Little by buildinBuild

[Courtesy of X: a black student separated from white students] Finally, the visa is stamped and ready. I should be floating with excitement. Instead, I am bracing myself. Because I know what comes next. Airports are no longer gateways to wonder. They are obstacle courses. Security checks that feel like military training. Some places are just shy of asking you to strip so they can check the bones in your body. Once, in a European city, I was demeaned to the point of having my few dollars counted note by note while the officer rattled off questions in French. I know zero French. Meanwhile, my suitcase sat on the conveyor belt, flagged because no one was claiming it. By the time my money was counted and the interrogation ended, it was time to open my bag and parade every piece of clothing I owned. Every inch examined. Then came the struggle to pack it back without the “sit on it” trick I had perfected at home. I made it out, found a taxi, and discovered we had no common language. I am sur...

I love to travel. But lately, it feels like the hardest part is not the flight.It is the visa. It starts innocently enough: an exciting invitation, a conference abroad, a long-awaited family visit, or simply the pull of a destination you have dreamed of for years. Then the reality sets in: the visa application process. First, the fees. You pay a substantial amount before you even know if your application will be approved. Then comes the paperwork, a ritual that demands you strip your life bare for scrutiny. Bank statements. Marriage certificate. Employer’s letter. Sometimes even property deeds or proof of children. OmG! Why?  It often feels like begging for permission to visit someone’s home, except the “home” in this case is an entire country. The process makes you feel small, like your intentions are under suspicion before you have even booked your flight. I have sat at my desk several times gathering documents that reveal more about my life than I would ever tell a close friend....

See this and consider sharing to more networks  https://www.ids.ac.uk/news/supporting-teachers-working-in-areas-of-violent-conflict-and-displacement/?utm_source=linkedin&utm_medium=social&utm_content=ap_hobm2yxdkv [Courtesy]

In the 40th year, certain milestones make you pause. They make you look back at where the story began. This is often at a time when you didn’t know how much courage it would take to walk the road ahead.  This is one of those stories. Three years into my twenties, I faced a choice. Finish my degree first, or step into marriage now? I chose both and learned lessons no classroom could teach me. I was 23, in my second year of university, with books piled on my desk and dreams neatly mapped out for the years ahead. At least, that is what everyone expected. But here I was, talking about a come we stay marriage. Not in hushed whispers, not as a distant dream, but as a real plan. Daring? Absolutely. Reckless? Some would think so. But my heart was louder than the caution in other people’s voices. My mother was apprehensive and not sure why. My father was worried. My neighbors, well, they were caught between offering congratulations and preparing for a new round of gossip. I decided that was...

When my mind was made up that I had the right answers to my parents' questions,my mum sat me down again. Again! When Love Knocks, Open the Door with Wisdom, Wambui. Come, Wambui, sit here beside me. Let me look into your eyes. I see that glow in you, the one that comes when a man’s name begins to settle in your heart. I know that feeling well. It can make the days brighter and the nights shorter. But before you take that step into a come we stay marriage, let me share what life has taught me. Love is warm, yes, but warmth alone will not keep a home standing. Some fires cook the sweetest meals, and some fires, my dear, can burn the house to the ground. When a man says, “Let’s just stay together, no need for all the papers and ceremonies,” it can sound simple and beautiful. But ask yourself, what is he truly offering you? Is it love with roots, or just shade from the sun until the weather changes? Watch him closely when the excitement fades. Does he carry his share when the load is h...

“ Some lessons on parenting arrive in books. Others come from the front seat of an Uber.” It was an ordinary Uber ride, the kind you expect will be nothing more than a smooth trip from one point to another. But this ride turned into a rich, unexpected parenting conversation that could have stretched on for decades if time allowed. From the moment I got into the car, my driver’s phone kept ringing. Call after call, each one answered with a calm but slightly amused tone. I smiled and teased, “You seem like a busy man today.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “It is my boys keeping me busy. They borrowed my car to travel to another county. One is in college, almost graduating, and the other is already working.” I told him they sounded responsible enough, but he gave me a look that said there was more to the story. “That is what you would think. But today, the car developed a very small problem, just needed brake fluid, about two hundred shillings. They could have fixed it easily. Instead, th...