Teen trauma

26 May

Of all the things that traumatized me in my youth, nothing tops the list like going to shaggz. Oh, there was something about being packed like sardines and being whisked away to gishagi for the 3 hellish weeks that just made me get sick to my stomach.

You see shaggz was always our vacation destination and I don’t mean going down at coast-o where at least I would spend my days swimming endlessly. Nope. I mean going to visit some nondescript grandma who lives on some slopes somewhere where the KTN signal did not reach coz, there were too many damn hills.

Yes, you can say it. I am a traitor to my roots and I am damn proud of it! Some people are turned on about going to the country side, but not me. I am a city gal thru and thru.

After years of suffering, I rounded up my siblings and told them that I was going to start a revolt concerning those trips and they had to back me up when the face-off happened. I gathered up courage and tell my parents that we will no longer be joining them on their trips to ‘visit’ grandma for 3 weeks. If she wants to see us, she can come to the city. Let’s ust say a kamkunji was called pronto and elections were called. It was unanimous,the kids won by a landslide:no more going shaggz during the holidays. Ha! And they say being a rebel doesn’t pay.

You see when we used to go to shaggz when we were younger, it was fun coz other cousins would show up and we would have tons and tons of fun. But when we hit the teenage phase (truth be told when I finally landed me a ka-boifi) going to shaagz especially after being in boarding school for like 3 months was putting a damper on my plans of some holiday loving.

Yaani the minute I checked into the diggz with my school box, I was handed my holiday itineary at the gate courtesy of our mboch. “Ati nini?” I would ask her. “Eeehh munaenda ushago Monday.” she would reply grinning. Crap, so you know what that means. I have to only 3 days of being kunjwad before my exile kicks in.

Monday comes faster than I thot. Before long we are packing the car. As we are getting in, I am having an out of body experience: I imagine myself jumping out of the car onto my mom’s flower bed and climbing the wall, oblivious to the cuts I am receiving from the rose bushes and the broken glass on top of the wall. I run to the front door and grab the the buglar-proof and scream out “You are not taking me alive!!!” and while I pass out “Blaze of Glory” by G’n’R is blaring in the air.

Back to reality,I meekly submit to higher authority and know it is going to be a long trip. Mom has carried her Don Moen tapes (yap we were not operating a CD player car back then). Before we even pull out she has put one in and there are 3 more tapes to go and I am having this feeling of wanting to pull out my hair one by one so that by the time we fika cucu’s I am partially bald and bleeding.

I am sitting next to the window so that I can watch my life pass me by and watch the city disappear in the distance while I slowly die inside.

Halfway thru the journey, the issue of masomo pops up. Crap!

Mara we are not studying seriously, mara it’s the fact that school fees is high and money is not going on trees. Then the old tale of how they would rise up everyday at 4 am, collect firewood, fetch water,milk the cows, feed the livestock and walk 100 miles to school bare-foot and still were able to be number one.
Okay so am I suppose to feel like some priviledged kid coz I am not walking bare foot to school or milking cows?

Then the convo turns to my phone habits (cell phone were only for the wealthy then)and the way I am always on the phone everytime I am home for the holidays. “You can tell everytime ‘kelitu’ is in town,” says my dad. “The phone never stops ringing. Ile simu iko hapo ni yangu. Hata hao naokupigia simu, they are using their parents phone and running up their phone bills.” My dad believe that even receiving a phone call ran up your phone bill.

This vibe will go on for about 2 hours…I am this close to opening the car door and jumping out in protest. Don Moen is still singing.

We get to a pit-stop and we are bought for lunch and all the while being told how lucky and grateful we should be coz not everyone is bought for samosaz and sodaz by their parents. It’s a priviledge and that should be enough incentive to make us when we go back to school and read har and become number 1.

Back on the road again and now the topic changes to how we should not have boyfriends/ girlfriends because we might get AIDS and die like mtoto was so and so and die before reaching our potential. Haya shortly it about using drugs and how we should say no to drugs and smoking coz if we dared become addicts, we would be deserted by the side of the road and should never try to find our way back to their house.

Surely by the time we got to the village, we were sooo beaten down spiritually and morally that we were happy just to get out of the car. Grandma as usual is happy to see us and so are we. We ask if our cousins- any of them at this point- are coming down as well.
Nope they ain’t.
Crap! Someone kill me now.
I pick my bag and shown my room. WTH?!
Is that a bat hanging on the corner of the room looking very comfy in the room than I would?
I want to scream out by I can’t.

Here’s to happy vacation.


Posted by on May 26, 2006 in Uncategorized


13 responses to “Teen trauma

  1. Medusa

    May 26, 2006 at 14:40

    LOL..Wish I could relate on the shags tip- I LUURVE me some Shags man, cousins or none. Ofcourse It was better with, because the older ones always brought alcohol, and on the way there, in the back of the pick-up, we’d lift that green cover thingie(forget its name)and pelt cyclists with banana /passion fruit peels..wawawa..We were BAD!!
    Don, that was my super saved sister’s zikiz..My mom and her Jim Reeves/Charlie Pride damn near killed us. Oh, gosh..I’m tearing up just thinking about those fun road trips..I swurr, I would give my left tit to go back there..hmmm

  2. The Devious One

    May 26, 2006 at 15:29

    This post reminded me of when my mum decided to be dumping me in shags…
    We were going to shags for a couple of days, packed in a mathree and once we were in the outskirts of Nai..I happpened to spot a fresian cow..and I had a paka named Intruder back home that had fresian ( black and white )colours. With all the innocence in the world I told mathe and the whole peuogot.” mummy look at those cats, theyre bigger than intruder”

    All the peeps in the mathree laughed and I think mathe wanted to crawl in the engine and stay there until we fikad shags. Time to come back home mathe was like, you are to stay here until you can know the diff between a cow and a cat…THE HORROR! ( mummy I want to go home…I havent watched Kiini Macho and Scooby Doo in like 4 days …) all that fell to deaf ears !

    I was even enrolled for classes at the local church to teach me kyuk and henceforth every holiday I was fedexed to the murimos!

  3. Nakeel

    May 27, 2006 at 07:25

    Kumbe the suffering were not only to some of us. Ask me when me and my bro were packed from Costo and told we going to soma shags coz we are not somaing we going to swim i cried pulled my ponny tails swam with the soil but the man did not change his mind..
    Am grateful I managed to achieve something he is proud of but I will never subject my kids to these forcing things..

  4. spicebear

    May 27, 2006 at 12:46

    woi njesus, i have laughed too hard. and these comments were even funnier – wewe devious ati you thought the fresian was a big cat? hahahaha *me laughing and pointing a finger at you*

    now, me living in semi shags i did actually knew what a ng’ombe looked like (haha) but going to shags was horrifying. in one set of shags the nearest shopping centre was like 3km away and it was just a couple of shops. no elec, no running water, and even kbc english service was a luxury. the trauma … after a while we rebelled also and visits were limited to one full day. at least the other one was near a town and my relatives lived in a compound so there were actually places to skive to and episodes of rhythmix and rastrat to look foward to.

    my dad used to bore us with that john denver album that had “country road, take me hoooome, to the place, i beloooong, west virginia, mountie mama” hehe clearly i don’t know the words. one day we thought we were being bright and hid all the casettes of akina dolly parton, kenny rogers, miscelleneous church choirs etc. what did my mother do? made us sing all the way there since we thought we knew what good music was. for 2 and a half hours! to this day i hear amazing grace (no music for the devil allowed) and i think of being in a hot car being instructed how to harmonise and clap in all the right places.

    that part for the bat just hilarized me too much!

  5. kelitu

    May 28, 2006 at 16:32

    spicebear: LMAO!! at singing and clapping in co-ordination in a hot car. Woie pole. Aki i tell you what fokls did to us! There should be a Tribunal Court that should find all of them guilty of child abuse and mis-use.

  6. kelitu

    May 28, 2006 at 16:34

    Nakeel: dang pole msichana for being uprooted to ocha…i can’t imagine the difference btwn of moving from sunny-tropical weather to hard-hot-dusty countryside, now that is trauma

  7. kelitu

    May 28, 2006 at 16:37

    devious1: aiii now even you!! LOL!@Shaggz school enrollment.

  8. kelitu

    May 28, 2006 at 16:39

    medusa: lucky you. LOL@ being covered in a jacaranda while you pelt cyclists.
    I wish i had older cuzos alas!twas not to be.

  9. Acolyte

    May 29, 2006 at 22:00

    Your post made my day!For me family domes made it that we didnt go to shags often lakini when we did it was a long ass drive!The sounds we were subjected to ie Sam Fan Thomas, Kanda Bongoman and all the other artistes of that era!Ugh!Then when we got there stories of elec were nada.Mambo was paraffin lamp, fetching water from the pump.Then time would move slow as molasses!When I got the chance to duck going to shags I did so much to some relas chagrin!Let me not forget the malaria more often then not we would get as a result of going to shags!The grand parents more often then not would come to nai to see us then.
    Oh btw:Blaze of Glory was sung by Bon Jovi…

  10. Movie Buff

    May 30, 2006 at 14:10

    I am with you. After a while, our paros stopped asking us to go with them. We gomad kabisa

  11. kelitu

    May 30, 2006 at 17:10

    acolyte: bon jovi and axle rose one time looked like brothers from the same mother…all that long hair,torn jeans and what not. thanx for the update.

  12. Shiroh

    May 31, 2006 at 05:02

    SHagz for me now is as tormenting as being in hell.

    I like my life without hassles of fetching water from the tank outside, going to the loo outside ngai fafa at night.

    I understand why you hate shagz but yours is too much.

    My dad one day asked me if i think he is a millionare Gosh. My paroz are just like yours forcing issues and making you feel so privileged. WTF???

    Si Brangelina baby was on CNN. Now that is privilege.wacha kwenda na viatu kwa shule. Now what is privileged about that?

  13. tomas

    May 31, 2006 at 10:26

    I feel you most the way. Kwnza that vybe of,
    “the old tale of how they would rise up everyday at 4 am, collect firewood, fetch water,milk the cows, feed the livestock and walk 100 miles to school bare-foot and still were able to be number one.”
    too much oh thwe memories!!


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