Malkia

Someone told me --- just a while ago --- that short girls are much the same to pubic hair. "Wana roho mbaya sana," she argued.  "Roho zao chafu kwa sababu ziko karibu na matako!" [Their heart is evil because it's close to the buttocks]. 

Well, this is a clear sign that she's broken. When someone is tearing you down, they are broken (that's a tweet from Gary Vee). 

Now, tweets are comparable to 'muktasari wa habari kutoka Radio Taifa.' They are shorter than the time you'll spend to cancel auto-correct when keyboarding 'ooooolikuwa wapi!' [Where were you?]. The shorter the tweet, the more it will be totally unrelated to getting a re-tweet. 

Occasionally, I receive a *recommended for you* tweet. Those occasions happen repeatedly (I bet more than a 'Mutura' handler washes his hands). A recent recommended tweet got me --- really! 

The lady [let me call her Malkia] tweeted about visiting a friend. They had a brief chit-chat, then Malkia left. I understand you know the things Kenyan ladies talk about. Honestly, I don't --- maybe those things exist in the eons. All I know is they neither talk about Blackburn Rovers nor the reason why science books have to be revised continually. 

Speaking of science, it's fascinating to see all the evidence that proves facts change. When my dad was born, the earth was two billion years old. During my birth, the earth was twelve billion years old --- but my dad was not that old. Theoretically, that was supposed to make my dad ten billion years old. Facts change; truth doesn't. 

Back to Malkia's tweet: Something unexpected happened. She forgot her smartphone at her friend's house. When Malkia went back to pick it, she overheard her friend saying, "Imagine hako kasichana karembo hivyo kako na cancer!" [That immense beauty has cancer].       

Better to be a listener than a talker; we don't regret what we did not say. Do you remember Zechariah? What about John The Baptist? If you keep your mouth shut for nine months --- I promise you --- your life will be so much better. 

"Awww, my precious," sympathized Malkia's guardian angel. "Just pick your phone and leave!" 

So, Malkia went inside her friend's house, pretending she did not take notice of the flat-out nonsense. You know the way Diana pretends she didn't hear Bahati's song --- baaas! Halafu kuna ile verse Rick Ross alichora kwa ile song inaitwa Beautiful Onyinye: 

''We talking money all you talk is nonsense---''

My pal's pastor just reminded me that we don't need more dollars; we need more sense. Sawa pastor, nimesikia. But I must add that Malkia immediately picked her smartphone and left. Sina sadaka --- mtumishi! 

True friendship places so much value on the things that are meant to be hidden in the *do not tell* file. Those things are beyond what the security authorities call classified. The *do not tell* file carries information that ranks up there with the confession uttered to a Roman Catholic clergy in the confession box. You can’t declassify that confession. 

We get a false sense of belonging when we participate in uncovering whatever is placed in the *do not tell* file. The damage this uncovering causes is infinite. Every time we expose, it becomes much harder to let what belongs in the *do not tell* file stay in the *do not tell* file. 

We need the wisdom to differentiate between being a mute and keeping our mouths shut. Some issues need to be brought to light so that the responsible party is challenged to come up with resolutions where it seems there are none. Balance is essential; it helps you discern when keeping your mouth shut brings both value and sanity. It's like parents and children. The latter cannot exist without the former. 

Do you have any idea how it feels to see procrastination steal your dreams and watch them perish in front of you? That's the same feeling you evoke when folks start avoiding you because they've observed --- you can't fight the urge to declassify. It's an unpleasant experience to notice that the more we speak, the more we discover words we wish we had never said.