Ageing gracefully is a choice- the secret is not caring what anyone thinks

This week, on the 10th of August, I turned a nearly big age. I will not put it down here, not because I hide my age, but because I want you to keep your focus on the contents, not on the nearly big number.

I am a village-life enthusiast. One of the reasons I live in and love the village is the authenticity of its residents. The genuineness is often displayed in how they relate, how they tell truths to one another without going in circles, how you will know if someone dislikes you, because they do not have the energy to give fake smiles. How, even when they gossip, one day one time, they will all confess to you how they gossiped about you, then they live happily ever after.

Then there is the authenticity in appearances. Because over here the majority do not have office jobs, they do not need to wear what villagers call masks, also known as makeup. Nobody needs makeup and dressing up when they are working in the shamba, or getting dusty in a village shop, or looking after homes.

What you see, is what you get. As a man, for instance, the face of the woman you meet and chat up is the same one you will wake up next to if she says yes, and she probably only wears a bra to church, or weddings.

Most villagers never 'look' younger than their age, but then again, who decides what people should look like at whatever age? If you are 40, you will probably look 50, by Vogue standards, but they will not be bothered, because vanity is an expensive luxury.

Life is often not kind to villagers financially, and without finances to play with, it is difficult to worry about looks; the stomach and school fees take precedence. Sometimes, I meet my former classmates and they look, in my eyes, like they should have been my teachers. Wrinkles and slouches and fatigued auras. I have done my mirror, mirror on the wall thing, by asking it if I actually look that weather-beaten. Much as I would like to think I do not look age-scraggy, there is always the possibility that I am blind to personal faults. Those are the moments when the temptations of using age-defying creams are strongest because, like every other vain human, I am often tempted to believe in the idea of eternal youth, as elusive as it is. Youth is not an achievement, ageing actually is, so why is it, that it is the one achievement we shy away from claiming?

My age-group has taken over the mantel of leadership, because I am at that age where you are old enough to be listened to by those older and younger than you. My age-mates are the church elders, project chairpersons, chiefs, headmen and politicians. The girls I used to play kati have transformed into women wearing hideous blue uniforms for various churches' women's groups.

They are grandparents. I, on the other hand, have represented the growing old disgracefully brigade, because I refuse to do any one of those things for one reason - I cannot stand the expectation to behave a certain way. As long as I am not breaking the law, I consciously defy rules that will not land me in jail. I am happy being a lone ranger.

When we meet as age-mates, the discussions are tragic-hilarious. We talk about the different health conditions we have; high blood pressure, diabetes, arthritis - name it, it is well represented. Old people diseases, they are called. At least none of us has amnesia, because we all vividly remember the shenanigans of our youth, which feels like the other day, yet so long ago.

Am I worried about ageing? This is not a yes or no question. As much as I am one of those who believe ageing is an accolade, one I embrace, especially when I remember all the people I know who died too young, I worry about the stuff I still want to do but time seems to be running out, so is the energy level.

Ageing comes with its own kind of pressure, and I think it is that pressure that takes the sparkle off your eyes. In the meantime, I shall sparkle on.

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