Month: October 2025

Every time I get on TikTok and find that a babe viewed my profile, my mind immediately goes, “Eeeh ulikua unanisengenya sindio?”  because what else am I supposed to think? Haaaah!

Anyway, the meme that absolutely killed me this week is the one I’ve posted on my status…
“Tulieni, kila mtu atafanya wahenga washangae.”

Because YES! I’m hollering right now lol. I’m loving how everyone has turned their creative gears on, tweaking the “misemos” to what they actually should be.
My other fave?
“Before what goes around comes back, nitakua nimeshachange location.”
😂 10/10, honestly.

Now, this next part is random….
There’s so much abundance for everyone. Let’s leave behind that bad kind of jealousy. (Because yes, I genuinely believe there’s a good kind, the one that pushes you to level up.)
Someone else’s growth shouldn’t make you bitter honestly. Learn to either clap for others or just ignore them all together.
Tutafikiwa wote okay? But chunga ukiwa na roho mbaya unaeza pitwa by the way.

Anyway…
Chapter 10 of 12 has been a lot of things.
It started on a sad note, but it’s ending calmly. I’m grateful for every path it’s led me down… every decision, every idea, the peace, the calm. I’m grateful for the life it has allowed into me.

This has been the year that somehow felt both the longest and the shortest. Looking back, I just eased into it almost on autopilot. Everyone online was claiming the year, setting goals, speaking positivity and it was so beautiful to watch.
Me though? I was mostly mapenzi mtazamaji of everyone standing on business.

Then one day in January, I decided to make a vision board because I didn’t even have the mental space to write goals. (Heck, did I even have goals?)

I found a cute Canva template and filled it with nine intentions that felt easy to achieve unaware that I was, in fact, calling them in.

One of the boards read…
“I am in control of my thoughts and emotions.”
I didn’t even know why I put it there at the time.

Later, while flipping through my old journals from as far back as 2019, I noticed something…healing my nervous system had always been a silent wish.

And this year, that wish came true, but first, I had to be taken through the fire.
There were months I woke up crying, slept crying, and spent my days trying to hold it together. And during those times, phrases like “It eventually gets better” sounded so dumb. But I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again it genuinely does get better.

This year tried me emotionally, deeply, intensely. But one day, I woke up  and I was just fine. No pain. No dread. Just peace. But also because I didn’t wallow in victimhood, I decided to get over my bs and did the real work.

And eventually, I genuinely realized something beautiful happens when you heal your nervous system.

You start knowing which situations deserve your energy, and which ones are better left alone. You learn the difference between reacting and responding.

This year, I was taken through the fire and I came out with thick skin, and beautiful scars that remind me of things I can’t even begin to talk about yet.

October has been calm. I’ve been tired most of the time (because honestly, October feels like Thursday….you’re drained and just want to rest 😅).

But yesterday, I told myself, “Hapana Val, it’s tiring being tired all the time.”

Still, October remains my favorite month and I’m thankful to God for every moment of it. Thanks to Anne of Green gables (Anne with an E if you’d like)

I’m walking into Chapter 11 with gratitude and love.
Wishing every soul that bumps into this an amazing November.

Sending love and light.

Cheers.

I genuinely don’t want this to sound like a report.

I just want it to sound like me….. simple, soulful, and direct.

And so begins my rant…

I appreciate culture. African culture, and all the other cultures across the world.

I know culture is vast, layered, and my understanding can only stretch so far, but I hold deep respect for what I know and for what I’m still learning.

One thing I know for sure…. I’ve never looked at another person’s culture and deemed it lesser than mine. Before the Britts came, we had our African traditional cultures… unique, powerful, and beautifully different across tribes and communities. 

I respect my ancestors above everything.

I appreciate the diversity that stretches wide and far… from the beautiful shores of the Indian Ocean, across the vast beauty of the North, to the shimmering waters of Lake Victoria, and to every border that connects Kenya to her neighbours.

Borrowed from my dear friend Shamim, lately, in most of my prayers, I’ve learned to include this line….

“Lord, teach me to be humble in all ways, and grant me the knowledge and wisdom I require in all aspects of my everyday life.”

And by humility, I don’t mean slouching or staying silent when it’s time to speak up… and by knowledge, I don’t mean it in any cocky way.

The diversity we experience in Kenya is breathtaking. The cultures, the languages, the values…  all of it.

I, for one, am Maragoli from the greater Luhya community. Within the Luhya alone (according to Google), there are about 18–20 subtribes, imagine that! And under each subtribe, there are traditions and practices that define us. Yet, we all fall under one umbrella.,.Luhya. And I appreciate that.

One politician today said, “Nationality is a progressive concept, while tribalism is retrogressive.” I stan.

And honestly, I couldn’t agree more.

And this week gets to be the week I’ve lost my control about controlling my dopamine hit when it comes to social media consumption. I’ve been moving between threads and X like my life depended on it.  And I noticed something wasn’t adding up. 

Tribalism is disgusting…. genuinely. Especially now, in this age and time, when so many of us have directly or indirectly experienced the pain it brings.

No seriously though…. damn! I thought we were beyond tribalism.

My heart 💔. I’m honestly shocked. This has to be the most distasteful thing to witness, especially among the younger generation. Yuck!!!

So yes, I appreciate culture and diversity… but wouldn’t it be even more beautiful if we celebrated our roots while also respecting others’?

From where I stand, no tribe is better than another.

No culture is superior to another.

I’ve learned to cherish my own and extend the same respect to others.

I respect diversity.

And it would hurt deeply to see division take root again in the form of tribalism.

We are a woke generation.

We know better.

And I pray sincerely that we do better.

We can honestly adore and uphold with pride where we come from without diminishing where others come from. Genuinely, that’s the kind of pride I stand for.

Rest in Power, Tinga. Rest in Power, Jowi.

Okay, my WhatsApp status alone can’t accommodate my big, beautiful emotions so let me vent here.

As a young Val, there are three things my dad made me grow accustomed to.

The first; whenever we were going somewhere, he’d lift me onto his shoulders. Anytime he didn’t, I’d feel this tiny wave of disappointment.

The second; watching soap operas. Yes! my big guy loves soap operas. And reading novels. Recently, I got him onto Things We Never Got Over by Lucy Score, such a lovely read, but yooooh! Some of those scenes are nasty! I keep thinking, “Woi, my dad is gonna read that part… what will he think about me?” Anyway 🤣.

So technically, he’s the reason I turned out a hopefull romantic.

The third thing my dad got me hooked on was His Honourable Raila Odinga, “Baba,” the former Prime Minister of Kenya. And I’ve been shying away from calling my dad in the last three days because I know I will break down. I just know. Hopefully he’s taking Tinga’s death with strength.

This one, though, grew from something I picked up from him to something I deeply connected with on my own.

Like I’ve said before, I’m not big on politics, but I’m not ignorant of it either, because politics shapes our everyday lives. It shouldn’t just be treated like background noise, okay?

Still, I found myself drawn to this enigma.

Anytime he appeared on screen, my heart would melt. If he cried, I’d cry. When he smiled, my heart would swell.

As a member of the fourth estate, I deeply respect Raila Odinga for never suing the media, not once. Even when absolutely horrendous things were said about him, he allowed freedom of speech to thrive. Maybe he understood its power, or maybe it was his emotional intelligence as a leader. 

Either way, that kind of restraint and grace left a mark.

I recognize that in the last few years, he disappointed many of us in some ways, but I also recognize that he was human. People in the public eye make mistakes, too. Sometimes they act out of self interest,  but that never erased the good in him for me. 

Nothing could make me hate Raila for long. He had my heart in the world of politics.

I sit down and try to imagine how long six years really is, and then remember that he was detained for that long. He fought for our freedom, and for that, I respect him immensely.

I’ve seen him get crushed after every election. What angered me most was hearing people say, “Rao hatoangi kakitu… Rao ni mgumu, that’s why huwa hapati kura.”

Really? That’s what it boils down to!!! handouts? C’mon!

His wife’s eulogy was beautiful raw, graceful, deeply moving.

Ever since he died, my heart’s been breaking.

It’s wild because, just a week before his passing, I told a friend, “If Raila ever dies, my heart will break.” And it did.

I’ve never cried this much for someone who didn’t even know I existed. Every time I wipe my tears, I remind myself, “Val, this is your cue not to attach yourself to any politician again.”

But truly, none will ever live up to Raila’s charisma, at least not to me.

So this will be the last time my heart breaks over a politician.

I think about his family,  his daughter, who probably hoped she’d return from India with her father in good health, only to come back carrying his famous hat.

How they must have waited, hopeful, for his return on Thursday, only for him to arrive as remains.

I’ve cried so hard.

Maybe because I understand the brutality of death…

Or maybe because I just genuinely loved the man Raila Odinga was.

I honor him.

I’m writing this here because I never want to forget him. Maybe history books won’t do him the justice he deserves, but if God blesses me with children, I want them to stumble upon this and ask, “Mama, Who was Raila?”

And even if they don’t, I’ll tell them anyway, about his aura, his charisma, his strength, and how he went all the way to Kijana Wamalwa’s funeral bearing seven bulls and chanting, “Jowi!”

I’m proud of my big heart,  for holding space for such big, beautiful emotions.

Rest in power, Tinga.

Rest in power, Jowi.

I’ll live to tell your tales.

Phewks!

Well, I know the last time I wrote about galavanting I said I wanted to explore Kisumu to the core. I’m happy to report that…I haven’t done anything regarding that. If anything, my last trip to Kisumu ended at Quickmart, and I was back home like it wasn’t me who was being all enthusiastic about exploring the city. But hey let’s see how this goes.

Today, I woke up feeling like I should add something new to my galavanting bucket list; bird watching while listening to Kenyan old school songs. Totally random, right? Yeah… the price of living inside my head.

Also, I keep thinking about how much I love my village. I really do. But I’m mostly within the confines of home. I don’t get to do those intimate, candid evening walks. Why? Because my village just doesn’t genuinely feel like a village plus, people know me here so…

I get so attached to other villages. Like, when I visit any other village besides mine, I find myself thinking I wish I lived here. I romanticize those quiet morning walks. Currently, I’m stuck with skipping 30 times a day just to make up for the fact that it’s the only way I can move my body.

When I started, I got to 100 skips. Then I was like, “Okay Val, here’s the thing who set these diabolic rules? You’re going to do what you can depending on your mood.” And I meant it, because there are mornings I do 7 skips and I’m like, “Okay honey, enough… don’t kill yourself.”

I gaslight myself a lot into bad decisions.

I wanna live in Limuru. But I also wouldn’t mind Nanyuki. I still have my house in Voi. Malindi wouldn’t be too bad either. I just want to live somewhere I could exist without ever being known.
Okay, technically, if I ended up in Voi, I know I’d get a bunch of tattoos because somehow Fosky and Tonny wouldn’t mind turning my body into a drawing book for free.

Speaking of tats… wueh you guys! It’s never that serious. It’s basically just ink.
No, I’m not a member of any cult.
No, I don’t plan on sacrificing my family members.
And no, I’m not an antichrist.
According to my definition of immorality, my morals are actually quite in check. I tithe. I go to church. I read the Word. Ink doesn’t give anyone a direct ticket to being improper or anything it’s just ink, okay? Just like the two or four piercings you have. So next time you see me… spare yourself the overthinking. I’m not Lucifer’s sister.

I sent a voice note to my darling Shamim last week, and I told her that from that point onward, I didn’t want anybody reminding me about how life is short about how one minute a person could be here and the next they’re gone.
And I mean it. I don’t want anybody reminding me of that crap. It’s true, I know. But I don’t ever want to be reminded of the unpredictability of life again because, trust me, I am aware.

I’m speaking from the point of having experienced grief. I know how deep and painfully it cuts. I’ve seen my loved ones go through it… and it’s ugly. It’s not pretty.
So I just want to live my life one day at a time. I want to be present. I could die tomorrow. I could die in 50 years. But until then, I don’t want to dwell on how unpredictable life is. I just want to savour every precious second I’m afforded.

It’s one of those days when I just want to sit and do nothing.

My shoulder blades are on fire because I’ve been genuinely productive. Honestly, I never knew I could get such spasms from working on my laptop. I thought I was dying until I spoke to Loopsy, and he assured me I should brace myself for more.

Goodness, I’m just a girl. I’m exhausted. I haven’t worked a single bit today and I have deliverables to meet. Someone please replay this life thing because I wanna go back to being six years old. This adulting thing is first beginning to piss me off.

Oooops I almost forgot, I recently learnt the difference between Joy and happiness from Abu and I cried. It felt so intense and sacred. I’m definitely gonna yap about it here soon.

This was basically me voicing my intrusive thoughts.

Cheers