Hand to Mouth

Like nestlings, we have survived. Through the scorching summer sun and the cold winter. Fragile but wanting, ever hungry and noisy. Impatient. Always waiting for mother to fly back with a meal to spit in our gaping mouths. At times she would take longer to find a juicy worm or a fruit. But who were we to care. No matter the struggle - hunted by a snake or catapulted by a hunter - all we cared for is to be fed. 

Seasons pass and nestlings become small birds and can no longer fit in the nest. Taught how to fly and fend for themselves. And before long we have our own eggs to look after.  I guess I have an egg, wait come to think of it, it's a whole nest of eggs. But there is one special egg, one stolen form the golden goose, the golden egg. The slay queen of the eggs. The other eggs must be real jealous of her 

look at her glowing all day like she owns the nest . . . 

Ata am sure she won't hatch!

I love all my eggs, no one should touch them because in my culture it makes them go bad. I want all of them to hatch and cluck at my presence. The same culture also outlines that there are people with 'good hands' that when they place the eggs for a hen to lie on, all of them hatch. Can you imagine wielding such power? You could be made king in medieval times and your hands protected as the kingdom's precious treasure. Villagers will have to book eggpointments to see you and on certain days you will send them away because you don't want to touch eggs. They will be sad, go ahead to place their own eggs and to their surprise they all hatch. They start an opposition party and call for "a new egg-placing king who has time for everyone." Fast forward to the 21st Century it could be a job. On the CV one would include; PhD in egg placement and successful hatchery techniques. 

Moving on . . . . . .

I have constantly lived a life of lacking. Lacking knowledge, lacking finances, lacking love and worst of them all, considering my ethnic background, lacking food. All this is because I have been racing most part of my early adult life, relentlessly chasing my dreams and trying to enjoy life at the same time. At school I fed my brain knowledge only when I needed it for exams. Money was scarce and so, all I got was spent on food, medication and fun, thus no savings at all. Love. What is love really? and not the soap opera typa thing. I'm talking about traditional African understanding of the four letter word. Let's dial back a bit to days before the digital age. Days people used to engage in face to face conversations. Days before phrases like mbona fundi wa bike anakupigia midnight? never existed. When love was expressed in providence and presence and not the amount of calls nor texts. When being the only wife was precious because polygamy was an option. When sex was meant for reproduction and not pleasure. Was their really love? Aaargh am lost in my own thoughts. Dang!Love is complex. You never want to fall too deep nor too shallow. Deep means you take a nose dive and care less about the upshot and focus on sweet sweet groove. Shallow lets you believe there will be less hurt and incase of emergency you can always pull the plug. The one true love that exists is the one between mother and child.

Hand to mouth. The distance. Am curious. Do people with shorter limbs eat faster than the ones with longer limbs, or is it the other way round? I have long arms, if perhaps am stopped by a cop in the West and he instructs, "Reach for the sky!" I might just touch it. Okay jokes aside. I feel living a hand-to-mouth life teaches you a lot. You have to work for something to get it. It's peaceful. You have all the basic needs, what more could anyone want? I mean who wants a luxurious trip to Dubai or an expensive meal at Kempinski?Ha-ha. The thing about humans is, they never settle for less when there is room for expansion. This thus leads me to a conclusion of my hypothesis that; living a life of hand to mouth is like constant in the cycle of life, we will always want more than what we have. Is it greed? The conclusion raises another question. What about the billionaires? Haven't they made enough riches that they are content? The answer is yes they have but they need to maintain their position on Forbes, thus they never stop toiling. (Using 'thus' that many times make me feel like a scholar)  

I had a B(plus) as my High school grade, later on I went and took a blood test to know my blood type. It was B(positive). Was this a coincidence or it was a way the universe was telling me to always Be positive in life. Well I'll never know but it was worth taking a chance at and trying look at every experience as a life lesson. One time when learning to swim the trainer told us (the newbies) to give the deep end a try. Everyone was terrified, including me. But with all that fear and uncertainty I took a chance and I was brilliant. I learnt two lessons that day. People need to believe in themselves so that you can make others believe in you and positivity builds self esteem. Also staying optimistic gives one the courage to tackle all kinds of battles.

We are in charge of making our own stories. Do you know that every step you take in your journey is a tale? And since everyone is accountable for their own,  well you have to ask; is your story worth telling my kids? Will my struggles inspire them?  Will my journey have life lessons that will help guide them?  Or will you be contrite of how your life turned out that you wouldn't want anyone to know how you lived it? Especially your kids? The thing is everything eventually sees the light,  you'll later find out a neighbor, aunt or uncle spilled the beans.

I have taken a route. A brave one. Maybe asinine. But one thing for sure is I am making a beautiful story.