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I have failed to join the 5AM club

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  I dozed off after putting my daughter to sleep. I had been careful to set my alarm to go off a few minutes before midnight, just in case I don’t wake up. I had booked a podcast interview with a writer who is in California. The time difference is huge. Soonest the alarm went off, I sneaked out of bed and started prepping for my interview. My plan was simple. Get on the call, do the usual introduction, scene-setting, ice breaking, for 10 min, and get into the questions which will take me an average of 20 min, say bye to each other. It would then take me about 5 min to save the show for editing later. I should be in bed at 12.45 or 12.50 latest.  While waiting for my guest to connect on zoom, I googled, time in PST now, just to check once again, and realized the interview is tomorrow. Not today. I had one job. To google PST time once more before I set up the call. Anyway, that is not the story. What I found interesting in all that is how alive I felt. It was quiet, I had this burst of e
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The Vagina is a war zone

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It looks like everyone who doesn’t have one wants a piece of it. Literally. And on top of that, they want governing rights too. I am not being vulgar, I was raised well, I promise you. Let me explain. You would be shocked to know the number of harmful practices to the vagina and how diverse they are. I would like to bring to your attention just a number of them to understand what I am saying. By the time you are done reading this blog, you probably would have remembered one that I didn’t put here. Let me tell you real quick about female genital mutilation (FGM). There are 4 types of  FGM. Type I and II being the total removal of the labia and the clitoris. Type 3 is called infibulation, which is making  the vaginal opening small by seal ing it , they  cut and repositioning the labia . type 4 is other forms of manipulations they do the vagina like massaging the clitoris (to make it smaller), burning some part of the vagina, scrapping, pricking, breaking the hymen, All thi
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Why do we pay taxes?

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I recently have been introduced to the world of tax. I have always wondered how the laws and decisions made by those Oga at the top affect us all. I thought I had an idea, but did I? As I was asking myself endless questions, I decided to pen them down, so that they don’t get clogged in my head. Also, I am no expert. The questions/arguments/thoughts that I put here are not different from the ones that Mama Mary at the next street would have. I have one advantage though. In my circle of work, there are people who understand money and tax issues. So, I will be asking them as I write, equally, I will share the responses with you. For 15 years now, every month without fail, 30% of my pay has been deducted and put in the tax/ government coffers. Except for a few months at the beginning of my career in radio, the finance officer/ aka the   in-charge of everything would remove 30 %, this time though, it went in his pocket. So, first things first. Why is it that we do
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Our ladies in office

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Ingabire Immaculée has always been a close representation of the woman I thought I wanted to be.  I heard people calling her all sorts of names like Igishegabo, umugabo, umushiziw’isoni, umunyamahane, and she didn’t seem to give a s***! She was consistent,  especially when it came to matters of speaking for the people, and exposing government misfortunes.  All the names that were given to her seemed to actually show how powerful and unsettling she was. The kind of woman who didn’t accept the status quo. But, is she the woman I thought she was? I am not about to attack the person of Ingabire Immaculée. I know better, and I was raised better (I hope) to know that it makes more sense to analyze people’s point of view and arguments, than attacking the “Who they are”.  Huummm! Recently, a young lady called Isimbi willingly posted nudes on her Instagram page. I cannot tell you that I was not shocked by the boldness and the craziness of the whole idea. When I saw the pho
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A letter to my Father

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Before I get started with matters I created this blog for, I feel compelled to clear a few things that occupy my mind, so that I can create enough space. Well…so to speak.  I would like to write a letter to my father, If only it could be delivered to him. I wonder if people who have left our world see us, and get sad or happy for us?! Dad. I would spend weeks collecting details so that I don’t miss a thing. I think that the main thing he would love to know is that we are home, in Rwanda. See, my father believed that one day eventually, all Rwandans will have the right to be in their country and live together. He just didn’t know it would happen as soon as 1994; I mean he had been in exile since the 70’s,  had he known, maybe he would have negotiated for more days, maybe he would have cheated death for just one more year, maybe…he would have been more careful just to see this…maybe! I will let you into the content of my letter in the following lines. Dad and I, in
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2019, The Year of Yes.

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In November 2018, I had already started thinking of the new year resolutions. Normally around this time, my sense of self and introspection are in full gear. As I was going through this exercise, I realized how much I had missed the mark for the 2018 resolutions,  a lot was happening, so many missed opportunities and overwhelming uncertainties. At the center of it all, I was getting ready to welcome our first child to the world. Basically, I was a fine cocktail of emotions. I felt bad, I felt good,  I laughed, I cried, and I had no idea why I was doing any of that. I couldn't explain ME to ME! Coincidentally, I started reading "Year of Yes" by Shonda Rhimes. I did so initially because I watched Shonda's shows, all the series, episode after episode, and because her work is so good, that it simply leaves me in awe! In a random conversation, my sister in law mentioned the book, I bought it and READ it religiously. I cannot begin to tell you how this book touched my sou
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