Sometimes

Sometimes you need to be
Loved
Kissed
Spoken to
Comforted
Cared for
Hugged
Tickled
Begged for
Missed
Held
Encouraged
But humans don't have super powers
But it sure would be nice to have someone...
Who just knows.

You...

Your eyes...
They took me to a place so deep I never quite figured out where I was. Looking into them I thought of butterflies and fairies and everything else corny. But the most important thing was that they took me to happiness.
Happiness, a land that up until then had denied me entry. Happiness a word that could not roll off my tongue. But here it was. Happiness. Lying in a man. A man so beautiful, so perfect a man made just for me.
Although our love was brief. It made a lasting mark on my heart. With you I could be quirky and sophisticated all at the same time. It was a confusing time but a beautiful time.
I am grateful for all that we were, I am sad  for all that we couldn't be.

Slimdowns and Setbacks

Like most girls (okay SOME girls) I have embarked on an endless sea of diets. Each time like these girls I fail to achieve my goals. Its a painful rollercoaster I put myself through but I guess I am now numb.
Today on a long bus ride from the Corporate Prison(aka work) to home I started to think earnestly about all my attempts.

The first time I started I was about 15 I had just started to pile on the pounds. I started a workout programme and quit within a week.

The second attempt was made when I just discovered Tumblr. Everyone seemed to have a fitblr and I didn't wanna feel left out so I started the journey too. I failed.

The third attempt waa done to bring back WonderBoy. Who is WonderBoy you ask? The one that got away I say. I honestly upto this point did not have the slightest clue why WonderBoy and I broke up. But I do remember that throughout our relationship I felt fat and ugly. I didn't understand why a good looking bloke would want Lard as a girlfriend. My feelings about myself most likely resonated in my actions. With WonderBoy oh I LOVED. At the same time I was at my most vulnerable point in life. I felt like a fraud like one day he was going to take a serious look at me and realise he had been drunk our entire relationship. That fairytale ended and we went our ways. However I still had a longing for him. So I jumped like a monkey in the backyard and ate rabbit food. Zero results. I somehow hoped that he would notice my new Salma Hayek like figure and beg me to come back. He didn't. Instead the next time he saw me he said "I really don't think you should be eating at all" he meant it as a joke but I got the message. I had gained.
From then on I developed a fat girls appetite. Candy, Pizza and Sodas were unashamedly demolished by my tummy.

I stepped on the scale one day and it told me my 5 2" frame was chasing a three figure weight. I decided this is it.

And so with that in mind I decided ENOUGH WAS DEFINITELY ENOUGH. Although I started this journey about a month ago I have learnt so much about my eating habits that I am determined to to make it to the final end.

My journey to fit starts now :)

Organic Writing

I'll be the first to admit that even though I find the writing process a cathartic almost therapeutic experience I struggle to come up with what to write.
When I started this blog I went through a thousand thought processes. First I wanted it to be a weight loss blog...then I gained weight. Then it became a fashion blog...I couldn't take enough pictures of my outfits. The whole time I kept trying to pattern my blog after many others I had seen on the blogsphere. I have always loved to write, rather than a silver spoon I was born with a pen and notepad in my mouth.
I began to dig deep into why I truly loved to write and when I truly love to write. I discovered loud music blaring into my ears provides the perfect environment for my musings. As I type this out I am on a bus and "how to save a life" by The Fray is keeping me company. However, my point is I have discovered that letting my blog grow organically has allowed me to truly dig deep into why I truly love to write.

Although I do not have the most glamorous life out there I do believe that my daily activities provide me with enough ink to allow my pen to write. Its been a beaitiful experience. Though I will admit sometimes I cringe at my own writings it has allowed me to grow.

Half the time I log on to my blog i really do not know what to write about but when I dig deeper inside and let the thought process flow its comes naturally.

So here's to a naturally flowing blog :)

I Want It All

Hi my name is Kuda and I want five children. 3 girls and two boys. Wait! let me change that...Hi my name is Kuda and I want five children in this day and age. Many people often ask me "why do you want five children in this day and age?" That statement beguiles me frankly speaking. I had no idea the size and to a certain extent structure of a family needed to live up to a certain trend.

I know for a fact though that during the mid-nineties to early 2000s working mums with a small number of children were classified as the ideal. My mother herself only bore two children her reasons are unclear but I would like to believe it was a decision she made for her own benefit. I respect women who do this I really do. However i would like to believe that there is more than enough room to accommodate different lifestyle choices.

When i mention I want five children people naturally assume I want to be a stay-at-home-mum (SAHM). NO! I still want a fulfilling career and a fulfilling job. I feel like the Women's Rights Movement has been distorted by many to suit their own choices.

I like to believe that the point of early feminists was to give women a spectrum of choice. And if that choice includes being a mother to many children or being a stay at home mum so be it.

Now speaking from my own choice, why can I not be armed with an MBA in one hand and a sippy cup in the other? I am not downplaying the challenges it brings but i am just saying, If I want it then surely I should be able to get it.

I feel like too many of us women are becoming too concerned with how others live life. Women themselves are too critical of other women. We constantly look over the shoulders of other women lying in wait for any mistake they might commit. That is what we have been reduced to.

However, my parting words are simple Do you Boo, do you.

The Colour of the Earth

I remember the first time it hit me. I looked in the mirror and tried to see the difference but I couldn't see anything notable.  So I decided the next day during playtime to coax all my friends to all line up in the mirror so I could get to the truth. Was I what they said I was?

And then it hit me. Staring back at me was the cold hard truth. I was darker than all the rest, I was a dark skinned girl. This single event has been instrumental in shaping the person I am today.

Growing up dark skinned atleast for me was very emotional. I was constantly told how dark I was and of course I always noticed the cute lighter skinned kids get treated better. I don't know if they were actually treated better as I was peaking through the eye of an emotionally scarred child. But to me it seemed they were.

I remember my Kindergarten's nativity play, I had wanted soooo bad to play the role of Mary. Teacher Susan's hurtful words still come to mind "Mary was a muzungu, so a light person should be Mary". At the age of five I was told my skin was not good enough to get me the starring role despite my talent. Bruised. Hurt. Forgotten. I moved on.

Back at home, the most common joke told was how my uncle thought I should be hidden because my darkness would scare off the neighbours. I laughed too, but boy did it hurt.

I learnt quickly enough that I was not pretty and that boys wouldn't want me because I was too dark skinned.

At 14 I had a need to belong. To be accepted. So I started to bleach my skin. I liked this new Kuda. Her face was not so dark anymore and her arms were almost beginning to look like the colour of her mum's arms. I was excited. But deep down I was scared. Scared of who I'd become if I continued. Would I look like Bana Queen the chitumbuwa lady with her red patches on the cheek? Or will I look like Beyoncé ( Like the product automatically came with a long flowy golden brown weave pssh). I quit it and I was back to being plain old dark Kuda.

I grew out of that phase and met fellow darkies during my university years. This gave me a heap of confidence and even though I still get bouts of "I am dark so I am ugly" syndrome, I have learnt to love me.

However, my mind always races to that moment in the mirror.  If someone had not pointed out my darkness, would I have felt that it was a bad thing? At that tender age I knew nothing about skin colour and its influence on beauty. All I saw were my friends and I, little girls without a care in the world oblivious to the shades that exist.

Suppose we start to tell our children from an early age that they are not ugly they are just a different shade of beautiful. Suppose dark skinned models graced more covers of magazines what would that tell our little girls? Suppose the dark skinned girl got the starring role and the light skinned girl played the best friend? 

My point is we need to create a culture that is all inclusive regardless of our shade. And if we push this into mainstream media quickly we start to adjust the mind of people and these very ones will impart a message to their little girls. That they regardless of their skin colour are beautiful.  That they possess a skin colour worn by Kings and Queens. That theirs is an inheritance to cherish.

It is time we re-wrote the story of the dark skinned girl. The stage is set let her finally become star of the show.

There is a God Somewhere

In this fast paced world, it has become almost obscene for one to mention spirituality or have a religous inclination. I won't lie sometimes when I sit I feel that is the easier route because of all the things that my human mind fails to comprehend.

The last couple of months or so I have experienced events that have me saying "there has to be a God somewhere".

Last May I lost my father, a man so full of life he seemed immortal. Suddenly life had thwart me out of my comfort zone and thrown me on the cold hard streets. Being the firstborn, I had to conceal the effects of the impact. And conceal it well I did. I cracked my Kuda jokes and consoled anyone who wished to be consoled. I was the pillar of strength. Not because I gave myself that title but because the world expected me to carry on my firstborn duties and "be strong for Mum and Katebe" as everyone put it. But when the sun went home and the night time creeped up, my pillows were the only ones that knew the depth of my pain. I took to sleeping in my father's bed on his side (the left side) hoping that somehow he would be closer to me. (My mother slept in my room) Because at that point it felt like everything about him was buried at grave No. 5, Memorial Park. It was a lot of pain to bear for one soul but I masked it.

No matter how intense the pain got, I refused to pray. I refused to pray to a God who let this happen. A God who would allow a 47 year old man die in his sleep. A God who would allow a 16 year old boy see his father's dead body. I. REFUSED. My heart was closed to the thought of God.

I am a baptized Christian do not forget. Was baptized for 4 years at the time of my father's death and very spiritually inclined. But somehow all that went down the drain when Dad left.

The pain became unbearable and one night I decided to talk to my long lost friend, Jehovah. I let him know how angry I was, how much pain I felt and just how much I missed him. I didn't get the reply I so desperately wanted so I slept. As the morning came, I felt an inner peace that could only be described as Supernatural. For the first time in months my heart was at peace and I had a deep longing for God's word. The first scripture I turned to was John 5:28,29. This is a VERY familiar scripture to me. I have used it several times in my public ministry. But on that particular day it took on new meaning. In part it says "...all those in the memorial tombs will hear his voice and come out...". This time I read it in a different light, I read it as "Dad will hear His voice and come out". God given reassurance at the appropriate time.

As I meditated on the scriptures, I realised that God had nevet let me go. Granted he did allow Dad to pass away, but he never ever caused it. But even though Dad did die, Jehovah was constantly with me. Looking back I see that my family of faith constantly looked after me during that dark period. Kind words, hugs and phone calls from loved ones were all Jehovah's way of saying he has my back. I feel extra ungrateful now however it has given me insight into the kind of God I serve.

He works in ways that can be difficult for mere men to understand but if we put in earnest effort to learn and understand these ways,  he reveals them to us. He wants us to cultivate a relationship with him. He is willing to take all the baggage and hurt that we carry with us and turn them into his own load to bear.

And as I enter the new year with the knowledge of these spiritual gems I am more motivated than ever to rekindle my relationship with God. I am learning albeit slowly to trust not in my understanding but in Jehovah's.

Kuda
Xx