I am an angry person. What that usually means is I find it hard to smile. It happens, I question people smiling at me. Why would you want to smile at me? Do I look like I’m smiling or want anything to do with smiling?
Don’t get me wrong. You can smile at me. I could smile back but it’s usually not genuine. Immediately after it’s done, I am guilty. Guilty of not returning, not being able to give back a sign of peace, a sign of goodwill.
I can be very confusing.
In Islam, we are taught that you don’t have to do much. You don’t need to shower the needy with cash and goodies to have spread the seed of charity. All you need to do is engage your facial muscles and flash that smile.
I have met a lot of people who smile. These people surprise me. I mean, what is all the joyousness about? What is making you so happy as to want me to experience the same thing? Help me understand.
There have been moments I would label as joyous. I laughed. I enjoyed myself. To some extent you can say I didn’t want them to end but don’t all good things in life? Let’s leave it at maybe.
I hear you choose what you want to feel.Do you really?
Think if you lost a family member right now. Or that investment you took a loan for? Is there a choice to how we eventually feel? Emotions for me, are to be experienced as determined by our experiences. Period.
I was attending a workshop in February where in the afternoon session, the guest speaker decided she would not leave her baby to a sitter. That was the best part of her attendance leave alone the amazing lessons she gave.
Babies are naturally free spirits and they leave an air of positivity wherever they go. This one was especially happy and you had to keep up with her. She was crawling all over the place gargling with everyone.
At the end of the session, we were all scrambling, like Kenyans in this rainy season at matatu stages, to get a piece of her. Others wanted pecks. Others to lift her off the ground. And the rest, to experience that everlasting bliss an inch closer.
On Wednesday this week, I was in a matatu en route to town for salsa night when I tumbled into an ebullient little boy. Hardly two years, he was squirming on his mother’s lap wanting to jump off and fly.
When I raised my eyebrows playfully, he smiled widely portraying his 4 whites. A pair at the top and bottom. His eyes shon brightly each time he cooed. Ah babies! Aren’t they little angels in a world full of murkiness?
The same day as I was going back home after an evening of dance, I got in line with a hundred others waiting for transport. We live in a country where, a little rain equals hectic traffic plus no conveyance.
I was armed to hand the conductor Ksh 60 when I witnessed the rest paying 100. I had calculated my finances accurately and that meant I had no extras. I searched my pockets to come out with a clean Ksh 90.
Hiking fares is a norm around here.
“Naweza lipa na M-pesa? I don’t have extra cash with me,”I quipped. (Can I pay using M-pesa?)
He nodded his reply as he went on serving (or are we the ones serving them?) other passengers.
I was unlocking my phone when the lady next to me(seatmate) looked at me and asked how much I had. She went into her bag, fished out a clean hundred as I switched it with my ninety.
I tapped the conductor and it was over with. I am making much of a big deal out of Ksh 10. It is no little amount. It buys salt, matchsticks, maandazi and sweets(tropical and ivory) in the morning.
I went home feeling my thank you was not enough for what that woman did for me. I may not know her struggles but her deed will go a long way in solving even one of them. Charity is the little things you do.
Kindness is not about visiting homes for the elderly and posting the day’s events on your handles. It is what you do that leaves a person speechless. Selflessness. She could have let me pay using mobile services but didn’t.
That speaks volumes on the sort of person she is.
It is 6:10 pm, Thursday evening. It is my cousin’s birthday. Her elder sister has requested a portion of my playlist which I am yet to send. Busy-ish day, I would brush it off. What is left of the rain is only a slight drizzle.
I join the bandwagon awaiting a matatu to take us to our homes. The drizzling has gained momentum and I count myself lucky to be standing next to a man with a big ass umbrella.
You know that feeling you get when the person next to you owns an umbrella when you don’t have yours?
I smile at him and step strategically next to him inside the umbrella. It is big like a playhouse. It is is peach in colour and has a writing I couldn’t seem to read from inside. I look aside and realize, I’m not covered. Horror!
The man is looking straight ahead avoiding my stare. I intentionally rub the big drops on me but he isn’t ‘seeing’. I look up and I notice what is happening…
He would rather shield the umbrella of the woman in front of him from the rain!
Is there a definition of humanity that I’m missing? Somebody, anyone please teach me.
Meanwhile, please head on to Facebook using the link below, and vote for me by liking my piece of poetry.
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