In my family, everyone has
a nickname nicknames, The first nickname I ever had was Fafi. I wish I knew what it meant, but it was bestowed upon me by my aunt W, who still calls me that, even though nobody else in the family does, since I have another nickname. So basically, Fafi was the precursor for nicknames such as “Ciru Nana” and “Ciru wa Uncle” among others. This nickname is dear to me because said aunt has not been present in my life, but I always think happy thoughts when I think of it, because it represents my days as a toddler who hated Food.
My relationship with food is akin this one told here. I loathed food. In order to get me to eat, my dad would sit me at the edge of the pig sty and threaten to throw me in there if I refused to eat. That worked until I realized pigs are not carnivores. So then I mastered the art of chewing the food to the point I had no digestive juices in my mouth. It would take me three hours to eat a small meal, and by the end, I would be crying because my mouth was full of food and I could not swallow. Enter the torn sofa….one day I discovered this crevice in one of our sofas. It must have been one of the happiest days of my life! I didnt need to chew the food, I rolled it into a ball and threw it in the hole. So in those days, my mom’s aunt, cucu W, who is deaf and mute used to live with us…ever heard that deaf people have a strong sense of smell? Guess how I came upon this research? You guessed it, the day when it was her turn to feed me, and noticed the smell nobody else had noticed for days…
F is for French,. Mr Tom was a tall white man who wore a green hat and loved to take pictures. He was also my first French teacher. I loved french lessons “Bonjour Monsieur!” ” Asseyez-vous!”. I remember looking forward to Mr Tom’s lessons. Fast fwd to high school, my first french teacher was Mr S, an immigrant from Rwanda. If there ever was a stranger man! I am confident that the war had made him into a man who could change from being a saint into a demon in 5 minutes. One minute we were learning to conjugate verbs with a smile on his face, the next minute he was screaming ” A genou! A genou! I telli you to kneeli down (he knew very little English)”.. One of my favorite moments with Mr S is when he brought his wife to teach us a Rwandese traditional dance. Ah! It was a highlight. Enter Madame G a few terms later. This post is not enough to express my fear of Madam G! All in all, my French lessons have come in handy as I try to learn Spanish (which here in Texas, you must learn if you plan on working in the medical field).
F is for Fish, and Mama Fish. So, once upon a time, my sister and my cousin made an investment with some lose change they helped themselves with from my father’s wallet ..needless to say there was a lady at the bus stop who used to sell fish, aka Mama Fish. Fried fish is so yummy, especially when your parents forbid you from eating it. So, here is how it went down, Sis and cousin got off the school bus, and purchased fish. They ate it as fast as they could, then realized they smelled like fish all over…so they came up with the brilliant plan of rubbing their hands on soil to get rid of the smell. I think they would have succeeded in ridding themselves of the fish smell, but unfortunately they came home looking like they had been laboring on a farm all day instead of going to school. If there ever was a spanking I would have taken for my sister, it was the one she received that day. I wonder if she still likes fish…
F is also for fountain pen. Fountain pens made my life a living hell. Thank God for the day I reached standard 8 and was allowed to use a biro! I am going to post my “Year of Ink” note from my facebook so you can all appreciate how horrible fountain ink and pens made my life!
F is for Fanta Passion and Fanta Black currant! No wonder I hate soda in America. Nothing compares to a Kenyan Fanta!
F is for Falling’ by Alicia Keys. I dare not try to sing it, but I love the song
F is also a memory from high school, of a girl named Faith who had decided to name herself “Fanta Jessica”. We were all required to call her Fanta, and woe unto you if you failed. She made my first two years of high school bearable with her hilarious stories. Thank you Fanta!
Finally, F is for Fiat. I’m glad the Americans are discovering the Fiat!