Mama Shujaa

When preparing for a ten-day sojourn to my home country two weeks ago, I packed the correct garb for summery days, the perfect shoes for my bridesmaid outfit, and contentment steeped in the marrow of my bones. It was my second return back home in one year, a rarity.  The first had occurred in July, when I was more orthodox in my packing, as I joined a constellation of relatives to lay our beloved Uncle Job to rest.  December 17, 2011 was the excellent occasion of my older brother’s reaffirmation ceremony after twenty-three years of marriage. That day, I smiled at everyone, so as not to offend relatives who had slipped my memory. Now, as circadian rhythms reset to my American time zone, cheerless admin-and-litigation hours at work have taken the place of the happy-go-lucky days in Nairobi. I revisit photographs. I scrutinize faces, bodies, locations; they are adequate restoratives that stave off the evaporation of recent excitement, when family and friend...

It is Wednesday morning and my shoe box story still lives. In the universe of my imagination, with more people in it now.  New bosses, wayward soccer parents, egotistical 13 year old soccer stars, kind coworkers, court filing deadlines, to-do lists at home and abroad. All locked up together, teaming, screaming, bundled up life. And yet, I've been blogging less and writing more - in my head. Ideas running through, vibrant on the colorful stinky local bus, gigantic scoops of pot stirring ingredients, simmering on the stove that is my brain. Cook. Trace. Weave. My shoe box story, unedited. Rolling in a place of promise.

"Strr-o-k-e, strr-o-k-e it shoulders-elbows-fingers strr-o-k-e it come on! Are you breathing?" Hardly. "Heels-toes pump, p-u-m-p it come on! leave your day behind let your body go let your body dance dancing baby come on! Feel the cadence punctuate use your heels syncopate p-u-m-p it curl your toes release! Endorphins." Finding the right balance between work and play is a challenge. So this two-in-one is right up my alley. One hour, three times a week, a worldly instructor with the gift of gab and an international collection of music. Every single time, I mount my saddle in anticipation of the mix of the day. I stroke my bike, legs rotating smoothly, skin glistening with perspiration, and pretty soon, the feel good hormones take over. My body responds to cardio pulmonary aerobics, also known as spin. Here's an example of the music we spin to: Seasons Greetings! Mingi Love, Mama Shujaa.