Thanks for visiting my blog. This blog chronicles a mostly 4-year journey of love, life, and loss. It's now time to retire. However, feel free to browse and read through the posts.
My current work/projects can be accessed at www.miriamjerotich.com

Tuesday, November 27, 2012

Glinda

The voices in my head began shouting louder as soon as I stepped out of the taxi and rolled my luggage into Boston Logan Airport. I know the voices well; they often come to plague me when I travel around, when I need a passport, and I cringe when I think of how weak my Kenyan passport is; how I am allowed to travel to relatively fewer countries. This time, the voice began scowling about what I considered inequality of the highest level: I need a visa to go to South Africa but South Africans don’t need a visa to come to Kenya. Kenyan government, why?

The voice visited me last three months ago, before I met her. Glinda.

By the time she walked up to me, I had already been daydreaming about angels—perhaps a young swanky man or woman professional (sex didn’t really matter) who would walk up to me and swipe a credit card. Or maybe an older citizen, more likely a greying old lady with a walking stick who would take pity on me, and grant me a portion of her inheritance upon seeing my tears. I never imagined the angel as Glinda — big-boned, bob-cut permed hair, traces of a grey testosterone-induced beard, and a drawling Jamaican accent, the kind that makes you daydream about eating banana fritters and sipping on coconut juice under the shade of a palm in a Kingston beach, the kind that makes you lull about as if to a reggae beat by Gramps Morgan, a tune like Wash Away the Tears, a voice to still your soul.

“May I sit here?” she asked me, training her gaze to the seat next to me. “Of-course, I answered quickly.”

And when she had sat down, she began.

-Are you African?-

-Yes-

-Where from?-

-Kenya-

-You live in Nairobi-

-Yes, I do-

-Do you like it there?-

-No I don’t. I prefer the countryside but my parents work there-

-I’ve come today to make reservations to go to Ghana-

-Oh wow, what are you doing there?-

-Art. I’m going for the artwork-

-Wonderful, so you’re an artist?-

-Yes, I am-

The conversation went along as she told me about her own Jamaican background, how she came to the US to study but ended up staying, working, starting a family, befriending Africans, and teaching high school English. She talked unceasingly, and with each word, I began thinking less about my predicament, the fact that I needed $1000 for a ticket change as a result of missing one of my connecting flights due to weather conditions. We walked over to the ticketing counter at four o’clock, as soon as the British airways counter opened up for business. An Indian man went before us, and we remained second in line, behind the same cart, like mother and daughter. But the Indian man took an insanely long time, and patience began to wane. Glinda began tapping her foot, looking right and left for other attendants who might rescue us from the three-hour wait for the counter to open, and then the arduous wait for service.

“This is the worst service ever,” she said to me.

“Mmmh...” I muttered under my breath. At high-pressure times like those, I often resort to my best behaviour, my sweet voice, and humility at its best. Surely, if someone sees tears tracing my eyelids, they’d be more merciful, right?

“Excuse me lady, we be waiting here a long time with nobody to help us!” she accused the manager overseeing the operations. I was shocked, betrayed, Glinda had messed up the plan, the one where we look helpless and offer the agents a chance to redeem themselves through us.

But Glinda seemed to have instituted a paradigm shift. Visibly shaken, the manager found another agent to cater to us. I chuckled under my breath as I imagined the manager interpreting Glinda’s words as, “I’ll rearrange your face if you make us wait a minute longer”.

Then the new lady handed me my ticket home, no questions asked, no eyebrows raised, no money solicited. My heart swelled with joy, and the voices left. In between muttering, “You are truly God, You are God”, I braked the cart and looked over at Glinda. She wasn’t just an older caring woman, she was loud. She complained for about the long lines. She set a precedent for me. For those who know me well, you will know that I am non-confrontational, and where possible, I like to keep my peace (unless of course, we are competing, which becomes a different story.) Glinda had stood by me on the line like a mother protecting her young, shouting at the attendants for the worst and most incompetent service she had ever seen. And they were scared.

So when the voices revisit, I remember Glinda. Angel.

Not because I forgot to bring tea from home for her, or that I’m not sure if I’ll ever see her again. Remembering Glinda reminds me that the voices are subject to God, reminds me to be thankful because I’m never alone, even in the midst of my most dramatic travel experiences. (Sigh with me if you know all I'm talking about)

God is truly God over everything, even the little things, like thirty-two pages of an embossed travel document.

Monday, November 19, 2012

The Fear of Sin (A Nietzsche Essay)

Below is an essay I wrote about Friedrich Nietzsche as a first year student! 
Nietzsche is the guy who said God is dead..
http://www.artfuzz.com/most/PYR/PAS0169.jpg
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I repeat that sin, man’s self-desecration par excellence, was invented in order to make science, culture and every elevation and ennobling of man impossible; the priest rules through the invention of sin.(The Antichrist, 71)
In his diatribe against Christianity The Antichrist, Friedrich Nietzsche argues that the invention of “sin” has denied man the freedom to engage in intellectual pursuits. According to Nietzsche, potential scientists abscond further pursuit in science, for fear of infuriating the Christian authorities. Indeed, the Christian church persuaded 19th century Europeans to disregard the revolutionary ideas of Charles Darwin, whose theory of evolution the Christian church vehemently denied. The Church claimed that Creationism was the only possible explanation for man’s origins. Therefore, anyone who believed in Darwinism was charged with committing sin. Interestingly, the conflict between religion and science continues to plague mankind today. Christian scientists especially, continually face the daunting question: How far can I pursue scientific research before I sin?

Before we attempt to tackle this question, we must first know what Nietzsche says about the origin and the nature of sin. Nietzsche credits the Jews with the invention of sin. He states that the Israelites, plagued by troubles, felt that they must have wronged their God (41). Their troubles, they contended, were a punishment for sin. According to Nietzsche, Christianity has inherited this concept of sin. The Christian authorities, which consider themselves the mouthpiece of God, have developed a moral system that distinguishes right and wrong (42). Through this moral system, Nietzsche insists, Christian authorities wield power over society, undermining, above all, intellectual values. Moreover, since the Christian authorities possess God’s “power”, sinners need to submit to them in order to be forgiven (44). Therefore, Nietzsche argues, man cannot freely pursue science if he is constantly forced to conform to Christian ideals. 

Like the Church in the 19th Century, many of today’s Christian churches continue to influence the extent of scientific research, example being the stem cell research in the US. In 2006, President George Bush decided to limit federal funding for stem cell research on moral grounds[i]. These moral grounds, one can argue, were influenced by the Christian belief that life begins at conception. Therefore, President Bush’s decision is an example of a Christian reaction to advancement in science. 

This conflict of interest poses a dilemma for Christians who may be interested scientific research. Suddenly, any research they choose to engage in must take place within the boundaries of Christian beliefs. Some of today’s Christians may decide to take a Christian approach to their research—they engage in research as a way of discovering God’s creation. Such an approach, one can argue, allows them to use science as a way of getting closer to God. Only when the scientific discoveries begin to challenge one’s Christian belief system does a problem arise. Some may choose to abandon their Christian faith for science, whereas some may choose to focus on their Christian beliefs and forsake science. Additionally, some may simply choose to be indifferent by separating their love for science and their love for God. 

Despite these different approaches, the dilemma persists. Science continues to challenge many of the Christian belief systems, particularly when scientific evidence disproves a Christian belief. The only feasible response may be to question one’s own understanding of sin. Although this approach may prompt one to question the existing Christian authorities, an act that may not be readily welcome, one can ultimately choose a deeply personal approach to the question of sin. By engaging in this personal reflection, one may come across 2 Timothy 1.7(KJV): “For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.” A Christian scientist who reads this Bible verse understands that God does not support fear. Hence, the fear of sin is not a state that should exist in the Christian life. When one chooses to live a life devoid of fear, one understands that the Christian God’s main concern is love: “Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another.” (NIV John 13.34) Therefore, Christian scientists’ greatest hurdle ultimately should not be the fear of sin, but rather, the challenge to adequately reflect God’s love in the world through their research.


Reference: [i] Stout, David. “In First Veto, Bush blocks Stem Cell Bill”. Nytimes.com. New York Times, 19 July 2006. Web. 18 Nov 2010. 

Bibliography: Nietzsche, Friedrich. The Antichrist. Trans. H.L. Mencken. Tucson: See Sharp Press, 1999. Print. 
The Holy Bible. International Bible Society. Colorado Springs: International Bible Society, 1996. Print. New International Version.
Holy Bible. American Bible Society. New York: American Bible Society. Print. King James Version.

Wednesday, November 14, 2012

When in Rome...A Pictologue


Enjoy a blueberry milkshake with nutella and whipped cream

Get on the rooftop of a tall building overlooking Roma

DRINK SPREMUTA! Freshest, bestest orange juice you will ever enjoy!

Visit the Roman Forum, and wish you knew enough history....what happened there??

Il Colosseo! The Colosseum--one of the 7 wonders of the medieval world, and Gladiator!

Random picture of a cross. Remember who makes life possible!
Fashion for priests....hehe

The National Monument of Victor Emmanuel II, the Altare della Patria.  Thou shalt not liter or sit on the steps

Alas! St. Peter's Basilica! Wait for it.....

Yes! No arms, no thighs! Now you know where the Strathmore dress-code comes from...
I had to buy me a shirt :(


A Swiss guard...this place cries Angels and Demons all over 
The Vatican has to be the most beautiful place, artistically speaking

Yes, that's a painted ceiling by none other than Michaelangelo

I suspect Pope Benedict lives down that drive

What's Italy without some pasta!
And the pizza,



And tiramisu,


And most importantly, GELATO, and the joy of soon-to-be family :)
PS: Eat gelato every single day!! There's something poetic about eating traditional Italian ice-cream in Italy

Friday, November 9, 2012

Dissonance and The Mediating Role of God

As a budding academic and Christian student, I straddle two worlds. I carry two labels, one that demands me to live by secularized ideals, and one that bids me to lay aside worldly standards. Navigating this contradictory existence is not easy, and many of my troubled conversations are confined to my Bible study group. I remember once last year when a Christian professor at my university mentioned how being a student and being a Christian should be an effortless endeavor centered on honoring God through our academic work and social life. His talk reminded me of my high school days, when a pastor reminded us that we were students first, before we were Christian. Even Christian leaders contradict themselves.

Perhaps I see contradictions because I live in a world that creates categories, purporting the absence of fluidity. The labels “academic” and “Christian” are limiting, but ones that I am forced to embrace if the world is to make sense of me, to allow me to operate in society. Perhaps all I want to be is a seeker, or as a line in a favorite childhood novel, Song of The Wanderer, puts it, “My heart longs to rest but my feet yearn to walk. Shall I wander the world or stay safe at home?” The label “Christian” has its own burdens, an extreme of which is intolerant. I like that my mentor calls himself “A friend of God”, a label I find devoid of religiosity, and one that he chooses for himself. Once while filling out a form, he put “None” under the category “Religion”, sparking debate from people who know him as “Christian”. Now if contradictions exist at the level of our being, you can only imagine the ones that exist as we venture into the world unknown.

Yet part of being human is being at peace with a contradictory world. My religion professor told me once that this involves living a partitioned life, not thinking about having to navigate the paradoxes. To some degree, I agree with the professor, but I also believe in a predetermined life. Not just in the sense that God knows where I will spend eternity, but in the sense that He knows my struggles because He once lived the human life. I know God foresaw me facing this challenge one day; He foreknew that modernity would boil down to struggling to keep the old, while embracing the new. My go-to person is God. I know life will become a kernel of contradictions, especially as I learn new frameworks of theorizing about life, about how we can peacefully co-exist as humans. But I also know, yes I know, that only God can help me mediate this dissonance. Only He can give me Peace, the kind that surpasses all understanding and guards your heart and your mind. And He extends this to ALL of us!
What I have come to value most about Christianity is the absence of legalistic and intellectualist demands on my existence*. At the end of the day, my judge will not be my religion, my faith, my pastor, my family, or as my mother reminded last week, society. The Bible says that God knows the hearts and minds of all humans. And so I rest assured that I am answerable to God alone. 

*The “Christianity” in which I was raised and live by today.

This commentary has been inspired by an unfinished essay in my head, and Judith Butler’s Introduction and Chapter One of her book, Undoing Gender. 'Contradictions' is a running theme in my work. To explore more and join in the conversation, I welcome you to read my other pieces: Bursting My Bubble and Just Remember the Child

Saturday, November 3, 2012

Love Letter To A Saviour


When I remember you, I begin to tear up. I read that story over and over again, reliving the horror, the pain that will be the recurring trope forever. We will laugh and we will rejoice, and maybe for a time, we will forget, but then we remember that you left a hole in our world, a heart-shaped love hole of the beauty that you were, that you still are.

When I remember you, I begin to tear up. I reach to the depth of my heart and I seek that God-man, the one I learnt to hold on to when I was in my teens, when I thought that love could only be achieved through proving who I was to society, showing them that I could be as they want me to be, and I remember your own struggles, and how I wish, deeply wish that I had known you, walked with you some more.

When I remember you, I begin to tear up. I revisit the memories, the recordings, the videos and the stories, I remember the walk when you reached to hold my hand and hug me to your heart, to remind me that we can walk with humans only so far, but that there’s one who can take us even farther, through the valley of the shadow of death, to a plain of peace, where streams make glad the city of God.

When I remember you, I begin to tear up. I know that I am but a fickle light, blurring slowly against the vastness of eternity, where sometimes my strength fails, and the desire to join you grows stronger, yet the call doesn’t come, and his strength innervates me, pushing me to keep moving forward, to know that my task is not yet done, that my journey is still on, and he still walks with me.

When I remember you, I begin to tear up. I begin to write because I know no one will understand, perhaps a few, but even then it will not matter, because this is a love letter to you, because when the ink ends and the tears dry up, when the wind stops whistling and the rain falling, when I smell color and dance under the shadow of your wings, then I will be finally home, and I will see you again.