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Over the weekend, I visited a barber shop with my friend Lynn. I wanted to get the big chop once and for all. When we got there, the barber was shaving another client and I watched him complete this task with utmost passion and precision. There was no doubt that he had been a barber for years. When my turn came, I confidently matched to the barber chair and he asked me what cut I wanted. I smiled and said, “I just want a trim.” He then reached out for the pair of tweezers. Guys, I couldn’t do it! I couldn’t chop off my mane because, my forehead wouldn’t allow it! I could feel it frowning at the sound of the shaving machine. “They are just a bunch of dead cells Agnes!” I tried to reassure myself, lakini wapi? But at least I got my eyebrows on fleek fam! And for the first time it was almost painless! Like for real! Painless tweezing! Shout out to that barber, I heard them call him, ‘Uncle.’ The other day my cousin Bero, who is also a team forehead chic, told me that when she visited the barber, she was given money to go and blow dry her hair instead. Hata hakuskia vibaya! Hehehe! All am saying is, if you know a barber that will make my sexy forehead look even sexier with a short haircut, please holla.

Moving along swiftly, I probably should stop this habit of dandiang every piece from a guest writer with my intros. But because we are here, let me just do it anyway. So this mami has owed me an article for sometime now. She co-runs the blog Pepperlife with another writer who also owes me an article too. Lewis Martin, don’t make me carry my placards to the streets hohoho! I received a message on messenger (world’s most annoying app) from her on a lazy Saturday afternoon and because my expensive phone could not read the attachment, I asked her to give me time to read it then respond. She was very patient so I called her the following Monday over lunch hour (because I was to hungry to text) and told her that I would publish her story. A story about a disorder that she has. A disorder that is bringing disorder to people around her. Take it away Paula.


Hello everyone. My name is Paula. And I am a serial procrastinator. (This is where you all say, ‘Hi Paula’). I should have written a piece for this blog last year but due to the fact that I suffer from this disorder, that am genuinely trying to work on, things got pushed to this year and here we are. I have a serious problem of always prioritizing things to do based on the level of entertainment I derive from them. Those that may seem to need a serious side of me, I place them under ‘later.’ Unfortunately, they keep piling up and then I have to re-categorize them into ‘soon later’ and ‘not sure later.’ This has gone on for so long, my default setting has been doing nothing while planning to do so many things. I have come to learn in my limited number of decades present on earth that sometimes it is better to just ask for forgiveness rather than permission. Can you imagine me asking Agnes for permission to deliberately (at the point I could have masked it as a sincere reason) delay submitting an article for her blog. I can picture her shake her head and probably block my ass as she laughs. And that would be her being kind. I just assume; am not sure that’s how it would have gone given that I chose the right path clearly. To apologise. Agnes, twin, apologies.

By now you’ve all read a whole paragraph that would have been summarised with a simple apology statement; but I’ve been told I can be thorough; I might as well keep it up.

I was travelling with my Mum from Nakuru to Kisumu on Friday. One thing about my Mum and I, we suck at time management. It’s not even our fault. It just happens. “When should we leave the house? 9am you say? Great, we will be ready at 9.30am.” It just happens. We have tried everything. I just want to believe that admitting a problem is the first step to solving it.

On that day we were using Prestige Shuttle. Normally, the shuttle leaves the stage at around 1:00pm; but no, not on that day. No. They were leaving earlier. Ati because the vehicle got full early. (Thanks to us). My cousin had booked seats for us while we rushed to the house to pick our luggage. Considering their history, I expected we would have approximately thirty minutes before the vehicle gets full, and to even have enough time to buy some cookies that my sister had sent me. We had barely left town when my cousin called me asking if we had already picked our bags. Well that was unexpected. We had just left town how was that supposed to be possible? But since he sounded like a positive response is what he wanted to hear, I told him we were just about to leave for town again. That wasn’t a lie. It was just a manipulated truth. Was I about to leave for town? Yes of course. But first, I had to get home. Now, he didn’t need to know that last part, did he?

We got home, took our bags which had already been packed, and somehow still kept moving up and down the house looking for God knows what. I had told you, my Mum and I, suck at time management. We knew our seats were already booked yet somehow we kept pacing up and down the house looking for absolutely nothing. All the time telling ourselves that we could have saved ourselves the trouble by just leaving earlier with our bags. They were not even heavy bags. I travel so light. And so does my Mum. We could have left with our bags, but we didn’t.

We finally left the house and that’s when the numerous calls came in. “Where are you?” “These guys are going to swallow me if you get here late.” “How far?” “Approximately how long do you think it will take before you get here?” So many questions. Well, darling, I am doing the best I can but clearly I made a poor decision when I chose this man with a rusty old motorbike to bring me back to town. It is not my fault that his motorbike was moving so slow I could have walked ahead and let the guy catch up with me. No, I didn’t say all that, dude was under pressure, and he needed reassurance. So I told him we were just five minutes away. We were not; at least not with my motorbike guy. Mum got to the stage before I did. And just when we made the final turn to now head for the stage, the guy’s motorbike just stopped. No fuel. Just like that. Of all days to delay, that was not one. And to think it wasn’t even my fault at the point. I had to run to the stage.

As if our delay was not enough to anger the waiting passengers, we had to get a lady who was already comfortable in our seat to move to her designated seat which was at the back. Part of me felt bad about that but the dominant part of me was busy saying ‘she should have known better. You don’t pay for seat #8 and sit on seat #6. What’s your problem?’. I wanted her to protest a little but chic just kept her cool. It was so wrong of her to deprive me a moment of preaching some truth about public vehicle discipline and to also use the time to shift the blame away from us. I could have nailed that performance.

In the vehicle, there was a couple travelling to Uganda and they wanted to be at the border before dark. There was also a man who was probably late for a meeting of some sort. How do I know this? They kept yelling! Yelling at the driver, yelling at each other. Yelling on their damn phones! It was just so much effing yelling everywhere. However, none of them turned to us even though they made it so obvious that we had made them late. They just kept it among themselves. We took off while some were still busy yelling. The usual safe journey prayer that Prestige Shuttle staff hold before departure didn’t even happen. I think it’s safe to blame it on the noisy passengers. Who can pray with that much yelling?

Anyway, and this is totally in our defence, we did help those fellas in a way. I mean without us they would have probably left a little bit later than when we did. Because maybe whoever would have filled the vehicle was still showering by that time; given that we hadn’t seen anyone coming in to look for seats. We helped those people. They should have been grateful instead of complaining so much and starting off a journey with bad moods. It’s not good for everyone.

Since I knew no appreciation would come our way, let’s just say many people suffered because of our poor time management (yes, I can take  some blame). Those poor lads who were travelling out of the country. Then there’s the driver who had to somehow carry the blame. Oh and my sister… oh poor girl never got her cookies. I gotta say, I need to work on my timing. Am ruining lives out here. Totally my bad.

Great read huh? Follow Paula Norah and Lewis Martin right here

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