About Me

I first introduced myself in this blog seven years ago and a lot has changed since then. At the time I was in the twilight of my thirties and now the golden jubilee is closing in on me already. Our daughters, chatty young girls then, are now teenagers whose vocabulary has somehow shrunk to; good, fine and nothing. Unless of course, they are making a case for new toys gadgets! I have since moved north to Ethiopia from Tanzania the southern neighbour of my home country.

I can’t remember a time in my life when I did not enjoy writing or when I did not savour the power of words. I however never imagined sharing my words with others, although I did enjoy the long-gone snail mail era of writing letters and compositions (essays) for our English lessons. It was reading Brene Brown’s book, The Gifts of Imperfection, that challenged me to start blogging. She talks of letting go of who you think you are supposed to be and embracing who you are. As someone who had lived for decades under the tyranny of what people think and perfectionism, the act of sharing my writing was a choice to grow by daring to be vulnerable.

I previously lived by the proverb ‘even a fool is thought wise if they keep silent’. With this ‘opening of my mouth’, my readers now know, once and for all, whether I am a fool or not. But it really doesn’t matter, does it? If I am a fool, I remain one whether you know it or not. Even more importantly – be that as it may – I am worthy of love and belonging. Writing ventilates the shame and fear of being thought foolish and hopefully, with time, I will find it easier and easier to laugh at myself as I acknowledge that I don’t know it all. The articles here are, using the words of William Faulkner, footprints not monuments. “A monument only says, ‘At least I got this far’ while a footprint says, ‘This is where I was when I moved again.’“

When I started blogging, I was well and truly entrenched in a financial management career and would have hardly imagined what has now happened. In the last four years, I have hardly looked at a spreadsheet, but rather have spent my time pecking away at my trusty laptop. Creeping upon me like the camel who nudged himself into the tent, one body part at a time, displacing the Arab, my new identity as a writer and editor has slowly but surely displaced the accountant identity, I wore proudly and comfortably for more than two decades.

The feeling I experience when I share my writing is akin to the one I get at the dinner table after spending an afternoon stirring away in my kitchen. After adding this spice here and that herb there, baking one food item, grilling or steaming the other, it’s finally time to lay it on the table. The uummhh … yummy, the finger-licking and coming back for a second serving … it’s simply joy. The delight is worth the sweating over the stove and scrubbing of pots and plates that follows after. A meal that is appreciated and enjoyed is a reward all by itself.

Welcome to this table – My Little Stories – where I serve up words in different forms – chopped, fried, baked, mashed, mixed, matched … as they tickle my fancy. It delights me if I manage to entertain you and send you into laughter. If you split your nose or crack a rib in the process – what does it matter? I also hope to tug at your heart and echo, no matter how faintly, the story of all stories … The story that tells us how we came to be, what we are here for and what we can anticipate for the future. Bon Appétit!