TIMBERLANDS

Riddle riddle….

Riddle come….

Picture this, 

You have this friend. This friend you knew back in uni. Your boy bestie. And coz I can already foresee the question that’s cooking up in your head, no no, he’s not your bestie bestie, just your bestie. Get your head out of that gutter kidogo tu, leo tunaongelea mambo serious. 

Y’all are friends, just friends, but the best of friends. Tight, thick and all over each other’s business. You pour your heart out to him and he does the same with you. He looks out for you and you do the same with him. You know where all his bodies are buried, and he knows which bodies you wanna bury…You remind him of the classes y’all have that day, and he fails to attend them anyway…He gives you his assignments to copy, the one he copied from that nerdy shy chic in class who’s always had a crush on him, and you do it justice…same same, but different . ….see, the best of friends…

But he’s struggling. Not many know this, but you do. He undertook a parallel degree course -- needless to say, his school fees is off the roofs. Add to that his upkeep costs; chakula, rent ya hostel, his drip, a little extra for entertainment, bundles, one two dates here and there, (for man cannot live by bread alone) most especially a young good looking testosterone filled fella, his expenses shoots to the stratosphere. His folks are doing the best they could given such circumstances, but life happens and the best they could ends up not doing much. Such is life no?

So he gets into the online space, to try and make ends meet. It works out fine for a minute, but what he makes is still too little to cater to his needs fully. He is tired with his life. That type of life — doing the most he could but still not breaking the bank. He is tired of always being anxious, always wondering if he’d seat for the end of semester exams, if he’d pay his rent on time…tired with anxiety riddled sleepless nights and days trying to duck his landlord. He’s always looking for ways he could make more without necessarily having to divide himself into several persons. 

Finally, on a rather hot Sunday afternoon, when he’s just about to give up on school, a light bulb goes on. Si anaezauza manguo!!! Si guys are always commenting on his drip. Si girls are always “aki si uniwachie hii” when it came to his drip. He’s into style, he’s always been into style. He knows fashion and fashion knows him. First day of class he walked in, ray bans on, dreadlocks pushed back, stads on point, he could have been Nyashinski only that he was a lightskin fella. The girls were swooning, the guys didn’t like that the girls were clearly into his bad boy aura. He knew fashion to a T and he knew people who loved fashion as much as he did. The icing on that cake, he had family in China, sourcing them was going to be a walk in the park. 

Because of money constraints, he decides to first start off with shoes. Arrangements are made, the shoes arrive in pomp and colour. Timberlands, Airforce Nikes, Puma, Adidas….name brands at their best quality. Message is sent, and you arrive within minutes to check them out. He thinks you’ve got style, you wouldn’t be friends otherwise, so he respects your opinion, and you give your stamp of approval by asking for a pair, free of charge of course. “I really wish I could, lakini hii ni ya biz, maybe zikienda enda the next batch ntaona,” he tells you.

You are mad, of course you are. Kwani what are best friends for??!! To give you free shit right? You will market them for him anyway, he's not the only one who thinks you’ve got great style, many other do. “Ulipata hizi wapi?!” You know they will ask, and you will mention him for sure. He offers to sell them to you at cheaper price, no profit on his end, he just wants to break even in the least, but even that isn’t appealing to you. 

Unbeknown to him, you were in need of shoes all this while. Your dad finally fed up with all your nagging, gives in. Asks you which kind of shoes you’d want. “Timberlands,” you tell him. “Iyo si pesa mingi?” he asks. “ But they last really really long dad,” you tell him. That gets to him, music to his ears, he was known for buying oversized clothes for y’all in your younger years. You go home, and as promised, he gives you the cash. “You can choose to do whatever you want with the money,” he tells you, “Just don’t come back to me ukilialia ati you need shoes. That pair should last you the remainder of your school years!” 

What would you do ladies and gentlemen?

Get the shoes right? 

Those timberland boots from your friend…. Utapromote beshte yako sindio?!

Well….

Not me.

That’s not what I did. 

I bought a pair of timberland boots sure, but not from my friend. 

Ouch!!! 

Yeah yeah, I know. If betrayal was a person, she was me and I was her. I was a terrible bottom of the barrel shit person. The worst!

He was crushed. Heart bleeding, torn into pieces, couldn’t eat…couldn’t sleep, always thinking type of hurt. I saw it in his eyes, heard it in his voice…his pain oozed from all his pores. I felt it in his “Yani Dee…..ahh ama wacha tu!” Wah, that ‘ama wacha tu’ hit different. So raw, so surreal, so naked, even his manly ego couldn’t hide it. It was like he couldn’t believe that that had happened. That I had done that to him…I was the last person he thought who’d ever do him like that. It wasn’t just about the shoes, it was deeper, so much deeper…it was a betrayal of a friendship he thought was solid. Girls come and go, but friends, a friendship like ours, was built on steel, he always thought. That I would always have his back. Then something like that happens, so minor, so innocent at the time, so unthought off on my end, and it made him rethink our entire relationship. Rethink his entire existence really. If friends, good friends could do you like that, someone you considered family, what of the rest of them folks?!! He knew that I knew the type of hell that he was going through. He thought that I understood it, understood him. Understood why he needed his small kabusiness to work. That was his bread and butter, his life line. Then I go and pull that on him?!

“Why Dee, why??!” Questions that loomed so heavy in the spaces between us. The giant elephant in the room, in our heads. He didn’t need to utter them, he never did. You just heard them.

I lied that my old man had bought them for me. That I found them at home. That I had just mentioned it to him in passing, nikapata ameninunulia. That he didn’t have the colour I wanted anyway. That’s the thing with liars, bad liars, they feel the need to overexplain themselves, and in doing so, they expose their own wicked lies. He knew, he so knew. He knew me, we wouldn’t have been bestie otherwise.

Time heals it all they say, and within a good amount of time, he lets it go. “Ni sawa tu,” he says….what’s more a guy to say? Haikuwa sawa tu, in fact, it was far from ni sawa tu. It wasn’t ok. It was so not ok….at the time, I didn’t get that though — the gravity of my actions. Matter of fact, I thought that he was being overly dramatic, viatu tu, argh, let it go will you?! 

Karma was baiting it’s breath for me…

…….

Over the years I’ve run several small businesses and headed several projects. Most of those have been dear to me. I put in a lot of work, a lot of effort and a hell load of my time. I’m not one to do something halfheartedly, if I take it on, I’m all in, I put my heart and soul into it. And that’s exactly what I’ve done with this blog. Like I mentioned before, on the WRITING Part 1 piece, I never set out to be a writer. It had never ever ata crossed my mind. I never went out looking for it, it just found me, at the precise moment I needed it to. Ain’t that what the best of love stories are made of? 

My first two articles; Daddy Issues and Oh I sell sex toys btw, were never meant to be published. The former was me trying to explain to my dad that the corporate world, that 9-5 rigid yes boss, sure boss, I hope this finds you well, best regards, find attached, I have ccd, in reference to type of gigs, were just not for me. Or maybe that was me trying to explain it to myself —The reasons why I gravitated towards business and entrepreneurship, towards marketing, digital marketing. The reasons why I needed a place where I could put my creative juices to work without being told I’m being too Gen Z. Or that I’m thinking too outside the box. A place where they wouldn’t care about how I dressed, when and how I did the work, just that the work was done. Some saw it as a diss, God knows my old man did, but that wasn’t the case. Corporate had sucked me dry, it left me checking myself in rehab bana. I was just like this is me dad, please try to understand me, nielewe kidogo tu. 

The later was meant to be a pitch. I was looking for investors for my sex toys biz but it was proving a mountain to climb. Most of the people I approached didn’t look at it as a business gold mine, more of an immoral goal. The ones who were willing to invest, wanted too much stake, and some just outrightly wanted barter trade the coochie currency way. Show me how it’s done and I’ll show you how deep my pockets can run type of exchange. Those I discarded of course, but it forced me to go back to the drawing board. I needed someone who got it, one who got me and what I wanted to do with the brand. That’s how I got to writing it, hoping that somehow, it would end up before the eyes of someone who’d feel it. I wrote the two articles concurrently, and they took months to complete. The whole idea was to send them directly to the target persons. After they were done though, and I read them through, I was like, “Goddamn, bitch…si you can write!!!" 

So I decide to publish them for the world to see, why enjoy such divine content alone!! Mbona nikuwe mchoyo jameni!? Someone somewhere might be going through the same things that I was going through. Someone somewhere might see my content and reach out. Someone somewhere might feel my struggle, see all my potential and decide to invest, not just in my brands, but in me, THE BRAND. And anyway, publishing has the potential of a greater reach than what I could have done with email marketing. Why not go that route?  

But publishing wasn’t as easy as I am putting it across. It wasn’t just about pressing the enter button, there was a lot of emotions and anxiety the went with it.

.....

Even the best of artists get nervous when they are about to release a project sindio? Sembuse one who was just starting out? And to make matters worse, they were all things about me, about my misgivings, kujianika kumalo. I was a nervous bana. A nervous wreck. But it had to be done. I solicited the help of a friend. His job was to go through the two articles, not to change a word, not even the theme, I didn’t even want to hear his take on the two pieces, I just needed him to do one and only thing, check for grammatical errors. Nisikuwe nimesema ‘love thy neighbour’ when I meant ‘kikulacho ki nguoni mwako’….’all the haters can suck it,’ when I meant, ‘all my enemies are suffering’….ama do they mean the same??…si you get? And I know y’all are already thinking it, si grammally can do that shit, si kuna Chatgpt…..I don’t mean to brag but yoh, Chatgpt haijanifikia bado. It can’t run between English, Swahili, mother tongue and urban sheng with a sprinkle of personality as smoothlessly as I do. It might get there eventually, lakini kwa hivi sasa, bado. 

I trusted him. Knowing what I was going through, all the battles that I was fighting, I thought he’d jump at it.

“Finally Dee amepata that thing she’s been looking for. That thing that sets her soul on fire. Finally, I have a way to help her, finally!”

That’s how I thought my conversation with him would go that day. I didn’t think it was too much of an ask. I wasn’t asking for money, not that 2k urgently ask. I wasn’t even asking for too much of his time, maybe twenty thirty minutes max, and he’d be done with it. Not even his take on the piece, for heaven's sake, although if he wanted to, he could give it. Just the barest of minimums. “Pitia tu, I’ve already proof read it, wewe pitia tu before I post it.”

I know you’ve already guessed how this story goes. He didn’t read them through, none of them! He acted as if I had given him some elephantine task…to climb Mt Everest or something like that. To pet a lion or something like that. Eish, you guy my guy, ilinishtua aje!! To add salt to that already festering usa filled injury, you wanna know what he told me when I eventually published it, without his add-on might I add, ati, “THAT’S NOT THE WAY TO PROSPERITY DIANA!!!” 

The nerve on some people aki!!!! Nigga hadn’t even read that damn piece!!!!

Iliniwasha bana. It hurt so bad, a heartbreak had nothing on it. It felt like he had ripped my heart out from my chest, squeezed all the blood out as I watched, gasping for my last breath. He then threw it on the ground and stamped on it till it was nothing but dust. It took me a while, a long long while to get over it. Was it wrong of me to ask a friend, a good friend, a friend I thought was widely read, to go through my blog for me?!!! Was that so so wrong!! Did I take it too far!? Were my expectations too much??!  Too high?!!! Or maybe I felt it way too hard…Maybe I took it too personal, he said it didn’t he? Were my feelings valid? Ama that was just me overthinking it? Why had I put myself on too high a pedestal in someone else’s life?! Ama naexagerate….”It wasn’t that serious Dee,” He told me later on, months later. Ati I took it too personal….

Yoh, how was I supposed to take it, socially?!!!!!

You were my friend, I trusted you! I was vulnerable with you! To let you be the first to see my art piece, my heart piece! How could you? One minute I was excited, the next I felt dejected, more of discarded. If you didn't care, who would?! That's the worst feeling to ever have, that no one gave a shit.…Ati too personal nkt!!! How was I supposed to take it😒?!

Karma’s a bitch no? Like a boomerang, it came back around fifty folds, smacked me right on the chest, and for a while, I couldn’t breath. That’s how my boy bestie must have felt all those years back. Kumbe I hurt him that much….how didn’t I know?! How did I not see it, feel it, feel him?! How oblivious was I? I knew he needed the money. I knew how much he was willing his small kabusiness to thrive…I knew all that, knew them so damn well. 

Damn, I was a bad friend.

….

Mpenzi msomaji, why are we like that sometimes? I was there, I am pretty sure you’ve been there, heck, even Mother Teresa must have been there once or twice in her lifetime. Is it so hard to think of someone else before we think about ourselves?! Must it always be a quid pro quo? What happened to doing things out of the goodness of our hearts huh? Why are friendships so transactional these days? Isn’t seeing a friend, a relative, smiling, enough for us anymore?

Hey look, I get it....I'm not passing judgement here. We all are, after all, animals at the core. All creatures wired for self preservation. Just like a tamed lion left hungry for weeks on end, it’ll eventually turn on the hand that’s been feeding it. With us though, it never gets that serious, yet our selfishness shows. Cheki, A friend starts up a restaurant right? It has taken him years and tears to make that dream a reality. He’s in debt, and the restaurant working is his one remaining lifeline. Why then do we want to eat there for free? Ati tupee discount bana, we will insist. He’ll give in, because he does need the chums. But more than that, he is hoping that you will spread the world, get more traffic walking into his baby. But then we don’t. Kusema tu 'nani, ule jamaa wangu amefungua karestaurant pale, twende tukale uko,' is apparently a task. Dare you post and tag him, your dead forefathers would turn on their graves! And dare he not give in to the “tupee the family and friends discount” the whole internet would know!

Why are we like this though?

Shouldn't we be the ones leaving a tip? A word of encouragement? Solid reviews online? Constructive feedback? A like on them socials? Maybe even a repost? Is that too much to do for someone you call "My G"?

Here’s what I’ve learnt thus far, in relation to chasing a dream, be it starting a business, getting into content creation, music, poetry, football, gymnastics, blogging, dance….that whole shebang….no one owes you shit! Not your mom, not your dad, not your siblings not even your best friend. Yes Dennis, I said what I said.

You have to believe in yourself so hard, that other people’s opinions become simple noise to you. Story za jaba. Mere banter! Nani will tell you that that’s not how it is done, that it has never been done like that before. Another will insist that quitting your job to pursue that thing is a dumb thing, "You is crazy," he will tell you. More of mock you. Kevo will add that he did it before and it didn’t work, "iyo ni kumwaga pesa!" he'll insist. Agnes will second him adding that ‘ata watu hawapendi leather products hii Kenya’…..voices upon voices, opinions spilling over, oh mara take that corporate job, then save enough to start, mara bank loans are fraudulent loans, mara this, mara that, and if you are lucky enough to get that one person who tells you to go for it, who’s willing to support you, who believes in you, you are the lucky one among many, don't take that for granted. But then again, anaweza choka when it takes too long to bare fruit, don't get discouraged lakini, it's just human nature, ata wewe si supper ikikawia unacomplainingi? 

Kwa hii time yote, I have come to learn that most often than not, it's not about you ata. It has never been about you or your ability to make that shit happen. More about them. Their own projections, their own self doubt, their own misgivings and insecurities. Because they can't imagine ever pulling it off, they also can't imagine that you, a mere being like them, mtu kama yeye, can pull it off. They'll say that writing doesn't pay but Biko walks to the bank smiling on a daily. Michelle Obama keeps writing books, I mean, there's gotta be something in it no?

Let's take my case for instance, with that ex-boy bestie of mine, me not buying from him wasn't a him issue, but a me problem. Like yes, sure, he didn't have the original brown leather timberlands that I wanted, and yes, sure, I saved 500 bob when I bought it from the store not from him, but if I am being honest, it all got down to my own selfish expectations. You see, he'd gotten his girlfriend the same timberland boots, in white, and in my own delusion, I also wanted a pair free of charge. He gifts them to her for free yet he expected me to buy them from him, how dare he!??? Because girls came and went, and I stuck around, I used to think that he valued me more than he did them. Weuh, kumbe! That delusion was on a whole other level my G!!! Someone should write a manual for boy-girl plutonic friendships aki ya nani coz weuh😐😐😐 Whereas I expected him to buy my socks, kwanza in bulk, when I later started up that sock business, mimi I expected to get his stuff for free. Reason being, ati coz I'm a girl!! Iyo si upuzi wadau!!! The real question here should be, what value was I adding to his life if I couldn't even support his biashara!! At the end of the day, it goes without saying, that it wasn't about him or his products either. Not about his girlfriend or the quality of those shoes either. It was solely about me. About my feelings and my dumb expectations. To put it simply, I was just a shit friend😔

Aya, now let's come to the second instance, and yeap, you guessed it.....Again, boy girl platonic shit. I want to say that it was the fact that he liked me....oh wait....the fact that he liked that he was the boy I called when shit hit the roof. The fact that he was my shoulder to cry on. That he pictured himself as my saviour, the one guy who always came through, always showed up. That he liked that he was that person for me, so when I was finally getting my footing, he hated that I wouldn't depend on him as much anymore. That he wouldn't get that "niokolee na punch" at odd hours text. That his worth came from feeling needed. That could possibly be it. Or maybe, just maybe, it could have been the fact that I was actually doing it, actualising my dream one blog piece at a time, doing what I'd always said I would do, that upset him to bits!

It wasn't about me really, more about him. Because he couldn't / hadn't done it, he hated the fact that I was doing it. Misery loves company they say, and me doing it made him face his own misgivings. It wasn't that it couldn't be done, it was just that he didn't have the courage to do it, and that, that little realisation ladies and gentlemen, upset the hell out of him. Needless to say, his jealousy sipped through his pores big time! You see, we'd always dreamed big him and I. Matter of fact, whenever I had this idea or another, he was the first person I'd always call to get his point of view. I couldn't do that with most of my other friends. They just didn't get that side of me. That's why letting him read my first blogs was a no brainer. What I had missed though, was time. Adulting had done a number on him bana! Whereas I was still super optimistic about my future, chasing is like a hungry lioness on the tails of a jumpy gazelle, he had resolved to that three bedroom bungalow in shags. On that piece of land that his dad had set aside for him. We could argue that some people are ok with such a life, that the big things just don't do it for them, he told me that at some instance but I know him. Oh sorry, I knew him. That wasn't him. I saw the lights drain from his eyes with each passing year, with each meeting he took, fake smile plastered on his face. It wasn't that he wanted that simple ushago work from home life, it's that he was resigned to it. I think he always knew what he needed to do to get out of that trajectory, he just didn't have it in himself to do it. Self belief muhimu watu wangu. People say ati pesa ndo shida, naaaah, the key ingredient in making it, is you seeing yourself making it. You've gotta see that goal before you kick that ball mamaa...

I guess all I am trying to say here is, don’t expect people to root for you, don’t expect them to post your shit, don’t even expect a word of encouragement, a congratulations, aki don’t, I beg you! Expectations will send you to the grave before your time nani. Cause of death, a heartbreak. Most founders and CEOs will tell you that it wasn’t their friends or family who bought from them first. Eventually when the business actually starts to show results, that’s when everyone wants to be part and parcel of it. I wish somebody would have told me this when I first started. It would have saved me so much time and so much hurt. You’ve only got you baby girl. Don’t look up. don’t look back, not on your sides either mamaa....You don’t need validation! You don’t need someone else’s approval! Heck, you don’t even need to prove yourself to anyone! 

Yes, it’ll get lonely, you’ll feel like giving up many times but don’t, each step you take, each move you make, they’ll all compound to something big in due time. Trust the process.

I wish someone would have told me that😥

………

Share this piece with someone who needs to hear those worlds. Tell them I see them, I feel them, and that they are not alone in this journey. Let's start the year on a good note.

Happy new year my loves...May luck and opportunities locate you this year, and most importantly, may you have the courage to pursue them head on💪Till next time, Turruss💋...