Thursday, March 08, 2007

International Women's Day

The red rose is supposed to show deepest love and respect and it goes out to all the women of the world.

Happy International Women's Day

Sunday, December 24, 2006


Mshairi, lover of all things purple, science fiction, fantasy and old black and white movies, this is my birthday prayer for you.

A day filled with love, peace and beauty, and the sounds of laughter, with sunshine and joy.

and the presence of friends and family, sharing in your joy and laughter, love and serenity

building wonderful memories and the love of God surrounding you.

and the good God grant you many, many more.

(and because I could not find cold Tusker beer and your usual birthday cake, I hope this selection of purple/lavender roses will do)


Tuesday, December 19, 2006

Why this tumult?

Since 1st November (or even earlier) toy makers, perfume manufacturers, jewellers, music companies, super-markets and high street shops have been bashing our ears out with CHRISTMAS SHOPPING. For the last few weeks, we have been bombarded with cosmetics, perfumes, the latest DVD releases of obscure musicians and risque comedians, books, toys, gadgets and even per-cooked Christmas day meals.

Oh the incessant drip, drip and drip of adverts, commercials and jingles. It is enough to make one stark staring made. Buy this toy for your child; buy this one for your lover, your parent or else they will not love you. Without this ultimate gift for a loved one, Christmas is ruined.

SHOP, SHOP, SHOP. Oh and if you cannot come to the shops, do it on-line and we will be more than happy to deliver it to you.

I ask you, who on earth said that Christmas equates gifts - the biggest, splashiest and most expensive the better? Where is it written that to celebrate Christmas, we must spend, spend and spend some more?

Christmas is definitely not any of the following:

Santa Claus or his elves or the North Pole.
Or his reindeers, especially Rudolf
Shopping till you drop
The spirit of Christmas, whatever that means
The gifts – no matter the thought behind it.
The tree despite how 'festive' it looks.
Cooking a great meal for people you are obliged to see once a year
Stuffing your face until you cannot walk
Drinking until you lose all sense of proportion
'Jingle bells', a red robin, or holly or mistletoe or the Yule log.
Neither is it snow flakes, or a white Christmas as romantic as that sounds
Oh and especially the office parties where everyone forget their manners

None of above equals Christmas, and Christmas is none of the above. Unfortunately, we all fall into either one or all of the above traps, giving us a false sense of expection. Come Christmas day, there is a feeling of anti-climax. The expected joy does not come, and we are left feeling cheated and letdown. YES, we fell for the lies again, and all we are left with is an empty bank account and excess weight we shall have to spend the next three months trying to lose.

Christmas is about the birthday of Jesus – the Anointed One.

grahics from

Tuesday, December 12, 2006

Jamuhuri Day

Happy Jamuhuri Day to one and all.

As I was surfing the net, I saw a picture of the old Kenya Colony flag

which we exchanged for this model on 12th December 1962, amid songs, dance and much celebrations.

I hope everyone has a wonderful day. I am especially thinking of those who will have the chance to enjoy a cold Tusker and nyama choma, in the sunshine!!!!

God bless Kenya and all Kenyans - and as the posters, buttons and tee-shirts say, "Proud to be a Kenyan"

flags from and

Its been brought to my attention that I made a mistake on the year we go our independence - Sorry all - it was actually 1963 not 1962.


Friday, December 01, 2006

World AIDS Day

Support World AIDS Day

Today I join the rest of the world in commemorating World AIDS Day and remembering all those who have died from this disease.

According to UN AIDS and the World Health Organization, HIV/AIDS has spread to every region of the world. More than 65 million people are infected with HIV. More than 25 million people have died of AIDS since 1981, 2.9 million in 2006 alone.

I pray that a cure for this terrible pandemic will be discovered soon.

Wear the red ribbon


Monday, October 09, 2006

Blogger Identity

This post is my contribution to the first Carnival of African Women will be held on the African Women’s Blog on Monday October 9th.

I have been blogging since September 2004, more in the form of a lark and for my family, than a need to write about burning issues of the day. When my first non-family visitor posted a comment I was surprised because I had forgotten that I everything I transmitted to the cyber world would be read by “strangers”.

I am the quiet one in the family and have no liking for long winded discussions, arguments and conflict. I am also very private person, so what then was there to blog about? Certainly not my faith, my dating life or my personal life; these are too private to discus out in the world forum.

I do not blog about poverty, race, gender and justice. These remind me too much of my work, and much as I love it, I want to stop thinking about it when I am at home. A niece who works as a computer programmer, says that she does not blog because computers remind her too much of work. Much as she enjoys her job, as soon as 5 o’clock rolls along, she shuts down her computer and puts away everything that reminds her of work. She hardly ever e-mails!!! I understand her feelings every time I try and write a work related post.

I have been an activist for a long time and have worked on gender issues, and all manner of topics relating to African women, both in Africa or the Diaspora. Somehow, I find that I have no desire to discuss these kinds of issues on my blog. I have started many posts of that nature and have not been able to complete them. I suppose my blog is my leisure world, and once I am here, I do not want to change the world, or raise consciousness on this blog.

A young friend told me the other day that one of the greatest things about blogging is being anonymous. That one can say almost anything to the world, without revealing your identity. Of course it is easier to write anonymously – but I am always aware of the fact that my writing style (language, sentence construction etc) and even the topics I blog about can hint about me to the cyber world. I do not mind it, and actually think it great fun to mess about as Uaridi.

A while back, I had began a post on identity which had been sparked by the sci-fi TV show, Babylon 5, based the Vorlon question that "Who are you?" A question embodied on Vorlon philosophy, which encourages introspection, patience, and places identity as the proper motivator over personal goals. I did not post it since it revealed a stuff about me I was not ready to share with the cyber world.

For the purpose of this post, I am an African woman, and everything I am and I do has a bearing on this. I am judged, helped, encouraged, supported or hated, loved, liked because of my race, my skin colour and my sex. That I can not change (without going under the knife – WHY???). I am a Christian. This is my choice and I am so glad of this choice - a lot of what I do – work, leisure and everything in between is dictated by this choice. I am a dreamer, an artist and an avid reader – which I suppose is reflected in my blog. The issue of my identify as a blogger has not bothered me greatly – I remain who I am even when blogging, although my alter-ego does all the talking, this does not change who I am.

My blog is my alter ego – a place where I am learning about this new persona hidden in my subconscious, but not a place where I explore my subconscious, my reason for being, my faith, sexuality or politics. Although I must admit I enjoy reading serious blogs like Black Looks or Mshairi's poems or bloggers that talk about their personal life, although I myself am not able to write serious posts. Once in a while I will blog about these things, but mostly I want to write about life in general: things that amuse me, touch me or interest me.

To end this long winded discussion on identity, I have a private thought to share that comes to me every time I see a perfect rose. I often wish I could be as beautiful as that rose and for that brief moment of its flowering, I would glorify God with my whole being.

(The photo of the rose is from Wikipeida gallery)

Sunday, September 17, 2006

Mother's milk

This post is written for the Erase Racism Carnival being hosted this month at Black Looks and at Erase Racism Carnival.

I heard about a young man who did something remarkable many years ago. One day, a little girl called him the n-word. He was obviously quite upset and asked the girl to take him to her mother. The girl’s mother when faced with this incident was extremely embarrassed and apologised, saying that she would talk to her child about name calling – especially the use of that racist word. This young man however refused to accept the mother’s apology, saying that the problem was not with the girl but with her parents, who must have taught her the n-word, either directly or indirectly. That was a brave and wise young man, and I would have loved to see the mother’s reaction to this down to earth words.

I too believe that a racist is not made but bred and nurtured in the home. Just as children learn values, life and beliefs from their parents, so too will a racist learn to hate someone because of their skin colour. It might not be direct name calling or hatred, it can be implied; for instant the constant moaning and complaining about “those people”, and eventually, a beautiful trusting soul is turned into a racist by the very people who should teach him/her to love.

In the council estate where I live, most the world races are represented by the tenants. Africans, Asians and Europeans share the same playgrounds, shops, and schools. Recently, a group of boys aged between four and six, who represent a majority of the races in the estate have been riding their bikes every evening – they have races, trade bikes, do stunts and generally play like all boys do. I am not sure these children can see any racial difference - they are just boys playing – the most exciting thing that happens to them is when someone has a new thingy for their bike, or when someone falls off the bike and there is blood everywhere.

How sad to reflect that in a few years time, these boys will not play together any more because they will have learnt that what separates them is not flashier bikes, or trendier outfits, but race – the difference in their skin colour.

It is all very well for governments to make laws about racism and making laws on equality or diversity, but until the conviction comes from deep within people’s hearts, no law will make the slightest difference. Like Mshairi says, you cannot legislate what is in people’s hearts. You can only teach children and pray that God will bring the change in people's hearts.