Tom Boy Chronicles

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Durban art night

As you may have not noticed amongst my short dresses and well-crafted hair and make-up, I am a well-seasoned tom boy. My style has become girly over the years but I’ve been a tom boy since childhood. If you want me to prove it, I can show you the scars from racing people on the track, my warning slips from elementary school from associating with a group of rambunctious boys, my lack of poise and avoidance of the color pink for the majority of my life.

So I am sure you are asking, how is life as a tom boy? Don’t you worry because this post will highlight both the advantages and short-comings of associating more with the male species.

  1. Less Drama– It is well known that boys are less inclined to have grudges and start gossip as compared to females. I can verify that this is true and I do appreciate my male relationships for this but with one caveat. As a tom boy, it’s all guns and roses until one of your male friends decides to fall in love with you. I have experienced this phenomenon over the years and can attribute it to the dwindling numbers of my male homies as dudes tend to jump ship once they realize that they’re in the “friend-zone”.
  2. No need to impress– As we all know, females love competition when it comes to how you dress, how you beat your face, how you cook, how you breathe, etc. I think this is just second nature with being a female and maybe this is what helps females to advance in life into woman-hood, where gossip and fake smiles become second nature. With dudes, they don’t try to impress each other for the most part unless the discussion is about cars and football/soccer. For the most part, dudes are laid back and fart freely around each other without batting an eye. So yes, if I want to hang out with one of my male homies, I could care less what I am wearing and don’t even care to put on perfume most of the times (don’t judge, Chanel Mademoiselle is not cheap).
  3. Becoming Fluent in Guy Talk– If you’re dating a guy or trying to flirt with a guy, it can be very difficult to decode their language. Like when do you know when a guy is being shy or not interested. But after hanging around for more than a week with guys, you become fluent in their language. You know when they just want to be left alone or when their sad that you’re not giving them enough attention. Therefore, dating the male species does become easier which I’ll explain further in the next point.
  4. Help with Dating- Hanging out with other dudes definitely increases one’s exposure to the opposite sex and can lead to getting hooked up with a dude in no time. This means no need for tinder or Facebook stalking guys so you can show up at the next invite that they RSVP’d to. Instead, guys glow freely for tom boys and you always have your male representatives to put in a good word for you unless they also have a crush on you, which then means they’ll make sure to c***block any dude who comes near you.
  5. Increased Savings– I think it’s safe to say that most female activities center around money (catching up over lunch or dinner, going to the movies, and of course SHOPPING). Guys are very economical when it comes to food- the cheaper the better. They save their money for big items- cars and electronics and they hate shopping for the most part. Furthermore, when hanging out with guys, you can wear the same outfit for three years and none of them would care. Therefore, hanging out with guys is directly correlated to increased savings.

So ladies, I would advise you to get a group of male friends to make your dating and financial life better.  For those of you who are seasoned tom boys, like me, feel free to comment with your experiences to add to anything I might have missed.

“No Woman no Cry”

So I am challenging myself to get inspiration for blog titles from Bob Marley songs, hence the “no woman no cry”.  I think this song is very relatable as winter is so-called cuffing season where we all seek to find a mate to cuddle with “by the fire light drinking corn meal porridge.” I had the pleasure (sarcasm) of experiencing my first American winter when my family landed in windy and cold Carbondale, IL from the paradise that is Kenya. Carbondalae  was a barren ice land. No jobs, nothing to do. And to top it all off, school didn’t go so well for me because I failed to make friends due to the fact that I was a foreigner and people didn’t like that. For example, One time I remember crying because we were supposed to be writing in “cursive” in class and since I didn’t know what I was supposed to be doing. The kid told the teacher “she doesn’t know cursive, she’s from Africa!” My 10 year old self had never experienced such embarrassment in her life.

I only had one true friend, Kylie, who wasn’t very friendly as she was a loner and instead of playing with me, she would go play by herself. But then some teachers, I guess out of pity, introduced me to these girls who I guess were forced to talk and play with me. So obviously I didn’t like it there, after being dethroned from the queen bee status that I held in Kenya among my clique and being turned into an outcast. However, there was one good thing about Carbondale: Charlie.

Charlie was in 5tth grade and I was in 4th grade. I know Charlie isn’t a cool sounding name but he was the most popular guy in school. Gorgeous. charismatic. charming. and all the girls were in love with him. He lived like 1 house away from mine and so we got off the same bus stop. I guess he was just a friendly guy or he was attracted to the gold threads and cowrie shells in my hair like most people. Anyway, he would try to talk to me about the cars passing by: Hummers, Mustangs which I knew nothing about coming from Kenya where every foreign car is a Toyota. So i just never said anything or nodded my head and ran home to write on my hand: Mercy Loves Chuck. He would play American football with his friends and I would climb the tree in my backwards to watch while pretending to look at the street. He would play with my brother and watch the cars on the streets go by together( maybe the reason why my brother is so fascinated with cars) until he was almost like a second brother to my little brother, Juma. So it went on like this for a year until the last week before we moved to Alabama where I was jumping rope with his little sister(btw i am a mean jump roper) when he jumped in the rope and started jumping behind me. I could feel him breathing on my neck and I just got so nervous and tripped on the rope- i didn’t fall btw. So I ran back in the house out of shame. Anyway, so during the last day of Carbondale, his sister kept hinting that Chuck liked me but obviously I was a shy girl and couldn’t act on it #1 because my parents would kill me and #2 b/c of the whole Kenyan accent thing.

Anyway, so i left Carbondale without ever saying goodbye to him and when during the first year in Alabama, I would kiss his picture from the yearbook at our elementary school. I don’t know what happened to the picture but I still remember him clearly from his dimples to his irresistible smile. Last summer after finding the yearbook, I looked up my friend Kyle and found her on facebook. I sent a brief message trying to remind her who I was but no reply. Anyway, i didn’t expect one considering the fact that she has totally changed, has a lip and nose piercing, has straightened and colored her hair but even through all that, she still can’t hide her striking unforgettable face. I also tried to find Chuck but no luck-he went by several aliases back in elementary school so I wont be surprised if he doesn’t go by chuck or charlie anymore. But the funny thing is, even though I know that there is like 0.001% chance of me ever seeing him again, I still wonder WHAT IF: what if I saw him again, what if I hadn’t moved, what if I confronted him about our feelings for each other. Realistically, I know that he probably doesn’t even remember who I am but the sentimentalist in me will always cherish his memory as my first childhood crush in America.

“Stand up for your rights!”

-Originally written July 31, 2010

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I don’t know if “stand up for your rights” is a fitting title for this post. But whatever. I don’t have much time but I really have to say what’s on my mind right now. So..I just took out my braids this week and I honestly can’t deal with the waste of time and money that I go through (the money part is my parents but w/e) to get my a little below shoulder length hair to get my hair braided. And the drama! oh the drama! I live in the U.S.A. where braiding costs $150 do the math-that’s alot of mullah!. Thank God i usually only have to pay $80 cause I am African. But these people in the U.S. who do hair act like they are doing you a favor. They take forever, they are on the phone while they are doing it, you practically have to beg and do it according to their schedules. Which i can’t deal with this CRAP anymore. And I had a big fallout with relaxers I think 5 yrs ago.where I started from zero with my hair. I was actually in Kenya when I did the big chop and started on this braids journey that I have been on ever since.

 

So I have decided to go NATURAL-completely no braids nothing just maybe twists outs or twists or braiding my own natural hair. And I am sticking with it. I have found great inspiration from natural hair bloggers on you tube and even a Kenyan chic on blogspot. So i am going to do this! Some of you may ask. Why is this such a big deal? why does it like seem like a milestone to me?

 

Well let me explain it to you. I live in America! Where most black women and society as well consider natural hair NAPPY/disgusting. I don’t even know how my friends will take it. But I don’t care .This is not about them. This is about me. I am tired of braids. I want to embrace the REAL me! the real hair GOD gave me! And I don’t care what anyone says.

 

So let me explain this hair drama I have. I was sold on the idea of dreadlocks-they are easy to take care of after u get them set in. Maybe some like the one in the picture below. So I tell my parents about it. and they say yes. Later when i tell them about the appointment I made. My mom is like “dreadlocks I i didn’t know you wanted dreadlocks!”No i don’t want those kitangaris (trash) , looking like a chokora (street child) “so obviously my parents are biased about dreadlocks. My mom said she thought I was talking about twists. So after fuming with anger about my mom’s confusion, I think about twists and realize that’s a plausible idea. So I twist my hair and well it’s not that bad. So right now I just finished twisting my hair. I will untwist it tomorrow and get the twist out look above.

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So on Monday I am supposed to call my Bro’s friend who does locks and explain to her my mom was confused and when she said “yes”, she really meant “hell no!”. And convince her to twist my hair. Hopefully she’ll say “yes”. If not then I might have to just go back to braids. Honestly, I will try everything so that I don’t have to go back to braids.  But school opens in 1 week so I don’t really have much time.

 

 

Image via Wikipedia

NB: Six years later and now I am still experiencing the same dilemma concerning work appropriate hair styles. Please comment if you identify with the struggle or have any tips. 🙂

 

“Stiff necked fools” ft race in America

-originally written July 21, 2010

So this post is sort of dedicated to the teacher I have been helping along with Martin at the Art Museum. By the way, this is not a good dedication. Not that I don’t like the teacher in fact I do, let’s call him Mr.Brown cause he is brown (no offense intended). Anyway it was something that he said that caught my attention( and not in a good way). Ok, so i am just setting up the paint station, Martin- who happens to be white- is out of the room at the moment and he says to me “Mercy, how is it dealing with black kids when you are so smart”. So at that moment i’m like wait a second is that what i just heard from this black person. So i know he was referring to African Americans in general when he mentioned black people since we are in America. So my response was that ever since I had been living here, I have gone to school for smart people (i.e. magnet schools -google for reference). So irregardless of race, we were all there to learn. Sure there was the bullies but mainly those bullies bullied out of jealousy of my intelligence like when I would teach the class a shortcut I had discovered for a Math question. So we went on talking where he stated “all these black children here are just lazy, don’t want to use their brains”. What i wanted to say was “that’s a generalization and i think it’s unfair to make that statement considering there are black children who work hard in school”. But what i said was “true. but I usually don’t surround myself with those people. I usually hang out with foreigners or children of foreigners”. But recently, I have started hanging out with the black kids of my IB college program and these are people who are fully committed to success like me. So anyway, back to Mr.Brown. The conversations transitions  to talking about the diversity in our schools. Martin goes to a private school-primarily white- and says that he wishes that even though he is friends with a Nigerian and Korean, he wishes there was more diversity.

Anyway when I went home, I started thinking about this more especially how one of the black ladies in charge of the black kids at the museum had asked me where I was from because I talk different-“like a white person”. And black people always try to mock me for not talking like them- despite the fact that I am black. So this led me to the revelation that race doesn’t define anything except your race. It doesn’t define how you walk, dress, eat, talk, laugh, drive,..anything. But why do people make it that way. Obviously it’s the environment. Look at Eminem for example he’s a white person but raps and talks like a black person from the inner city while in society he’s not supposed to rap or talk like that. But where  Eminem came from people rapped and talked like that and now so does he. So i am sick and tired of these people who look at you and put you in a box. “OH, you’re black- go into the black box where you behave this way”. But many people don’t fit into those boxes. Like me for example. Like, why would someone expect me to speak like an African American when I AM AFRICAN! It annoys me. I spoke British English before I got here, not ebonics English. And when i started to live here, I didn’t move into the inner city and I didn’t go to a inner city school. So why in the hell do people expect me to speak like I am from the inner city. Because of the color of my skin?! Honestly, those stiff necked fools “can have several seats” (slang for sit down and shut up). So my Kenyan people, if you’re planning to come to America at some point you should be ready to face color based discrimination.  In conclusion, America is a complicated place.
NB: If you have any questions or remarks please feel free to comment or use the “contact me” section.

$$$ MONEY MONEY MONEY $$$

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MONEY, MONEY, MONEY….money. How many things have you done purely for the love of money?  If you answer honestly, money probably rules the majority of our life choices-what you do, what you buy, what you invest in life, etc. We’re all in a relationship with money and most of us are in an abusive one. Simply stated, money is the pimp of life. It forces us to do things we don’t want to do-get up in the morning,  brush your teeth, and get ready for a job that you probably don’t like. But despite how abusive the relationship is, we always go back to it. Like the battered wife, we make excuses for money- ‘Oh but he buys me x,y, and z’ or ‘he takes care of the kids’- and hang on to the hope that the relationship will change one day. But deep down inside we know that money will never change. Money will always be money.

If we want the relationship to be different, we must change.If we don’t want to be slaves, we must use money against itself  and buy our freedom from it-from the debt and more importantly from the dependence on a 9-5 job.  We have to learn to be like the greats,  the Russel Brand and the P. Diddy’s of the world, who learned how to pimp their money.  We must always have a plan- which some of us think of as a budget but the more ambitious think of as a business plan. If there’s anything I’ve learned from rich people is that they don’t like to spend their own money, they invest it. And we all know money is a great force to  be reckoned with so we’ll probably be more successful if we face it with a team. So how about that  squad you spend every weekend drinking with. Maybe it is time to stop digging an early grave with alcohol and start investing in a cemetery instead. Excuse my morbidity but its important that we acknowledge that how we spend our money can either kill us or make us a killing. May you have great success in the latter.

And when y’all make it big out there, don’t forget to come back and tell us how you did it- preferably over a nice lunch at the Hilton on your bill.  🙂

In honor of Yvonne Chaka Chaka ft “Thirsty Thursdays”

If you’ve been to college, you’re probably familiar with the term “thirsty Thursday”. If not,  here’s the breakdown: a day where students oppressed by the daily routine of college decide to celebrate the weekend early by consuming a lot of alcohol. I won’t disclose whether I participated or not but I will provide you with a song of my choice if I could participate today. Don’t worry I am over 21 and have just chosen as of a few months ago to stop drinking for good (for financial reasons lol….I prefer shoes over cocktails).  Although I was first exposed to alcohol at an appropriate age, I remember being exposed to one of the African songs that glorifies drinking culture in a classy traditional way. Ladies and gentlemen, that song is Umqombothi by Yvonne Chaka Chaka who has since been dubbed as the Princess of Africa.

As you may or may not know, I proclaimed  that I would dedicate this week on my blog to all the women who have served as inspirations in my life. Although “thirsty Thursdays can be fun, that’s not what I truly associate Yvonne Chaka Chaka with in my memory. I was first introduced to Chaka Chaka’s music as a young girl (probably less than 9 years old) in Kenya when my dad brought home a video tape (dark ages lol) which was a music collection of Chaka Chaka’s greatest hits. As I think back on that now, I realize that she was the first musician that I had ever seen on our TV. From research (wikipedia *cough* *cough*), I have discovered that she was one of the first Black people to air on TV in South Africa (apartheid *cough* *cough*). She was truly an icon. Even my less than 9 year old self could see how glamorous and confident she was in her videos.

Chaka Chaka represented an African Princess though she was not one by birth rite. In fact, she was raised by a single mother who struggled to make ends meet with her meager salary as a domestic worker. Her father, a struggling musician, died when she was 11 years old. Therefore, I find it inspiring that Chaka Chaka still decided to pursue music despite the reality of her father’s struggle as a musician and the reality of segregation in South Africa. I think she represents female boldness and perseverance when the odds were against her. Her story shows that success is not determined by where you came from or who your parents are. Instead, success is determined by what you decide to do and how you choose to do it. With that I am reminded of a quote from a CEO that I met at a conference this year. It might be corny but I think it rings true: “If not  you, who?” If you don’t pursue that dream you have, who will? If you don’t work hard for what you want, who will do it for you?

I don’t mean to sound like DJ Khaled here but you are the “major key” of your life. Let us seek inspiration from those who have made it so that we may be inspiration for others. With that said, many thanks to you for reading my blog and many thanks to Yvonne Chaka Chaka for blessing our ears with her music.

 

In Recognition of Winnie Mandela

There is a saying that “behind every great man, is a woman”, yet that woman rarely every gets the credit she deserves. Nowhere is that more true than in the story of Winnie Mandela. You might think that you already know why but trust me, you don’t know have the full details. Don’t feel bad though. I didn’t have the complete story until I did the research myself in order to compete for $1,000 by delivering a speech on the aforementioned topic. I’ll give you a spoiler and let you know that I won. Whether I deserved to win or not can be decided by you. Here’s the speech for you….enjoy (and give me some feedback, please).

-originally presented on March 2014

>>>Good evening Ladies & Gentleman. I hope you got your thinking caps on because I have couple questions for you. With a show of hands, how many of you know who Nomzamo Winifred Zanyiwe Madikizela is? Now how many of you know who Winnie Mandela is? I am sorry to have engaged in trickery to prove a point but Nomzamo Winifred Zanyiwe Madikizela and Winnie Mandela are the same person. Now why is it that we fail to recognize her maiden name? Perhaps it is best explained by the belief that “behind every great man is a woman”. The key word in that oh so cliché quote is “behind”. That word “behind” belittles the efforts of great women in history who become overshadowed by their male partners. This is best exemplified in the story of Winnie Mandela whose struggles & contributions towards the anti-apartheid movement in South Africa marked her as a leader in her own right.

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Even before she married Nelson Mandela, Winnie’s name was associated with greatness. In 1955, while South Africa was under apartheid, she rejected a scholarship offer to continue her studies in the United States and instead she became the first qualified black social worker at the Baragwanath Hospital in Johannesburg. Winnie made this remarkable decision due to her dedication to her people and her desire to improve the conditions in South Africa. Winnie also realized that politics was a tool that could be used to enact change and therefore she became involved in the African National Congress or the ANC. At the time Nelson Mandela was heavily involved with the ANC as the president of the Youth League and naturally, Winnie and Nelson became partners, politically and of course romantically. However, their newly wedded marriage was interrupted in 1964 when Nelson Mandela was sentenced to life in prison. Despite having to raise two young daughters on her own, Winnie was devoted to the anti-apartheid movement and continued working with the ANC. As such, the white-supremacist apartheid government considered Winnie a threat to the status quo. In the government’s efforts to restrain her, Winnie was arrested in 1969 under the Suppression of Terrorism Act. After her arrest she was tortured in solitary confinement for 17 months but even that did not break Winnie. She continued her efforts to end apartheid and was arrested several more times. As such, she became known as a leader and the title “Mother of the Nation” was bestowed upon her.

In 1976 when hundreds of students were killed in uprisings in Soweto, Winnie was placed in house arrest in a remote town due to the government’s fear of retaliation when she formed the Black Women’s Federation and the Black Parents’ Association that sought to empower Black South Africans. While under house arrest in the remote township of Brandfort, she founded a birthing center and a clinic with a local doctor in order to help improve the health conditions in the area since Blacks did not have equal access to health care in apartheid South Africa. Despite house arrest, Winnie also persisted in speaking out against apartheid and in 1981 she made a statement to BBC about the economic power of black South Africans and their ability to crush the system.

During this difficult time of isolation and oppression, she kept the ANC alive and more importantly, she kept Mandela’s memory alive. Winnie did not forget Mandela and she did not let South Africa forget either. When she was released from house arrest and returned to the black township of Soweto, she made sure that Mandela’s name was still relevant in the struggle of freedom and that the people of South Africa still looked to him as a leader. As such, the so-called roles of leadership had been reversed; now Winnie was seen as the great woman and Nelson as the man behind her. She was the “Mother of the Nation”.

Twenty -seven years after his detainment, in 1991 Nelson Mandela walked out of prison with Winnie by his side. Even with his release, Winnie never went back to being the woman behind the great man. She supported him to help him gain favor of the people, as she was now a leader in her own right. In 1993 she was elected president of the ANC Women’s League and the following year, during the 1994 elections, when Nelson was elected president of the free republic of South Africa, she was appointed deputy minister of Arts, Culture, and Science and Technology. This appointment recognized her not only as a leader but also as a freedom fighter securing the liberation of South Africa.

I’m sure you are all aware that Winnie’s reputation is not without controversy. But despite these controversies, we must remember that no leader is perfect, they are human just like us, they have flaws just like us & they make mistakes just like us. Therefore, in light of the accusations against her, we must not forget Winnie’s great contributions to the nation of South Africa & to the world. We must remember her as the woman that is not left behind, we must remember her as the “Mother of the Nation”.<<<

In Memory of Alexandra Johnson

This year has been truly rough. I could end this entry with that sentence but it might take a couple more posts to really explain that all to you. To start the story, I should introduce you to Alexandra Johnson (one of the most beautiful human beings) that I have ever met. She was everything that you could ever want in a friend, a co-worker, a student, a girl, a human being, period. She was kind. She was loyal. She was assertive. She was serious. She was funny.  She was a “role model”.  But let me stop with the one-liners. Let me give you the full story.

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I had the pleasure of meeting “Alex” (as most people called her) during the spring of this year when I worked for a non-profit organization called Let’s Get Ready (google for reference, if you’d like). Let’s Get Ready relies on college students who serve the role of “coaches” by tutoring disadvantaged high school students for the SAT test which serves as one of the standardized tests for entry into college. So as the co-site director of one of the high school programs, I had to recruit these coaches. I’ll admit the process was hard as the coaches are not paid for their services. However, we were blessed with a great group of Northeastern students who wanted or needed to give back to the community. Alex met both of those qualifications. As, a student of color she knew the privilege associated with SAT coaching and how that plays into where people go to college. In addition, she also needed community service hours as she was a recipient of service-based scholarships. This combination made Alex one of the favorite coaches of the program. In fact, she was recognized as coach of the week on one occasion. I nominated her for the award due to her dedication to the program and her creativity in interacting with the students. But I don’t want to bore you with the details. Yesterday, I found a clip of one of the raps she helped a student write when she was coaching him on his SAT vocabulary (if you know the SAT, you know the vocabulary is challenging). To show you just how ingenious she was, please watch the video using the link below (sorry I don’t have the premium version of wordpress to embed videos).

Alex Coach Video

If you’re impressed, that’s not even the half of it. I learned a lot about Alex in the short amount that I got to know her. I don’t know if she would have considered me a friend as I was her supervisor but rest assured, she made a great impact on my life. So, Alex, if you’re listening up there in heaven, just know that you have a friend in me. I hope to see you again someday. Continue resting in peace. Northeastern misses you. I miss you. I’ll try to keep helping others as you dutifully tried to do every single day of our interactions.  ❤ ❤

 

NB: I didn’t include pictures of her because I do not have permission from her family. If anyone knows her family and would like to ask for me, please do so.
Permission has now been obtained from her family.

INCEPTION

-originally written on June 2, 2011

So on MAY 17, 2011 I graduated from HIGH SCHOOL which means I am officially college bound. Ironically it was also my father’s 50th birthday but that was unfortunately overshadowed by my milestone. On the upside, he never remembers his birthday anyway and he still looks like he’s 40 which means I am destined to age slowly (crossing my fingers for no wrinkles since gray hairs do not run in my family). That’s right forget the crap about embracing age and the nature that comes with it (poor eyesight, aching bones, foggy memory etc), i want to be youthful or semi-youthful forever!

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Northeastern University, Boston, MA

Anyway, let’s get back on topic and away from my fear of aging, So in 3 months since school here opens in September, I will be an American campus girl ( allusion to savvy’s Kenyan campus girl which inspired me to start this blog). I am excited to move from Alabama which is not a very vibrant place to Boston which is one of the most lively places in the U.S.  I’ll be attending Northeastern University to study Pharmacy and they have an awesome program that will enable me to become a Doctor of Pharmacy in six years. So can you imagine that, me as a 24 yr old girl ehem woman/lady that will be referred to as Dr.Mercy! I am beyond excited, not so much because of the title “DOCTOR”,  but because of the lifestyle and the flexibility that a pharmacy career offers. I want to first assure you that I am not a GOLD DIGGER but alluding to this phrase that i have recently coined “there’s nothing wrong with being a gold digger if you are digging your OWN gold”.

Either way, like everyone else in this world, I have a dream (MLK voice) where I live without the worry of money. I am not saying I want to be Oprah or Donald Trump rich…I just want to be comfortable. In the U.S. as a single person it is possible to live comfortably on 30K considering you have a normal apartment etc. The starting salary of a pharmacist is between 75-79K and the median salary is 100K which means that this dream will essentially be reality if all goes well. Bring a husband and kids in the picture and a picturesque house and Voila!, that’s the so-called American Dream that you have possibly heard of. Of course kids will come later since by my standard 24 is too young to start a family i am leaning on earliest at 26 and latest at 28. That gives me 2-4 years to settle down, “figure myself out”, and most importantly enjoy my dwindling YOUTH. Also, just so you don’t think I am a self-centered selfish person which isn’t 100% wrong, I plan to come to work with the WHO (World Health Organization) or Doctors Without Borders to facilitate medicine in developing nations. Haven’t worked out how i will do it but I do know that in order to do so, I think I should work in some pharmaceutical development company and somehow guilt them into giving out some of their samples to people in need in developing nations whether it be TYLENOL or some Anti-biotics. Anyway don’t be frightened into thinking that, à la “The Gardener ” (google movie for reference), experimental medicine will be distributed to these poor people as a ploy to use them as guinea pigs. I think the transparency will be the key in making a sustainable impact to the disenfranchised communities that I want to help. I’m all about sustainability in terms of outreach as exemplified by philanthropists such as Bill Gates (who I really look up to, like the rest of the world).

Anyway, this is the most challenging part of my dream because it doesn’t rest solely on my abilities.

the American Dream

After starting a family and raising my kids to the best of my abilities, I plan to retire at the age of 50 or 55 despite the fact that the retirement age in the U.S. is 65. Following my retirement, I plan to return to Kenya and live somewhere nice, maybe Westlands or Nyahururu and maybe try to get a position in the Ministry of Health that actively aims to help people or just start a chain of Pharmacy clinics in Kenya.

Either way something inside me tells me I am destined for greatness and to produce great change…so if Kenya’s government has not gotten its crap together by say 2040 then I with the help of the disillusioned Kenyan masses want to start a revolution where we demand honesty and accountability from the government instead of sitting in front of our TVs and taking whatever they throw at us with our 4 o’clock tea. In essence, I just want to be a part of something that gives back to the country that I owe my entire existence to. I love KENYA and I want nothing but the BEST for it.

So my fellow readers and Kenyans, I apologize for indulging you in 5 paragraphs all about ME although i am guessing that’s what I usually do so in that case Thank You for indulging in 5 paragraphs about my hopes and dreams. I wish you all the best in your dreams and future. And in 50 years I hope to come back and tell you all that everything worked out perfectly despite life’s unending surprises. In the meantime, what are your dreams, and have you achieved them? If not, how do you plan to do so?