Eve Wachira

Just about life, like music. Change the dance when the beat alters, but don't stop.

“Organ Donation — why people who do, are spectacular human beings — part 1.”

A great read…by a spectacular human being.

“Organ Donation — why people who do, are spectacular human beings — part 1.” by Marcus Corner

How much are you satisfied with your life?


Dear reader, yes you!

Thanks for reading my blog. Have you ever asked yourself about life and how satisfied you are about the processes involved? How happy are you about your finances? Social life? Family? Spiritual? Work? How much would you rate yourself? Do you keep comparing yourself with other people? People like friends perhaps. Maybe siblings, neighbours, work mates, social media and even enemies? And when comparison happens, do you get stressed? Jealous? Ambitious? Upset? Angry?

Or are you happy and comfortable with your life. Settled and thanking your lucky stars. Happy go lucky?

On my first day at work in a new place I had a chat with a young man. Twenty five years old to be precise. A newly employed someone. I had just relocated back to a place where my heart belonged. A large city. My favourite place in the world. A place known for expensive lifestyle and one I could hardly afford. A city I love and sometimes dislike with equal measure. A paradoxical city. So, here I was chatting with this astute young chap. The city I am in is London.

So I started by stating how I wanted to own a house after my exhaustive travels that had been accompanied by huge expenditures. Travelling is great. A lot of people give advice on the beauty of the world and importance of life experiences in foreign countries, learning new cultures, understanding bits of new language and feeling like a pro and exploration that comes with itchy feet. But what they don’t tell you about, is the huge cost associated with travel. It’s enormous. Huge. But hey, it’s the experience that counts. So to cut the long story short, I was as broke as a church mouse. Here’s how the conversation went.

Me “Am saving up for a house. I would like a house in a lovely place. I need to get a new car. I need new uniforms and am super annoyed by these old ones that I’ve been given. I need lots of money. I’ve worked all over England and I finally need to get my grip.” I went on and on.

Young chap staring on, sometimes typing on his computer unamused. My rumbling continued excitedly albeit dreamy.

The chap “aaahhh….that’s great. I’ve never been outside United Kingdom. But I can’t complain. ” He went on. “I cycle to work and so I don’t need a car. Anyway driving in London is expensive with grid lock traffic.”

Not that I wanted to drive in London, though my fear of the symbolic red double decker buses and congestion wouldn’t let me cycle peacefully even if I wanted to.

On he continued. “I currently rent where I live and am happy about it. This is my new job and I’d like to see where it takes me. If I don’t like it, I move on. I also ordered my uniform about eight weeks ago and they gave me one old used shirt to wear until my new one arrives. I wash it everyday but I don’t want to complain.”

Great. Am being put into shame now, I silently thought.

About the old used shirt, he did look shabby.

“I’m not too keen to buy a house because I haven’t chosen where I want to live. Once I make up my mind then that’s when I’ll get one, but am saving.” The lad had spoken.

By this time I was getting thoroughly impressed. He did not whine at all. Where was this human being from? Maybe he was an alien who’d come to save the world from bitterness and sadness. Probably I should have asked him about his origins. I got back to self misery and added that I needed to do extra shift so as to attain my goals. Clever, huh? To be honest I’d rather be travelling than working.

Laddie goes on “At the moment I don’t want to work extra hours. My social and family life is great and I am happy where I am.” Final. There, he said. Not a single complaint, no despair, no sadness and just positivity.

“I am happy where I am.”

I finally met someone who loved his life. Who was grateful about existence. Maybe because he was young with no family of his own to provide for. (I don’t have one and I complain on a daily basis, am not young though). It did not matter to him. His way of life was positivity, taking things as they come. Baby steps that will one day maybe catapult him to greatness. I was envious of his attitude. And we should all be. It makes life easier to see the glass as half full rather than half empty. In all honesty, I wanted to be like him. I knew I had to work extra hard about being optimistic putting in mind that old habits die hard.

It’s been a couple of days, since our conversation and everyday that I have a setback, a problem, a mishap or any hitch, I just try to relax and think about this discussion. Sometimes it takes just one moment to change a negative attitude. Somedays days I get the positive energy needed, all bliss and hopeful and on other days I whine incessantly even on trivial matters like now when the delivery person is getting late with my cheeky fry up.

There will always be bad days and good days.

And on the bad days, make sure that every cloud has a silver lining.

A letter to my brother

Job Wachira

Dear J.K

My dear little brother, you are no longer small; but you are still my baby brother. They say save the best for last and literally your being is the best version. Four sisters and one lovely last born brother. My personal aspiration you have become. A role model albeit almost a decade younger. Time after time, you did quiet the storm where there was sibling rivalry. Funny how I look up to you and believe me, I do chuckle once in a while when I think about it. A silent smile usually envelopes these thoughts and lasts hours making my days worthwhile. Do you see your effect? Aspiration and laughter at the same time. I just want to say thank you.

My dear little brother, you have grown into a perspicacious young man. Your level of understanding about life is utterly exceptional maybe even extra ordinary. I have never seen you cry and if you did then you have excellent hiding skills. Maybe you cry alone in closed doors for fear of appearing weak just like what society expects men to do. I don’t know. Maybe you usually seek solace from your best buddies when emotions engulf you. If you do, I hope they support you. And maybe, just maybe, you choose to bottle up your worries and soldier on hoping for the best. That’s fine too. I am here if you ever need me.

My dear little brother, I recently became seriously unwell miles away from home. I became a shadow of my former self, lost in my own space with no blood kin to seek comfort from. I struggled for months under constant medication and dealing with side effects. A constant omnipresent nightmare. I walked on my lonely destined path that I never wish to travel through again. Over the phone, everyone was very supportive and this continued once I got home. A minuscule amount of relief surged within and I felt slightly better. “You should try this and that”, “avoid doing this”, “eat well”, “I had a similar health problem before”, on and on this went. I took every advice given heavily exhausted though gracefully. I rested for a couple of days, then you visited. I felt the time stop. You calmly sat down after the usual greetings. Then as if you had magically transformed into a counselling psychologist, you listened to me. I shared my story. A story that I had repeated to everyone who cared to listen for I wanted a way out. I wanted answers. The same story I told doctors, friends, fellow siblings and maybe strangers. I was seeking help everywhere and anywhere. I didn’t care about any judgement, I wanted to be heard. Dear lovely brother, do you know what you did? You listened. Word by word. The whole narrative. It was as if nothing mattered in this life apart from my anguished tale. I said it all. You chose not to interrupt and I am glad that you didn’t. I went on and it was cathartic. For once, I had someone who never judged, who had empathy, who never gave unsolicited advice and who never asked. Finally, I had someone who listened. The atmosphere felt like a sibling chat using Carl Rogers Person Centered Therapy and I am glad this happened. If I may ask, do you read psychology books? When my recital ended, you calmly talked about life experiences using quotes, studies and documented events. You did not compare, you discussed. I felt better, free and ready to recover. You may not know this until now, but you gave me the answers I needed. For this experience I will forever be grateful.

My dear little brother, You now have your own family. A lovely companion and a son. A very talkative boy, he is quite different from you. He is such a joy to have around and I hope he grows to have the same insights as you. I could forever write about the lovely moments we have shared with you. Maybe sometimes you do wish you had a brother as a confidant but rest assured that I, Emma, Liz and Ruth will always act as your big brothers and we will be there to protect you forever. We love you. I love you.

My dear little brother, I am writing to as a token of appreciation, for being my support system, empathetic, kind and polite. I wish you all the best in life. I’d still choose you as a brother if life was to start again from the beginning.

Thank you for being who you are.

Lots of love,







Maybe we’re Not meant for Each Other, and that’s Perfectly Okay..

Scotland Tram

I remember the day we met, and I start feeling dizzy.  You made me giddy with the amount of love you showed me. Immense. The memories still linger on. The sweet hugs.

I remember the Red Roses you used to send at work and everyone would be so envious. I was lucky. The lovely cards that accompanied the flowers – “You are my best friend, my love, my one and only, your love completes me. You are the most beautiful thing that came to my life. You are a part of me. I am the luckiest man in the world to have and love you today, tomorrow and forever.” 

I remember everything about you. The few years we spent together. The nights, cuddles, hugs and the kisses. My perfect match. How could I forget that. I told my friends and family about you. Repeatedly. I knew that I sounded like a broken record but I did not care. You were worth the story. They say that it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all which is very true. I am lucky to have experienced this love with you.

Sometimes I want to call and find out how you are doing. Maybe have a chat. Sometimes I wonder if you have met the one. The lucky one who’s now the new owner of the red roses. Or daffodils, tulips, daisies or whatever kind of flowers she fancies. May be she is prettier, or slimmer, lighter, taller. Maybe she is perfect. You told me I was perfect for you and I loved you more. Does she know your favourite colour and food. May be she does. I hope she knows how to love you like me. Most times I think you might want me to show up at your door but I don’t want to get hurt. I can’t help it. It’s such a shame that my heart can’t stop loving you. The longing is still intense. I wish you all the best.

I believe that time is a master healer. I am still waiting for someone to complete me just like you did and maybe this time, forever will be real. I will love him fiercely maybe a little more than I did for you, because I want to forget. I want to heal. The days are becoming more sunnier as my tears dry. I still think about you but not as much. I have stopped talking about you. I have decided to set myself free from the memories that we created. I hope to be happy someday in the arms of my real love. My destiny.

With each new day, I feel less lonely. I cry less. I laugh more.

Unfortunately some split seconds remind me of your face from time to time. These, I cannot change for we had a past. I am determined to fight these seconds. If I don’t, then I will live with them as part of me hoping they don’t interfere with my future love. There’s vulnerability in love and I feel unclothed. But the will to move on is getting stronger with each new day.

I loved. I lost. Again I shall love.








To Love is to be vulnerable…

Ring_001To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe,dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.C.S. Lewis

Love..pure love


I yearned for you. To own you. When I first saw you, I was besotted. Infatuated. Just like a man would make me. I was love struck. There you were blue in colour in an advert. Navy blue. Almost purple. Maybe in-between. I decided it was you. I’d pick you. I didn’t need any convincing. Never mind I’d forgotten how to drive. One bright summer day of June, I decided to go see you. I rode on the tubes. The running about so as to keep the appointment. You are special because I needed one to see you. I got lost a couple of times before I got to you. My, what love. The industrial streets are never easy to navigate. I begged your keepers to wait for me as I was running late. They agreed. Probably they wanted to get rid of you. I don’t know. Am yet to find out. Sweating rivers, I finally got you. I was once more besotted. I wanted to own you there and then. They showed you around and I had no clue on how to handle you. They smiled and they thought I was an idiot. I didn’t care. I touched you. Sleek. Smooth. No dents. I felt pure love and joy. I paid half price for you and promised to finalise the week after. Just like bride price.

I came for you like I had promised with my friend in tow. I finalised the price. Again just like bride price. My friend also saw you and she got envious. You are beautiful, she echoed. She would be the first to drive you home. You provided a smooth ride and I fell hard. We had to stop by and have a bite before driving you around. You yielded. Such a trooper. Eventually we got home and I parked you. I wanted you to be part of my life and I got busy with refresher courses so as to to be able to handle you. That’s me. Unless there’s a deadline, I wouldn’t do a thing. I am the queen of procrastination. I thought about you on a daily basis and about the road trips, I would make with you. My first choice was Scotland if we survived the journey. My problems started with the driving instructors. A great bunch of thieves. Shameless people. I called my mum and I explained my predicaments and she asked me “Do they steal as well?” I answered in the affirmative and told her a thief can be found anywhere on planet earth. Everyday, I’d pass by to say hello and to give you a cuddle. My love. They say my ride or die. Or my bae. Whatever. In my dreams, I drove you everywhere I wanted.

The day finally came for my test. I had bitter lady as my examiner. Big bulgy eyes 👀 full of contempt. I knew I had failed. I went past the red traffic lights and I knew that I lost you. An epic fail. I’d never be able to drive you to Scotland. My love for you was so great that I found it difficult let go. One autumn day, I crushed your bottom, sorry your bumper. I am a crusher. I was crushed. Why did I cause so much damage yet you had done nothing to me. Am sorry dear love. Luckily you didn’t need any resuscitation and you sat quietly on your parking slot. You didn’t even cry and I didn’t expect that either. Change of career came calling and I had to make a choice. I advertised you just like they did before. Please don’t be offended. It had to be done.  A bride price had to be paid and this time it was much lower because your bottom, sorry the bumper was damaged. I didn’t blame you. I knew the moment that I bought you, there would be depreciation. Never mind. Be strong. Think about Charles Darwin and the survival theory. They came and they paid for you but I couldn’t let go. I cried and took a selfie with you. May we should call it a car-selfie. I do hope we meet again on the streets or maybe on red traffic lights where a moment of stopping would let me say hello to you. I hope your new owner respects you and treats you well. I hope he/she loves you like I did or even more. I don’t care as long as you are loved. I hope they don’t crush you around. You did brutally drain me financially though. But I was willing to keep you. I does take a lot to maintain a beauty like you.

I wish you well. Till we meet again or if we never do, stay safe. I don’t think I’ll never love anyone like I loved you. I love you today and forever. In my dreams too. For you were my first love. I honestly do hope to find one like you in the future when am ready hoping that nothing will put us asunder.

It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. I love you my baby Volkswagen Polo. Stay safe.

Yes, I am angry about my village road


I was on annual leave and decided to visit my folks. Ok, my parents. They live in a village largely accessible by a very dusty and bumpy road of about 30 Kilometres in sweltering weather and on this day it was 31°C. It was roasting. Such a daunting journey. Never mind that I had made similar trips before to visit my parents. But with each new trip I started becoming irritable and the mere thought of it was enough to throw me into depression. Call me a drama queen because most rural Kenyan roads were quite similar and that I was not special, but I had had enough of the road and couldn’t do anything about it. I started comparing journeys and concluded that travelling to Mombasa from Nairobi was much easier. Primarily because there were choices between road and air travel with the other reason being that the route was tarmacked and made easier by availability of bigger buses which meant that the journey would be uneventful. This was a journey of almost 500 kms by road and took around 6 hours of travel while going to my village was about 200 kms and took similar amount of travel time compounded by a horrible road. I felt distraught. I had asked my parents about rural development regarding completion of the road, but their answer was that the member of parliament/Governor was doing his best and that they were happy with the results –of nothing. It was not their fault that the road was not developed but what I found amusing was their satisfaction with poor quality of public services delivered to the village and their willingness to stand hours on end voting for incompetent leaders. Don’t forget about the oppressing sun when queuing to vote for the goons. The kind that reminds you that there’s a possibility of hell when you don’t do good deeds on earth.

I packed my clothes in a duffel bag ready to start my journey at 10am on that material day with my loop bag hanging across my chest. I stepped outside and the sun reminded me of how angry it was. I dealt with the anger by putting a cap and my sun glasses on. I called my parents to inform them of my journey and the conversation spiralled to my anguish about the road and I felt teary. I couldn’t help it. I went on and on and when I finally stopped my dad just said “take one the buses called Tulaga which will take you home.”

My problem was not what vehicle to use, my problem was if the road had been fixed. Unfortunately it wasn’t. The ride was going to be bumpy and dusty despite what bus I was being told to use. I debated with myself and walked back to the house.

I cancelled my trip for the next day and called my mum to inform her. Her response, “what do you want me to cook for you?”

Mine, “I really don’t know.” I sighed. But deep down my heart, all I wanted was the road to be fixed. Bless her.

I love you both mum and dad, but I abhor the village road. Yes, I am angry about my village road.

The Vision


IMG_8112.JPGThe world is a beautiful place.

It surrounds us with life.

And some believe that it holds the keys to life.

Belief is all it takes to seize your future and reach your full potential.

Because then, you’ll cross oceans.

Traverse continents.

And devote your life to that belief.


There will be good days and bad days.

And on the bad days, make sure that every cloud has a silver lining.

Adapted from; Daily Nation, Thursday 25th January 2001.

Camp vs Hotel


I love outdoor activities. That’s just part of me I can’t live with. The experiences, adrenaline surges and to show off my strong muscles. I managed to change a tyre independently and it felt exhilarating. For all your car problems, you can now call Eva the mechanic. 💃🏿💃🏿 I love parties also. I am sports lunatic. I love cycling and am not afraid of heights. So, my lovely friend calls me up and tells me she has two tickets for underground zip line in Wales. At Betws-y-coed to be precise. I rise to the occasion (pun intended). To say I was excited, is an understatement. I was ecstatic. Maybe euphoric to some extent. So, as eager as a bridegroom I started planning. Mmmh…both the bride and groom do appear to be eager during their wedding. So for the feminist out there, I apologise. As for me, I’d be very eager to split the cost of living. Love comes later. I started dreaming of the day and how to show my prowess.

All was going well until my friend asked me; “Eva, you want a camp or hotel?” I almost jumped out of my skin.

There was no way I was gonna do my thing in the know- take a dump.My Mind jumped to a camp site I stayed on in Kenya that had a make shift toilet and I trembled. That’s a story for another day. Anyway countless thoughts crossed my mind and I remembered the Thai gentleman who went to take a dump in his toilet and as he sat down imagining the fresh release of stomach contents, a python happened to have made an abode and struck him. And boy, he yanked off his urinating equipment. It must have been a very angry snake. As far as am concerned the serpent gave us the apple and we ate it. Why carry the anger especially when we didn’t even question your motive with the apple. Poor man. If it happened to me, what would I do?

The Thai man successfully fought off the python. A wise man. For me may be not. I’d probably try to make friends with the snake and give it food and wait for it to poo my equipment then rush to the hospital for fixing. I have never seen a snake poo because National Geographic tends to concentrate on fish every time I switch the channel on. The other option would be to carry the snake to the hospital and have it operated for my equipment. Am serious. I think all men are. The last option would be just to flee naked to the hospital while thinking on how best to explain my current situation to the triage nurse in A/E. Something like this..

“Ms Eva, what happened?”

Me “I was taking a dump at a camp site and I felt a sharp pain and the next thing I saw was a python slithering away munching something. Help me.” While sobbing.

“Ok. Sorry. Can we have a look?”

Me, getting angry now “look for what? The snake has it.”

I’d then dejectedly accept my fate hoping they’ll find the snake.

I am a lady and the thought of a python lurking in the camp bushes didn’t sound appealing to me. I still wanna protect my Garden of Eden. Therefore no campsites unless I have enough money to employ body guards to keep off creepy crawlies away. If they can get inside a house, they would do so at the campsite toilet facilities. I need more convincing about campsite dump.

Anyway, I politely answered my friend, “let’s take the hotel.”

She laughed hysterically and answered, “they have toilet facilities there.”

“Hotel please!” I shot back. I don’t want be compared to the Thai man and have a new name- The Thai lady. Ok. The Wales python lady.

I hope my friend books the hotel but if she favours the camp, I won’t eat or drink anything at all.

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