of God’s paths and after 8 hours of surgery, several months of recovery and another minor surgery, for the first time in a while, I can say she is great😃 Now you can imagine that this “hospital period” and that of her sickness was tough so you can understand why my 2021 comes off as awful as the first feel.

    Now I could write so much about 2021 but maybe I should just focus on the highlights.

    Of course I have to start with this website, my safe haven. For years I thought about creating it, but never executed it. I love writing, and so for me to have a space where I can do what I love by expressing myself and being the voice of “The Contemporary Woman” is such a great win for me. It is also a dream come true, as small as it may be, and I can’t wait to explore this path and see myself, and this lounge grow.

    So I guess, apart from being alive, happy, healthy, and safe, together with my family (these are very underrated “obvious” blessings that we really should stop over looking) my two main positive highlights of 2021 are my website, and my mother’s recovery😊

    Now getting through the year has been quite hard. My job faced the highest deep this year which meant I was broke for the most part of the year. This is normal, I know, it happens but it was the hardest because dome of the people in my circle had their best financial years. Now I seemed to really focus on my problem which only made it that much bigger. But hey, I learnt that I am a good person, because I was able to celebrate my friends wins, when I seemed to be doing nothing but lose. And you know what else I learnt? It gets better, because some of those friends who were celebrating wins have been through really hard times in the previous years, so now it was their time to win!

    This year, I experienced new levels of pain. First there was the pain of seeing my mother sick, which came with the agony of seeing her as a “person” Before, she was my mother, but being sick, I saw her from a different light. I saw her as an individual who was vulnerable, and one who could get so sick that they needed me.

    Just last month, I experienced pain I can never describe. The pain of seeing a young couple mourn their child, whom they had so much hope in. Now that was tough, very tough. You know, being in a group of people whose hearts are so heartbroken that you feel it so much that your mind formulates a visual depiction of how their hearts might look; and just how much pain they might be in. Never before have I ever seen a mother so broken that I wished there was a way I could feel at least some of the pain for them. Neither had I ever seen a father so broken, but still trying to be strong for his wife, and family, that you know he is using every ounce of strength he has. A time when you were numb from seeing so many people broken that you cannot cry, that you feel guilty and like you are a bad person because you are not crying.

    But through it all, they survived, we survived!

    Indeed 2021 has been quite a year! And as tough as it was, it shaped and prepared us for 2022. And we can only hope the new year will be a great one! Either way, “The Contemporary Woman” —you and me— we will deal with it as it comes.

     Take the bull by the horns😊

    ❤❤❤❤

    Nyambura Macharia

  • Childbirth is Rosy, but Roses have Thorns too ;(

    Childbirth is Rosy, but Roses have Thorns too ;(

    Can we talk about how social media is portraying childbirth to be so easy and rosy?

    I don’t understand why vloggers and influencers are working so hard to show how, easy, fast, and painless their childbirth was. I’m like come on, I thought that was the only thing we agreed as women? Just how devastating and excruciating childbirth can get. If anything, I think they should exaggerate on how terrible it is. I mean, women lose their lives in labor!

    When I had Leroy, I was completely clueless about childbirth or children. I remember going to the hospital thinking, Thank God, it’s now over. After the baby is born, my life will immediately go back to normal. But no, that wasn’t the case at all—In fact, very far from it. I do not want to address labor pains because we have all been told how painful it is, and that we are all prepared for. What no one tells is what happens after the baby is born. Because the legend goes that, as soon as the baby is born, the pain magically disappears—very cute of a story.

    But what exactly happens? After the baby was born, there is that shivering that nobody tells us about, and the acute hunger, and general body weakness. But that’s not what I want to address either. My intention is to address the healing process after leaving the hospital—that I didn’t know existed. I really thought after the baby was born that was it. Woe unto me because, Wueh! Those were some tough days.

    The first day the pain was tolerable, my body was numb, I guess, because that seems like the only logical explanation. Then came the second day and I try to wake up and I seriously cannot. I felt like I had been in a road accident and every bone on my body was broken—no exaggeration. But I would struggle and use all the energy I had to literally pick myself up. It was an entire process stages that had a literal chronological order. First, pick my head, then the upper part of my body and sit. Then twist my legs to the edge of the bed then slooooowly get up with my hands getting support from the bed.

    Once I was up, now getting back on the bed was a problem because sitting down was another huge task. Again, I had to sit very slowly clenching your entire body and supporting your hands on the bed so you can feel as little pain as possible (which is still a lot)

    Let me not get started on the constipation because what the hell was that?!

    And then there is the famous, “you have to sit on hot salty water for your stitches to heal faster.” Do you have any idea how painful that is? When even bending is a problem? And doctors just tell you to do it like it is the easiest thing. Like, give me a heads up Doc! What about the denial and depression that comes crawling? The self-loathing? Because I thought I was crazy when my stomach turned pitch black and I was not sure whether it happens to everyone else, or if it would ever resume its typical color.

    And lest I forget the mother of them all, breastfeeding! You know the first few days, cracked and scaly nipples, sometimes oozing blood instead of milk. But you are a mother now, you must endure to feed your baby. Because if you don’t, that little creature will scream and almost drive you insane, as if you already aren’t.

    You know because of all this some women get postpartum depression so bad that they get suicidal, hate their babies, and even try to harm and or kill them?

    So no, you can’t get a baby and continue with life like nothing happened. I bet those influencers sleep the whole day and just “lift” themselves up to take pictures or a video for 20 minutes. I don’t blame them, that is their work, that is how they earn their living. But trying to make the rest of us feel like only we are exaggerating and theirs was easier, that I disagree.

    Worse is the peer pressure to normalize bouncing back after childbirth. I mean, naturally,the belly takes time to shrink back, and it should be that way. Why would you expect a belly that grew in a span of 9 months to shrink in a week? That is just unrealistic and honestlyubderrrates the whole idea of pregnancy and life bearing. Honestly, why not depict pregnancy and childbirth as candidly as possible?

    So you see such posts, about how childbirth is all rosy, do not believe them. Roses have thorns, and they really sting! But that is the prize you must pay to enjoy the “Rose”

    You know to date, when people ask that nosy and wrong question of why haven’t you got another baby yet, Leroy is old enough now. My answer is always—bado sijai pona, 😂😂😂😂

    Yes, I have never healed.

    ❤❤❤❤

    Nyambura Macharia

  • I am My Mother’s Daughter

    I am My Mother’s Daughter

    I have a confession. It has literally taken me 25 years to have the best relationship with my mother! I grew up as an only daughter and sister to three brothers. Being the only daughter, you would expect me to have a rosy relationship with my mother, right? Even I expected the same honestly, but it was very much the opposite.
    Growing up my relationship with my mother was always shaky. We could never last two days without an argument. I remember one time I threatened to report her to the police for child labour 😂😂😂. Okay, it was not that my mother overworked me. In fact, there was not enough work for her to overburden me with in the first place.  It was just the usual house chores, and the occasional trips to the shop. The problem was me! “Honestly, me sipendi kutumwa…😭😭.” I can say that now, and even tell my mom, who perfectly understands me to be of that nature, but imagine having a 12-year-old daughter who you can’t send anywhere without them whining and whingeing.


    It was torture for my mom, I imagine, having just one daughter and never getting to enjoy their company because they were angry at you most of the time. When I got to high school, our relationship should have become easier. I mean at that time, I could wake up and conduct all the necessary chores without my mom having to tell me. Unfortunately, our relationship was still shaky and we had no time to bond because of the sorry yet unavoidable fact that I was mostly at school.
    Also, now that I think about it, I am certain that while at school, I was kinda embarrassed of calling my mom because the “Nairobi kids” made the rest of us feel like calling and speaking to our parents in mother tongue was the most shameful act imaginable (Paleeeeeseeee!). So, being used to using kikuyu with my mother, our ‘Kiswahili phone calls’ were direct and straight to the point.


    Fast forward to when I finished high school and left home to stay with my aunt, whom I should respectfully call mother as well. Either way, mum or aunt, she is such a delight! One of my favourite persons actually. While I had the chance to bond with her, once again my mother and I had no chance. When I got to campus, our relationship started blooming. Suddenly, we didn’t argue as much when I got home from school. I understood that she had to “order” me around and I knew when I was wrong. Despite being stubborn, I tried to see life from her perspective. I knew that it was bad to say no, so even when she told me to do something and I hated it, I still did it. She had also grown to know me by then, so when she could tell I didn’t want to do something she had asked me to do and she was in a position to do it, she did it.


    During my second year in Campus I got pregnant. While the scared me thought it would break the newly found relationship with my mother even before it blossomed further, things took a turn for the better. My mother never once shouted at me, even though I know it was hard for her to explain to people why I was pregnant. Because believe me, they asked. Somehow, she knew that I had already “punished myself for my sins.” For me, her being able to understand me and stand by me when she had every reason not to was everything. Still, I did not want to burden her, so once Leroy was born, I did not leave him behind when going to school. This, my mother loved about me. It was like my stubbornness was finally a good thing 😊😊


    She would always call to ask how we were coping, and juggling with school. Even though I didn’t know it then (because to me it was what I was supposed to do), turns out I was killing it! By the time I was done with campus, my mom and I had an okay relationship. By okay, I mean, above average; definitely miles from where we started, but so far away from where we are now. I could say at the time, we were just acquainted 😂😂😂


    Our relationship then still had boundaries. For instance, I can now tell my mom I do not want to do something, or go somewhere. Then, I could not😂 She was more of my mother than she was my friend, and I was still partially afraid of her and she partially felt like she had to keep some distance between us to maintain the respect. From the year 2018, the year I moved out of my parents’ house, my relationship with my mother has just flourished!
    I think as I grow older, I resonate more with my mother because I grow to be more like her each day. As for her, she has grown to understand that I am different from her and accepted that. She understands that I do not have to do things exactly how she does them. And unlike before, she is welcome to learning new and unconventional ways of doing things. How did I even forget to mention this? One of the greatest reasons my mother and I disagreed was because of how I did “things”. The different ways in which I mopped the house, did laundry, and especially the way I cooked! My mother was not open to new ideas. I mean, in most cases she was right, but in some ways, I was right. But being a stubborn child, I wanted to do it my way, and she did not like hearing, “the end justifies the means.” 

    Remember when I said I was growing to be more like her every day? I am that controlling woman who wants things done her way now! *Sighs* Funny thing is, my mother is so open to seeing things from my perspective now – which I love!

    Oh yes, there is another major aspect which has greatly contributed to my “perfect” relationship with my mother — I don’t know how to defend myself. I am always the oppressed person who calls their mother whenever people and the world turn on them. I will always be silent then call my mother to report about all the evil things y’all do to me. So the next time we disagree and I jokingly tell you, “nitakusema kwa mamangu,” I’m not joking 🤣 Heck I even tell that to my Leroy— and actually report him by the way. Ooh, and yes, my mother calls me to talk to my dad on her behalf now.


    My mother has been admitted to the hospital twice now. It has been sad yes, but not without its advantages. First, she got better, and second, the time spent with her was exactly what our relationship needed to fully blossom to, “my ideal” relationship with her.
    We had enough intimate time, to just enjoy each other’s company. I could explain to her what I do, and am planning to do carefully such that she understood. I got her perspective in life properly, tapped in on her very spiritual self, and much more. For the first time, I can now be totally free with her. And she does not feel like she needs to be “my mother” for me to respect her. She knows the respect is there.  Ooh and the best part, we could gossip about y’all for hours😅
    No, maybe that’s not the best part, I think the best part is I can tell her, “aki mom usinitume saa hii,” or “na mom leo umenituma sana.” And maybe she can hit me back with, ” na bado utaenda nikikutuma tena.” And she’s always right, because despite being stubborn, I am not disobedient. And in light of our “perfect” relationship, I would never say no to that woman.

    Speaking of which, I just remembered that her birthday is in five days, so now I can tell her over our routine hour-long phone calls, that this is my gift to her😅

    ❤❤❤❤

    Nyambura Macharia

  • Thank You Pulse Live Kenya Awards

    It’s 22:16 on Saturday the 9th of October 2021, and my mind won’t let me sleep. Every time I try to close my eyes, my brain is just there talking to me trying to organize a story — this story. Of course, my brain threw me multiple versions of the story but I’m going to simply going to write the most appealing version. No, that is not it, I’ll make it easy for myself. I am going to write the version of the story that I can access the most, the one that flows so fingers crossed that it’s the best version.  You see, sometimes it almost feels like my brain is racing but stuck at the same time. Like the part of my brain that identifies and organizes stories is working so fast but the part that is supposed to direct my writing of the same is lagging behind. So, when I am finally ready to write a story that was already formulated, it is no longer there. It is reduced to just a memory, a shadow of what is left of it.

    Now let me narrate the story in the best way I know how. Ready, set go!


    So, I happened to be scrolling through my Instagram feed today and the detective in me noticed something interesting. There were multiple pictures and videos, mostly videos, from already established influencers and celebrities about the Pulse Live Kenya Awards. I honestly did not know that the awards were such a big deal. By a big deal, I mean the type that are hosted, you know the red-carpet events? I should have known, they are like the Kenyan Grammy Award or something. I underestimated the awards which I later learnt were quite prestigious, and had multiple sponsors and partners.

     
    I couldn’t help but think, “must be nice,” to all the winners. Leave alone the winners, but all the beautiful women I saw all dolled up for the red-carpet affair. I was jealous, I still am, but the good kind of jealous.  The kind of jealousy where you do not feel hate, but you are inspired. I felt a hunger for success that I haven’t felt in a while. I mean, it is always there, but today, it stung. For a while I felt sad, I couldn’t help but feel, that should be me; I should have been there. I probably would have been star-struck so bad, bad enough to be hit by the good old imposter syndrome, but I would have still loved it.  


    It even got me thinking of the category I would want to win or at the very least be nominated (“Blog of the year,” and “Podcast Influencer of the year” if you’re wondering). And then I thought, wow, you qualify for none. I mean, you do not even have the podcast yet! But then again, I thought, no, this is not the time to feel bad for myself. It is the time to feel inspired; which I absolutely am. I am proud of the various women who won the awards. Honestly, they absolutely deserved it.

    It felt good seeing, “The Contemporary Woman,” being represented, and winning. There were categories I never even knew existed, like the, “Positive Impact Influencer of the year,” and “Arts Influencer of the year.” It made me realise that indeed we are all different, and our thoughts, perspectives in life, and paths, are indeed extremely different. Either way, I was quite happy about the winners, most were well deserved. It was quite personal for me on the, “Fashion Influencer of the year Award,” because I wanted Just Joy Kendi to win so bad, which she did! Still, I was in awe and very happy to know she took the win. I mean, I have followed her works on Instagram religiously, and seen how she busts her ass off to make spectacular content all year.  And I know that was the case with every other winner. And that’s not it, it took them years to at least get recognized, and build their brands! You know, the fact that I know most of the winners, and actually even the nominees, and their work, and enough people do to vote for them, took a lot of work and dedication from them.

    So I figured, that’s my power! I am going to work on myself. I am going to write as many stories as my mind can formulate. Stories covering as many events, people, the challenges they face, opportunities, and the dreams that cross my path as well as that of any other contemporary woman who opens up to me. I am going to make sure enough people know my blog, and even actualize that dream of starting my own podcast.

    Before I get to win such an award, I want the award of women trusting me and reaching out to me to share their stories, or to tell me of how much a story I featured inspired them.
    I am going to be, “A Lounge for the contemporary woman,” in real life just like my blog’s slogan declares. If I am ever to at least secure an invitation to the Pulse Kenya Awards, or any other awards (maybe even bigger), I want it to be because of the change my space has impacted on the modern woman. So, as the first step in my journey, I am going to focus and grow this page, with authentic stories from the heart. We can start by being an upcoming blog, right? I’d be happy to settle for that; one foot in front of the other, one step at a time.
    So, thank you Pulse Live Kenya Awards. For making me hungry for more— for igniting the fire in me.



    ❤❤❤❤

    Nyambura Macharia.

  • How to Dream at Night Like a Pro (A Complete Guide).

    Sometime last month, I had a very unique dream—the kind I would definitely look for an interpreter if I ever heard of one. I wanted to write about it, but I postponed and ended up almost being fully convinced that nobody cared about my dream (procrastination is a bitch, ladies and gents). Still, it was super vivid and scared me to bits, so I was still inclined towards sharing it. You know those beliefs when we were young that if you shared a dream with someone, it would not come true in real life? I can’t be the only one who grew up threatened but such superstitions. It went hand-in-hand with the one that suggested that if someone skipped over your legs, they had to skip back lest you gave birth to a rat 😱😱😂😂. Come on, I am sure many of you can relate. So, to prevent my dream from becoming true, I shared it with Leroy’s dad, although I am certain he wasn’t exactly paying attention.

    Fast forward to three days ago and there I was walking back to my house in the evening. I looked up at the sky and you would never guess what I saw. Amazingly, the sky above matched the one from my dream. Naturally, I reached for my phone to take a picture, and it did not disappoint. It was perfect. I saw it as a way of the universe telling me to write about the story. Like, here you go, the perfect picture for the story; what is your excuse for not writing about your dream now? I had none – well apart from procrastination, the story would be done already – so here we are.

    My dreams are always very confused about location, time, plot, and the people present, so buckle up. My dream happened in the evening. I would guess, around 5:27 p.m. because that was the exact time I took the picture that matched the sky from the dream. The clouds were grey and gloomy, but there was an opening that had this immense light. Suddenly, it started raining. But it was not your normal rain. This rain was only coming from the bright opening in the sky. The rain was accompanied by a bolt of huge lightning, which also came from the opening in the sky. Yet that was not the strangest thing about the rain. The rain together with the lightning were moving. As they moved along, the lightning viciously struck anyone who dared to step outside.

    Now the location of the dream is more than twisted and hilarious. We were hiding inside what I am certain was my form four high school class. Now that is not hilarious on its own; it does when I tell you that the compound outside that class was from my primary school😂😂😂. The plot gets even more twisted because Leroy was also there, a few of my campus friends, and none of my high school or primary school classmates. Ooh, before I forget, here’s another gory detail – the lightning moving with the rain did not strike children, only adults. I remember Leroy and another baby, whose face I never saw, going outside to play and we were all panicking and shouting at them to run. And just when we thought the lightning caught up to them, it moved right past them. And that was it, I woke up, panicking as you can imagine.

    The funny thing is when I woke up the following day, the events I just narrated were vividly fresh on my mind. It is weird because, on most occasions, I forget my dreams before morning. But, what is even more astonishing to me, is that I can still recall all these details almost a month later. But I guess I should be grateful because then, I got a story to share about one of my many award-winning dreams.

    ❤❤❤❤

    Nyambura Macharia.

  • Am I Becoming a Housewife? (The Story of A Personal Struggle).

    One of my greatest fears is becoming or being labelled a “housewife.” In this era, as women, we grew up being constantly reminded that there is more to life than marriage – one of the best lessons to the Contemporary Woman. In fact, we were told that when you have no source of income, your man might not respect for you enough.

     That is not why I am afraid of being labelled a housewife. After graduating from campus in 2017, I was hopeful about getting a career related to my field of study. However, as 2018 unfolded, it slowly dawned on me that it was extremely difficult to secure a job. I studied Agribusiness Management (AGBM) in campus, a field of study which couldn’t be any further from my interests, passion, and sadly, who I am as a person. It’s actually a funny story how I ended up studying that course. While I was doing my KCSE, I was sick and unfortunately lost confidence in myself. I expected to fail, or let us say, score lower results than I could.

     So, when we were told to apply for our campus courses, I put Agribusiness Management in Egerton, Main Campus, as the first choice because, to me, there was no way I could achieve the cluster points required for the course. I then went ahead to put my other desired courses in the second and third categories. I wanted to be a designer, so it was either Clothing, Textiles and Interior Design (CTID), or interior design on its own. I selected these two courses in different campuses, then put graphics design as the last pick since it required the least cluster points. My thoughts were, if I do not get the design I want, then I can do graphics design – it had design in it, so it was good enough for me. Anyway, jokes on me, I outdid myself in the exam and met the cluster points to do Agribusiness Management, and being my first choice and very different from the other choices, they must have assumed I loved it! Either way, I made peace with my fate and actually grew to love my course, although I believe it did not tap into my full potential.

     Back to 2018, throughout the tarmacking and applying for jobs, it so happened that most of the available slots were marketing Agricultural products. Most employers employed AGBM graduates in the same field as Agronomy graduates because we had a better grasp on marketing, management, and leadership unlike Agronomy students who only majored in crops and pests diseases.

     The only problem was that Agribusiness had just one unit on crops, soils, and pests and diseases🤧 This meant that you had to relearn the types of soils, fertilizers, crop pests and diseases, and other farm chemicals, all of which I found difficult to master. No, all which I extremely hated and could not get myself to learn. Therefore, I realized that finding a job did not involve me learning Agronomy was hard, so I started to focus on other works in the line of my passion for writing, which I have been doing remotely up to date majorly. The problem with academic and journal writing, which I mostly do, is that it could be seasonal, which explains my current situation.

     I mostly work from home, so with no formal work, I feel like I am reduced to the woman who only does the dishes and cleans – the housewife I was avoiding to become. Of course, it does not help that I love staying indoors. As a woman who is used to being busy and attaining personal satisfaction from working, and especially writing, and of course, viewing images of interior and fashion designs online, you can imagine how demoralized I have become.

     I am not saying that being a housewife is bad; I solemnly respect women who choose to be housewives. The problem is that for me, it is not a choice. And of course, there will be the people who will say, albeit with subtlety, that your education was not necessary since you are not employed, which makes it all the sadder and depressing. So yes, being a housewife could be a noble choice. It could be. But it’s not the choice for me. Unfortunately, my current job situation makes me feel like one. But hey, at least I can write about it and feel better about myself..🙂


    ❤❤❤❤

    Nyambura Macharia.

  • What It Means to be a Strong Woman (A Personal Story).

    You know what they say that when you get a wife, you get a good thing? Or that the best decision a man can make is to marry a good woman? Well, all these assertions are correct! However, I believe and have come to learn that the most accurate approach to marriage is that, whoever you choose as a life partner, make sure they are kind. You are probably wondering where I’m headed with this. Give me your ear, and I will explain.

    In 2015, my maternal grandfather was diagnosed with an illness, which I cannot quite fathom, except its symptoms. He started suffering from dementia that has significantly progressed over the years. He began forgetting people and places to the point that he could barely talk. After multiple hospital visits in different hospitals and seeing various specialists, it was revealed that his condition was irreversible. The doctor who seemed to understand his condition best explained that there must have been a time when my grandfather could not breathe, and his brain did not receive oxygen for several minutes, which is what triggered the illness. This theory makes sense because when my grandfather was first taken to the hospital at the onset of the illness, he had just visited his older sister. During that visit, he is said to have slept in a room that had been locked out for a while.

    Now, back to the main agenda of the story.

    With all his children married off and leading their own lives, they can only visit him so much. As such, my grandmother is my grandfather’s (her husband’s) main caretaker. She is entirely devoted to taking care of him despite the struggle. At this point, my grandfather, with his condition, can only lie in bed. My grandmother feeds and takes care of him like he were a child. I visited him last month and what amazed me is that despite the work and the hurt she must be in seeing her husband in that state, she never complains. She is still hopeful and has faith that God is in control.

    During our visit, my mother, her daughter, could see how disturbed I was, and she told me,

    “I used to come here, and whenever I am about to leave, I always left feeling sick. Then your grandmother told me we have to accept things for how they are, and apart from supporting her emotionally and financially, there is only so much that we can do.”

    Deep inside, I could not help but feel like I had failed my grandmother since I do not communicate with her as often as I probably should. My fear of the situation made me shy away, and I only ever asked my mom about her and how she was doing but rarely asked her directly. This, I swore to change.

    The beauty of the whole situation is that my grandmother, despite everything, still remains hopeful, generous, and very selfless. Because of this, you just cannot help but feel like you do not deserve her. But you know what, God does protect His people because my grandfather has my grandmother to take care of him. And she has people who support and care for her, even though I feel that what we do is still not enough. But as she remains hopeful and strong, so do we.

    So, you know how people call famous people their heroes; my grandmother is mine. Because she is quite literally the strongest woman I know.

    ❤❤❤❤

    Nyambura Macharia.

  • The Twisted Path of Writing About the Contemporary Woman

    Trying to establish a career as a blogger is more complicated than I ever imagined. I have always wished to engage my audience as authentically as possible so that many women find my content relatable. I understand not every woman will relate to every story I put out, but for each story, it is always my hope that many women relate. I have realized this means that I have to be always alert and keep literal tabs on the events going on in my life – my personal life and those of the women around me. It means that even the slightest of events, instances, stories, or circumstances I find myself in, or a woman I know finds themselves in, is news- because there is always another woman out there, in a similar or related situation.

    Unfortunately, most of the time, the minor events pass me. Other times, I get stuck and wonder, does that even count? What if people find it boring? What if no one likes my content? What if no woman can relate? What if that is not what women want to know or hear? Then I end up not writing about it. Interestingly, I have avoided addressing some stories, then later on seen them in another blog post. Then I feel like if I write about it now, my audience will think I wrote about it because I saw it in another post and question my authenticity – you know, like those copycat blogs that never have content of their own.

    Other times, I wonder, is the story too private, or can it/should it be shared? Like, as much as I want to share my life events with my audience so that they can relate, I cannot help but wonder, is that not giving up my privacy? But then there is also the dilemma of feeling like if I only share the happy events in my life and leave out the sad and/or messy ones because they are private, then again, I lose authenticity. We all have happy and sad moments in life, don’t we? That said, it would be wrong to create the illusion of a perfect (even worse, glamourous) life.

    I will be feeding my audience with real stories, yes, but not all of them, leading to the illusion that my life is not flawed.

    You see, there is a thin line between being authentic and having all your dirty laundry in public. All this requires extreme precision and knowing how to be honest and genuine while still retaining some privacy- this applies to both sad and happy events.

    If you were to ask me, this is where most bloggers, influencers, and celebrities, in general, go wrong. They overpost their happy moments, making that side of their lives public, but leave out their lows. It explains why most of them are accused of leading fake lives on social media, even though it might not be entirely

    accurate. The thing is, they do have happy and magical life events. That is real and not fake. However, when they never post any lows or issues in their relationships or lives, they give the impression that their lives never have difficulties, which is why they are said to lead fake lives.

    I say, do not overshare, or better yet, try to be genuine – post both happy and sad life events while still leaving out what you deem private. That is what I plan to do. I will try to be authentic, to the best of my ability, and hopefully, my fellow contemporary women will relate. That is the only way, I believe, to make a meaningful impact on the contemporary woman.

    ❤❤❤❤

    Nyambura Macharia

  • My 24th Year

    My 24th Year

    Out 24, In 25

    The Official Start of Adulthood…….Too late?? Recap on the transforming 24th Year.

    On Saturday 8th May 2021 at 9. 00 P.M, I officially started my 25th year. I am so excited but honestly freaking out at the same time. Growing up, I started school when I was young. So among my classmates and friends, I was always the younger one, the baby. But during my 24th year, my life changed. Like a shy little daisy flower, I bloomed.

    I significantly diversified my life this past year. I made friends from different ages and completely immersed myself in the world unlike my school years and my past years when I was always indoors and only knew my school friends, I realized that well, am not the youngest anymore. If anything, am a fully grown adult now and it is scary. I saw guys and girls celebrate their 19th 20th and 23rd birthdays and it clicked yes Nyambura, you have to be an adult now, you cannot continue hiding behind the “am still young, too young card.” You have to take full responsibility now, and I must say, Am looking foward to doing twenty fine!