Falling in love with a bag

Written with 'Wanjiku Travels II' and 'Wanjiku Sends a Postcard Home' in mind

Some people are morning-people. Some people are not-morning-people. The two categories are of course not as discrete as people-who-can-roll-their-tongues and those-who-can’t. Saying I am not a morning-person is somewhat of an understatement. I am likely to be the grumpiest and most disoriented before nine o’clock in the morning. When you add checking in for a flight at six A.M. into the mix, interesting things happen.

One morning in 2010 I went to the airport without my passport.

If only it was my ticket I’d forgotten! I could have talked my way into check-in using the e-ticket reference. It makes you wonder why no one has implemented an e-passport system. Until someone figures out other ways to earn money through the immigration process, maintaining the revenue stream from visas and passport fees is probably a no-brainer.

One morning in 2012 I forgot my bag in the house. I had my passport and ticket. I had four other pieces of luggage: three food packages that my colleagues had requested and my laptop bag. If we count my handbag, that makes it five.

I have been accused of having a memory like a sieve. This quality is most manifest in the morning hours. Note to self: put all the bags you need at the door before going to sleep. Alternatively, embrace forgetfulness and pay the price.

Four days and many phone calls later I picked up the missing luggage. I have never been happier to be reunited with a physical object. I wanted to hug it, but I thought the people at the airline office might get a bit confused.

There were several links in the chain: the girl from the airline who arranged to have my bag checked in as unaccompanied cargo and extended credit; the taxi driver who took my bag from the flat and delivered it to the airport; the logistics person here who arranged to have the bag cleared free of charge.  Many others are ‘invisible’ and will never receive my thanks in person.

I don’t need deodorant, body lotion...(fill in the blanks) as much as I thought  I did, and it is possible (though not necessarily desirable) to live on two pairs of shoes. The lesson reiterated through my utter dependence on other people’s generosity is that human beings are beautiful. People see God every day; they just don't recognize Him[1].  ^... but if we love one another, God lives in union with us, and his love is made perfect in us.[2]

Inspired by ‘When Wanjiku¹ Travels (II) by Jean Thevenet.

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[1] Pearl Bailey

[2] 1 John 4:12

Previous Weaving Kenya 2012 posts

The politics of demolition

'Inflamed Words' by Sitawa Namwalie 

The Tongue 

Whitney Wanjiku Houston

Burnt Food

The Words we Use

Weaving Kenya 2012: an introduction

I believe in the power and richness of community. But I haven't experienced it as much as since joining a writing project dubbed Weaving Kenya 2012. This is a writing experiment in which a group of women artists express their vision for Kenya during what is bound to be a pivotal year in the history of our country. Some of the key developments in our public life will include:

• General election in late 2012 or early 2013
• Possible start of ICC trials
• Enactment of key public functions such as County Governments
• Possible revamp of the education system
• ...

Weaving Kenya is an exploration of what Kenya means to us in its broadest conceptualisation: colour, experience, riches, aspirations, dreams, poverty, pain, and hope. In the words of Dr. Wambui Mwangi, this exploration expressed by and through women's voices is necessary because...'it will surprise no-one if the voices that are loudest, most consistently heard and accorded the most space are repeatedly and insistently male.  Many of these voices will also be emanating from the self-same machinery of representation that predictably focuses on starving, screaming, fighting, tribal, atavistic, primitive Africa, with the equally predictable stereotypes unleashed and magnified.'

Weaving Kenya 2012 is a process of aspiring and expressing our aspirations as a community of Kenyan women enmeshed in various ways with one another and with the space known as Kenya. 

 

How does the ‘Weaving’ work? Again, Dr. Wambui Mwangi is the 'go-to' person when you want things explained.

You notice, read, look at, pay attention to, hold in your mind, incorporate, or otherwise integrate into your mind the available-on-the-internet thoughts of two women from this collective... 

You make/stage your own intervention on the internet: on your blog, your website, your facebook page, etc: wherever you usually appear. 

 

Finally, forward (in facebook lingo, 'share') the hyperlink to any two interventions (not your own) from this collective to a new space of the internet 'public'.


I start off showing my sisters' work on my new blog with Jean Thevenet's Hearth Mother. I hope to see this piece of writing grow into a novel.

So, I have started a blog

I have always been wary of blogs. I am a relatively private person, and I find blogs rather intimidating. I am a creature of two worlds: my creative work is out there in the public domain, yet my private life is known to a small inner circle.

I am an introvert, you see.

Just maybe the idea of privacy is an illusion, a bit like a curtain blowing in the wind. It gives temporary relief and distance from the world's prying eyes. But at the end of the day it is just a piece of cloth. I am happy with some illusions, and throughout my blogging life I shall pretend that I have found that imaginary line between open and private. A bit of a joke, maybe; like the international dateline.

What got me blogging, then?

Consolidation comes to mind. I have different web audiences, each of whom has a view to a part of my life. There are my poetry followers on Facebook. Jewellery customers on Jasper Creations. I have very healthy symbiotic relationships with other bloggers, such as DMKW , and Koroga II.

I love piggyback. I hope I can be the back for someone else.

And starting was easy. Such are the synergies to be found in some web platforms. Unlike a friend of mine, I won't have to worry about losing my password. Conversely, nightmare of nightmares: if my e-life was hacked into (who'd be interested - I am neither rich nor famous), a good portion of my life would be OUT THERE. In the hands of a stranger. Shudder.

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Mbio za sakafuni huishia ukingoni.  A race on the floor finishes at the wall/edge. Everything comes to an end. 

Does it?

Na mbio za ukingoni je? How about a race on the edge of things; life on the precipice; stepping out of the boat? I might just find I can walk on water.