THINK PINK
This past weekend, my heart has been heavy from reading and watching the ongoing development with the immigration ban. Being an immigrant myself, this ban made me feel so heartbroken. Families torn apart, people holding visas and green cards stranded in airports, my mind was blown. I usually do not speak up on political on goings on this platform since you already deal with it everywhere and it can be mentally exhausting. To ban innocent civilians fleeing the sorrowful plights in their own countries is beyond. This country was built on the back of immigrants. They have contributed in every aspect of this nation be it in the art, tech, science, business, and any other industry you can think of. It begs the question of humanity. Where is it?
“But if the world measures a refugee according to the worst story, we will always excuse human suffering, saying it is not yet as bad as someone else's.”
― Dr. Victoria Armour-Hileman
The month of February is associated with Red and Pink. Red, an emotionally intense color exudes passion, energy, strength, determination, desire and love. No wonder its association to February and one of my favorite colors. I’ve wanted to do a color story for quite some time. My mission was to focus on one color and figure out its relationship with other colors. For the month of February, I will pay a special attention to the color Pink. I have been leaning heavily towards this beautiful color. According to color theorists, Pink represents care, compassion, and love. A color associated with unconditional love and understanding. When I read that, I knew I made the right choice by going pink. Pink is said to have a calming effect to our emotional energies. Mine are close to being depleted and I need heavy doses of it.
Trench - Thrifted Vintage
Sweater - F21
Jeans - Express
Sneakers - Adidas
Headwrap - Street vendor
CITYLIFE
You see it everywhere in big cities. Crowds on the sidewalk flowing silently to different directions. Some rushing while their gazes flicker right and left as if looking for a lost relative, others eyes glued to their phones as they walk, some with coffee cups clasped on their hands as if a scepter, others with headphones on lost in their own worlds. On the move. The city life has that constant sense of urgency that can be quite demanding. I totally understand why people burn out and need a getaway from the city.
Over ten years ago, in my home city of Nairobi right after graduating from highschool, my friends and I would always meet up in the city. We would talk for hours, eat, talk again, go for shopping, and walk about aimlessly. We always told ourselves to enjoy the moments before life took over and boy we did! I miss those days. Days where 24hours in a day stretched out like a rubber band. Days when we laughed until our stomachs hurt. Days when we would talk about anything, even salt and pepper on the table was not off limits. Days when no one gave a fig about the extra pounds the masala fries and fried chicken would do to our bodies. We were young, vibrant, vivacious and the world was ours.
Back to the present day, the 24hrs fly by within a blink of an eye. Nowadays, I have to schedule meetings, photoshoots, gymtime, phone calls with loved ones, catch up time with friends weeks in advance. My planner is a constant companion. I am one of those people who forget everything if I don't jot it down. Life has taken over and the post high school idyllic days are memories I nostalgically hold on to, like black and white pictures of a gone era. This year started off with me starting two internships and it's been a nonstop whirlwind of activities, coffee cup in tow. I never used to drink coffee. Sigh* Sleep is an afterthought and the only thing that gets me through is prayers and the gym. The gym is my sanctuary, I just go in there and sweat it all out. Anytime I start thinking I am doing too much I have to remind myself that God won't give me anything that I can't handle. I saw a nice pin on pinterest that said, " You have been assigned this mountain to show others that it can be moved."
How beautiful is that!!! I am learning so much and I eternally grateful to God for these opportunities. A lot is happening in my life right now but I promise I will keep posting and creating. If you have a lot going on in your life right now be it work,school, family.... please know that these experience are there to show you something, make you learn something. At times it may not be easy but it's through fortitude and perseverance you will be enable you to push through. It takes time and pressure to create diamonds.
Remember to take care of yourself. Show yourself love by doing the things you love for 30 min to an hour. For me a little reading, gym session or a hot yoga class does wonders. Your mind, body and soul will thank you.
These pictures were taken after stopping by showrooms to view 2017 Pre-Fall Presentations from Marissa Webb and FURLA. I'm rocking flatforms which have become my go to faves. Notice how easy it is to jump on a black on black outfits. I accessorized with color(bucket bag &scarf) and texture (faux fur jacket) to bring this look to life. Fashion week is right around the corner and the madness is about to begin.
Dress: Jacket: Faux Fur coat: Scarf - HM
Shoes, Hat & Purse: Zara
BACK TO BLACK
When writing my posts, I usually have music playing in the background. It's a ritual of mine. I usually go for reggae which is an eternal obsession of mine. On Pandora my favorite station is the Beres Hammond's followed by Morgan Heritage. I could listen to them forever. Sometimes, when I think I have overdone it with reggae, I go for my classics my faves are Etta James, Billie Holiday or Ella Fitzgerald. Otis Redding has me wanting sit at the dock of the bay and waste time. The act of playing music gets my brain in writing mode instantly. Sometimes, I usually don't have an idea what the post will be about and other times I would have something that had been stewing in my head ready to be served. Que the music and I start typing, I'm a plane on the runway, then off I go. Athletes do dynamic stretches, chef's sharpen their knives, some artists run their fingers on their bristles, while photographers give their lenses a quick run through. I am reading a book entitled The Creative Habits by Twyla Tharp and it got me thinking about the rituals we do before diving into anything. My sister Flo mentioned to me that even on her "I don't feel like going to the gym days" as soon as she puts her gym bag on her shoulder, it's on. Her ritual is the gym bag. For me, music is the ritual. As I was jotting this post, my girl Amy Winehouse with her soulful melodious voice crooned back to black and I figured that title was so suitable for this post.
For those who know me as a color obsessed, print manic, pattern loving kinda person, this post might come as a surprise. Roshie, where's the color doll? Well, I have been doing a little thinking and sometimes it's good to change things up. If you follow me on Instagram, you've noticed a smattering of black and white pictures. They evoke elegance. A moment ingrained in time. At first I was a little bit apprehensive about the all black look (insert endless litanies on color..lol) but I shrugged it off. Oh now you have to read my post on January 14th, (if you haven't already) there is a reference to the color black :).
All this talk on black reminds me of a quote by one of my all time favorite designers.
"Women think of all colors except the absence of color. I've said that black has it all." Coco Chanel
To capture that black and white vibe, what better way of doing it than in an all black ensemble.
JANUARY 14TH
On a mild thursday morning, just as the darkness was surrendering to the light, with the sun yawning and stretching it’s orange hues upon the earth, a child was born. It was the fourteenth day of the new year and routine had resumed back in people’s lives. They were back to work, the christmas trees had been dumped out and the newness of the year had dissipated. To my parents, a new addition to the family was nothing short of a joyous continuation for the new year. I would like to think that I came to this world laughing probably giving the doctors and nurses a tiny fist bump but like all babies, I introduced myself by wailing to my heart's content. My toothless mouth gulping oxygen in gasps to fill my tiny little lungs. It must have been a pleasure to meet me. Mother must have taken a sigh of relief, smiled with tears of joy streaming down her face as she gently laid her head back on the pillow in exhaustion after observing the nurses and doctor fuss over me.
By now I was probably placed under fluorescent lights with the nurses methodically fussing over me. I would then be gently laid upon my mother’s arms. A round little human ball with a pair of really fat legs.
I was named after my mother’s mother. A name bestowed upon the second daughter of the family as our kikuyu tradition decreed. The first daughter is always named after the father’s mother. My Grandmother was called Hannah Wanjiru. Wanjiru in kikuyu means “dark” or “black”. I always get interesting looks whenever someone asks the meaning of my name. My grandmother passed away fifteen years ago but I remember her as a resilient woman. Being a tomboy, I always seem to straighten my dresses and skirts whenever she was around. There wasn't a wall I couldn't scale nor a tree I couldn't climb. I proudly wore the scars and scrapes on my body as badges of honor. As a kid, I never said much to her other than quietly observing her as she moved about. She had an air of quiet grace about her. We aptly called her shosho, which means grandmother in my mother tongue. On occasion, especially during the holidays, I would spend a few nights at my grandmothers. Shosho was always up at the crack of dawn, tending to the fields (Shamba) or overseeing the cows being milked or some harvest. Her compound was always buzzing with activity. By the time we woke up to enjoy a nice cup of tea and feast on breakfast, she was already in the granary or overseeing something else. I always wondered when she ever stopped to rest or take a breather.
In the early 2000s, my shosho got into an accident injured her fingers. She was a diabetic at the time and due to poor blood flow, her wounds did not heal well. The fingers got infected, festered and started spreading to the other fingers. The doctors advised on amputation. I can only imagine the distress she went through. She was a farmer and most importantly, a business woman who relied on both hands to do her work. Here were doctors telling her in order to save her hand and her life, she had to let go of a part of her. She acquiesced. The surgery left her with an arm that stopped a few inches past her elbow. It was that elbow that several months later I would see her hooking a little bucket with corn and chicken feed. Using her right hand, she would dip her hand into the bucket and scattered feed to the chicken ambling about on the compound. It was with that arm that she was able to wrap her lesso around her waist using her full right hand to tuck it in. It was with arm that she carried a little jembe hoe. She would use her right hand to dig holes into the earth, dump a few seeds and cover the seeds simultaneously having a discussion. The first time I saw her do this I gaped. I couldn’t not stop watching her move in tandem. It had rythm about it. It showed me how nothing was really impossible if you put your mind to it. I shall digress before I start to wax poetic.
I would love to have a sit down with her today, ask her questions, get to know her even better. Woman to woman, no longer a wide eyed teenager. However, I believe she is smiling down at me.
This year, as the days dragged it’s feet toward my birthday, I found myself thinking of her. My grandmother. This incomparable woman whose name I carry.
I was on the phone with my mother last night and who not better to ask than her. Mother remembers her mum as a hardworking and strong- willed woman. She was very focused in life and one of the most God fearing women she knew. I asked my mum if she saw me in her and she gave me a definite yes. Then she added jokingly that we also share the same body structure especially the legs. They were fat. I burst out laughing.
(Apparently when I was a baby, people wanted to see the baby with the fat legs. I was a michelin baby. With rolls everywhere.)
“ Shosho was really a phenomenal woman wasn’t she?” I said continuing with our conversation.
“Phenomenal indeed.” Mother says softly.
We are quiet for sometime and to break our silence I jokingly asked.
“So mum, now that I am turning twenty nine. Any words of wisdom.”
“Pray and stay focused. You will do well.”
Just like mum to keep things short and sweet.
I was never been a fan of headshots. I shied away from them. I found the very much in your face and would force me to look at my strong kenyan features. Last year I promised myself to try out new things, experiment with photography. My photographer is amazing at what he does and I was blown when these pictures came out. I saw my grandmother in these pictures. A woman whose name I carry with me on my wallet, on my passport, in my blood and veins.
Strong-willed, optimistic, focused and God-fearing.
It’s a blessing to see another year. My grandmother left a legacy that we still revere today. My prayer is I may continue to follow the footsteps my phenomenal grandmother laid out for me.
Photography: Nestle Snipes