Fiercely Grown

We’ve all been through this, being that ugly child when young but growing up to be a beautiful, fiercely grown. Yes, I did too. 


I seriously do not remember which year this was. See, no boobs yet.  Think I was in junior school. ‘Mombasa’ vacation with family on a Christmas Holidays. Oh my! i used to shave my head and I had all colors of ‘Bandana’. 



Do not worry about my ‘polka dot skirt’ and my boots. I loved those boots by the way. This was when Facebook was the IT thing and I would dress up, just to pose for a photo to post on Facebook. HAHA. Around 2009.. My small sister was my photographer. ‘POSES IN THE KITCHEN’. 


This was around 2010 with my High School best friend. How I loved this girl. Thanks to social media, we still communicate. We were inseparable. Teachers in school would even not want us to sit next to each other in class. If it wasn’t copying each other’s notes, it was talking about boys or chewing gum and sticking them under our desks before classroom starts. I don’t know what we were doing in that place..but I guess it was a lunch date. And who even took this picture? 


This was 2011. Just burning on the grass outside the house. I was skinny then.


This was 2012. My sister and I had gone for a rugby match. It was Hell fun. Representing my country with that flag. Don’t worry about my purple stockings. And this was the year I shaved my hair into a ‘mohawk’. 


This was also 2012. That is Joyce. I had kidnapped her, we go for a night out. There was an event somewhere. I was with my kaboyfriend at that time and he had his boy. So he asked me to bring a friend so that his friend wont be bored. Blind date. HAHAHA. She was mad at me though. Bought her few shots, she forgot about it. It was a good night.


My hommie, my gangsta-like friend. Halima. She’s not gangsta anymore.She lived next to my home and swimming was the plan for this day. Nice body, huh? 


This was 2013. See that teddy bear, my then boyfriend brought me. It was Valentine’s Day. How sweet is that! It was a long distance relationship and he carried it all the way to me. Oi!!! But we broke up. HAHA. I still have the teddy though.


2014. I was at my internship workplace. I remember it was a friday and I had worn ‘Denim on Denim’. I don’t have a full photo. Did I go out that day? I think I did. Looking pretty huh? SEE THE TRANSFORMATION? 


This was 2015. I was just from an interview. My first Job. I think that Boss hired me because of my hairstyle. I love this puffy thing. Easier to put, easier to maintain. But I did not even stay at that Hotel Job. I quit and moved somewhere else. There was a lady there, who always on my case like a high school teacher. I think she did not like because I was prettier than her. You know us women. You hate someone for no reason.


2016 February. Look at me now. Black woman on point. I had just cut my hair again. I get bored with long hair at times.


Miss independent. This is still 2016.Hope you’ve seen that transformation. Think this was around April. 


This was July 2016, I started growing my hair again. Just a random picture after salon. ‘denim on denim’.  

Ok Bye!



How To Get Over Your Fear Of Getting Eaten Out

Last night, I was watching a series, a young lady who enjoyed sex. She was a sex addict. Going to clubs, picking up guys just to have sex with them and suck their blood. Yes, it was a vampire series. But she hated pussy eaters. She would kick and suck the blood out of a man who tried to go down on her. Her thoughts were, “I hate when men do that. Isn’t sex enough?”. I don’t know what her problem was. Who doesn’t love men who go down on them?

This brought me to a thought, Why do some women have fear of getting eaten out?

Vaginas should come with instruction manual. Because my vagina did freak me out when I realized I had it. Wondering, what is it for? Why is it even there? What does it do? HA! Show me a girl whose vagina hasn’t freaked her the hell out on at least one occasion and I’ll show you a liar.

It’s for that reason that it can be extremely difficult to let someone else dive in head-first. Vaginas can be freaky. And mysterious. They play by their own rules.

How are you supposed to know what’s going on down there? Depending on how tall you are, your vagina is like miles away from your face. And you’re going to let another person get up close and personal without the slightest idea of what they’re getting into? You’re going to let them play with your pussy?

You’re damn right you are. And you’re going to like it. That’s a promise, not a threat. You gonna close your eyes, hold his head and direct him how you want to be eaten out. 

If you in a relationship and you’ve heard from your friends that getting eaten out feels amazing, but you’ve never experienced it for yourself. You don’t know what you’re missing. 

“Being eaten out feels like a lump of orgasm stuck in your throat, slowly sliding down to your chest, then your tits, then your stomach, then your hips, then your pussy, then your clit lips tongue until he licks it out of you. He awakens every sleeping nerve under your skin. Oh yea!”

If you are dating someone who knows what you’re missing and wants to show you. Then you will be able to describe how it felt in your own way. It shouldn’t take another person to make us feel OK about our bodies, but sometimes it does. Sometimes you need to have that “someone is between my legs with their mouth on my clit and they’re happy about it” moment to make you see the light. 

Thing is, you might have this hungry hungry hippo in front of you begging for a snack, you need to get out of your way and let them feed. But you know you are not prepared. So you start a convo with your conscious (fear).

“My vagina might smell.”

I would tell you that all vaginas smell like something. This isn’t a secret. If you’re dating someone who thinks women sweat out vanilla and strawberry, you have bigger problems that what your vagina smells like.

“…But it smells…bad. Like, kinda-fishy, walking around in a thong and tights all day, bad”

Go wash up really quick? There’s a big difference between fresh-out-the-shower vagina and just-got-home-from-the-gym vagina. Again, an adult will understand and appreciate if you need to freshen up before they get to feast.

“I haven’t shaved in god knows how long”.

So what? I know we walk around thinking that our pubes are the only pubes, and that our shaving routine is the only shaving routine, but give your dude some credit. He’s probably seen some shit. Besides, when his bobbing your head in and out enjoying that blow job, Is he always shaved? No shame in your game girl.

“It might hurt”

If someone’s going down on you and it hurts,tell him he’s doing it wrong. Unless you like pain. Tell him what would actually feel good. 

And if the guy you’re dating seems like he’d rather starve to death than eat your pussy, Its okay. You cannot force him. But if you’ve been poppin’ out blow jobs all day, all night, it’s only right you ask that the favor be returned. 

Remember not all guys like going down on girls. Communicate about it. Maybe he’s had bad experiences in the past. Maybe he’s afraid it’ll smell bad and he won’t want to embarrass you, thus suffering through unpleasurable dining. 

Talk about it. That’s why I prefer not to take sex too serious. If you and your man are open with each other the better. If there’s anyone you shouldn’t be sleeping with, though, it’s not the guy who doesn’t want to go down on you. 

Bon appetit! 


I’m a Low-Maintenance Girl and Proud of it.

I’m the girl who starts getting ready fifteen minutes before I have to leave because am not trying to impress anyone. Just trying to please myself. As long as I got my doll shoes or converse shoes on, re-fleek my eye brows with my eye pencil then a little mascara, sio lazima ata, then lipstick and dress in what am comfortable in. And am out.

I’m the girl who doesn’t spend 10 minutes perfecting my braids. I just tie them back or in a messy bun. But I prefer the ‘puffy’ hair styles where its one style all through. I do not spend 3000 bob on makeup trying to contour my face because it isn’t worth the time and money.

I’m the girl who is happy the way I am when I roll out of bed in the morning, not the kind that needs to shower and get dolled up before going somewhere on a hangover kind of morning. And the way my hangovers are extreme!

I’m the girl who doesn’t get all flustered when I get a little stain on myself because accidents happen and if I can’t change it right away then it’s not worth getting upset over.

I don’t worry about perfect lightning and angles for my Instagram pictures…..Okay, I joke about this one. HAHA! a little filter goes a long way. I love me some Instagram filters.

I’m the girl who doesn’t take a hundred selfies to find the perfect one of the post. I joke again…… HAHAHA! I do have that perfect posture, at least I think its perfect. Until I get it, I have to ‘click’ ‘click’ to even 100 snapshots. Okay, not 100 maybe 10. Then choose ‘the one’ to post. The others I use them for ‘TB’ (Throwback).  Am sure am not the only one.

I’m the girl who doesn’t need my nails painted perfectly. This is so true. I cannot even remember the last time I painted my nails, maybe my toes. Not that I have bad finger nails or nibble on them, I just don’t do it. I don’t know why. I just don’t!

I’m the girl who doesn’t have a favorite food, If I see it and it sounds good, I order it. I don’t need five-star restaurants and fancy dinners (that people normally critique anyway) to keep me satisfied, am good with eating a burger on a dinner date.

I’m the girl who is happy doing my own thing, my own way without following the latest trends because I don’t need glamour to make me happy. I know what I want and what I like and that is all I need.

Shopping doesn’t make me giddy with excitement. But yes I do online shopping once in a while. I don’t allow myself to over use my money just trying to look like that other girl I saw on Instagram or snap-chat. But I prefer shopping for cool retro clothes at a thrift store and wearing them proudly. 

I’m happy with the same jeans I’ve been wearing because they fit and they’re comfortable, so why drop another 2000 bob on a newer pair? Just like seeing women in Nairobi walk around the mall or  in the streets with high heels makes me cringe because there is no way in hell they are comfortable in those four inch heels.

I’m the girl who thinks the simple things in life are the best things. I don’t need real diamonds or peals to be happy. I don’t need designer name brand bags or purses, I just need something that isn’t too uncomfortable to carry a few of my personal belongings in. 

Am sure some of you be reading and saying,’She’s talking like that because she cannot afford. If she did, she would say diamonds and pearls do matter,’. Yea, I hear your thoughts.

But first, do you have diamonds? or pearls? The real ones?  Maybe you do. I don’t care though.

Anyways, The simple things bring me joy, they make me happy and that’s awesome. Am down to get dirty in nature because fun is what it’s all about. I don’t need a lot to be happy and spontaneous adventures to bring me joy.

I’m the girl who actually sings in the showers and dance without care if anyone is watching because others opinions about me doesn’t change who I am as a person. 

I’m the girl who believes in LOVE and ROMANCE. Not like in the telenovela’s series but I know when I feel love. 

I have got my head in the right place, along with my heart. Am going to be just fine in life, even with my low maintenance. I AM HAPPY. 


To The Girls Who Sleep With Guys Who Have Girlfriends.

Especially to the girls who slept with the guys who used to be mine at some point in life. Am talking about from the time I knew what the word ‘Boyfriend’ means. Yes, now is when I got the courage to reach out;and speak out. You dirty little fuckers!

I don’t know how to talk to you. I’m weirdly scared about approaching the elephant in the room; the thing we all know is going to be brought up.

My basic instincts says to be polite and start with “hi”, but “hi” is casual. Too calm. It’s something we say to other people to make them feel comfortable.And you know what? You don’t deserve to feel comfortable. I do not owe you anything. You are always so full of excuses as to why what went down is not your fault.

“Their relationship was already over long before I came along”

“It just sort of happened”.

“It didn’t mean anything”.

” It’s not like I meant to hurt her”.

“I never knew I felt this way for him until I met him”.

You walk around tossing your weaves or wigs, talking about him to your friends and on twitter, acting like you’re drunk in love. Like your 140 characters are enough to rationalize your behavior. There is no way to convince me that what you did was okay or excusable.

You knew he had a girlfriend. You came in having your own agenda.To ruin a relationship. You with synthetic type of weave! Acting like an expert. Catching feelings like you were the main chick.

The guy that was never yours and who wouldn’t very easily do to you what he did with you. You will never know both sides of the story, nor will you ever know what was truly happening before you entered the picture, with legs spread.

You made a choice. Your excuses are irrelevant.

You had a choice. Going in knowing that you are just the ‘side chick’. Knowing that he still loves her. Acting all jealous and wanting to be called and texted all day everyday. But he preferred to do that to her. Not you! You must be a fool!

But maybe you’re at peace with the consequences. Maybe you’re fine with your choices. 

You are a “hypocrite”. You are responsible for making it too tempting to slut-shame, to hate you. We should be building each other up, not competing for what the other has. You are making competitions where there weren’t any and frankly shouldn’t be any. 

This was not a game of Finders Keepers. And even if we are childish enough to call this a game, you wouldn’t have won because, simply put, you were not there first.

You act like he was some sort of prize to be claimed. You talk about your nights together like they’re out of some novel that would shoot to the top of the best sellers list in the category of erotica.

You spin stories of your relationship talking about how magical it was but all you’re doing is making the reality of being someone’s side piece easier to swallow. You don’t get to romanticize your relationship. You were the other woman. It’s as simple as that. 

You need to own that you did a shitty thing and apologize for it. And not in an “I’m sorry for falling in love,” telenovela kind way. You owe it to us –  the girls who didn’t know it was happening – to not pretend like what you did was acceptable.

The beginning of making amends is admitting that you have made a mistake.

Yes, am writing to get your attention. Yes you. Girls who sleep with guys who have girlfriends.

We want an apology.

We want an acknowledgement that you would never want to go through what we lived through. That there is a bit of regret for what you decided to do in your moment. We want you to admit that you did something bad, specially to us, and own up to it.

If you could at least do that, and do it like an adult, then maybe we could stop waking up from fitful, restless sleeps wanting to slap you across the face.

We’re working towards forgiving you. We aren’t there yet.

But if you apologize, we could be one step closer.



My mother’s Daughter


Just Yesterday

Growing up, I never thought that my mother was a PERSON . I could hear of her but not see her. She was just this entity called ‘MOM’.

She became a human being to me, knowing her,  when I was a teenager, after I left high school.


Once I began my life as a ‘grown up’, I understood as to why she gave me up. Not to an orphanage but to my father.


Before I met her

And why she never tried to contact me. Why she never asked about me. She was given orders and she had to make a choice. A better education for me or a life full of struggles. But I began to miss her. I think that’s when I finally got to know her, even though we could only see each other a couple of times a year. She lived in Shianda, in a manyatta house with her other family while I stayed with my father in a huge house with a huge stone fireplace in the middle living room and wrap-around bedrooms. 5 bed-roomed mansion. See, that’s the sacrifice she made for me. A better life than hers.


My father was my blessing. A good Samaritan. My hero.  My everything. He educated me. Fed me.


My father then and now.

Clothed me. Protected me from the enemies and tried as much as possible to get me whatever I wanted. He still does. Even though I was not close with him. I was safe. 

“He was my strength when I couldn’t weak, He was my voice when I couldn’t speak, He was my eyes when I couldn’t see. He saw the best there was in me. Lifted me up when I couldn’t reach. He gave me faith coz he believed. I’m everything I am because He loved me” – Celine Dion

When he met my mother, she was 18 years old and working for him. He had another family and children. But being the best father he is, he made sure all his children knew each other and grew up closer to him.

For the next years after high school. My mother and I became very close. She also had another family too. Another husband and kids. See how am between a big family. On my father’s side, I have 7 half brother/sisters and on my mother’s side I have 6 step bothers/sisters. Weirdly, I was the only one who was born alone. Meaning, no real sister or brother but that doesn’t matter, I got plenty.

I then went to university. Graduated for my degree course and she was the first person on


Mom and I on my graduation day

my list. She was a proud mother and she never regrets about the past. I turned out to be her biggest blessing. With the little job that I have, am able to help her whenever I can. She might still be living the struggling life but happier. Happier than before.



Now “Mom” is 42. We are closer than ever. She phones me often with the opening line, “Hi! It’s your daughter calling.”which I set for her.  She visited during the weekend. How exciting. From Thursday until yesterday. She traveled today. Just talking and seeing her always gives me peace. Hearing her voice around the house when I come from work, “Mum I missed you”. “I missed you too”. Feels good. I never grew up to that. She was never there. But I am grateful shes’s my mother. And my love for her is so deep.

I promised to share some photos with you on her recent visit. Just a few













Indeed a Beautiful Mistake

At first she thought it was a mistake. She thought it would never work. She thought it was just a one night stand. 

At first she thought it was one of those ‘campus relationships’. The kind of relationships she was grown out of. Those relationships she swore to herself never to get in to. These relationships might have worked for others or working for now but for her they never worked. Atleast she learned a lot from them. 

At first she thought, he wouldn’t see the person she is. She thought she was just a sex object to him. Because it started out as a ‘one night stand’. She thought he would never take time to know her. What she likes? The music she listens to? Her favourite food and all that. 👻

But with time, it was never a mistake. It was all in her head. It turned out to be the best thing her life. She never knew it would turn out to be that beautiful. That amazing. 

It’s never peaceful but they try to make peace. They try to accept each other’s flaws. And even thought they get at each other’s throat. She would say it was worth it. She keeps fightning. 💪

She never believed in love. All those boys in her life were just a lesson. Letting her know that there’s something better out there. Delicious fish in the sea. 😆

She’s in love. So much in love. 💏




They say, “what doesn’t  kill you makes you stronger”…..I don’t agree. Some things that didn’t kill me, came so close that they’re still damaging. They didnt make me better. Some things made me worse. And can’t that be okay too? Can’t some things just break you?

This whole fucking world wants you to believe that admitting defeat makes you weak. For God’s sake bleed. And bleed openly. There can be pride in vulnerability. Honesty in maturity. And really, its the things that DID kill me that made me… 

Allow yourself to hurt. You have to experience weakness to be have strength. You have to accept defeat to win. It’s normal. It’s life.

Blessed Weekend.


100 followers, 500 likes


This makes me really happy to see I have only had my blog for sometime and I am over the moon about the recognition I am getting! It might not mean so much for some of you but this gives me the thrive to keep writing. 

‘Living and Learning’ is a blog on words, thoughts and and snapchats of life. Life stories about me and those who live in it. 😄

Thank you everyone for the follow. I will keep posting everyday and hopefully reach my goal of 1000 followers soon! 

Anyways adiós❤




I am a witness

I am a witness to love, betrayal and lies. My heart has been used. My heart has been stubbed countless times. It could be my fault but most of the times it never my fault.

I am a defendless witness. I watched it all happen. I wasn’t able to protect myself because I was blinded by love. I was engulfed in his charm.

I am a witness because I watched him play with me like a toy and control me the way he could. But in love I was. It did not mind.

I am a witness in his magical love making. The make up sex. The kisses and the touching. I couldn’t resist. Even though I wanted to. I was drunk in love. Everyone he kissed me, I would forget the pain he’d caused me.

Being in love is one thing but being in love with the thought of being in love is torture to your partner. Don’t toil with someone’s heart. Just because you know they love you too much to let go.

I am a witness.