Knowing You

If I saw you on the street,
Would I,
Know it was you,
Would I,
See the similarities,
If I ,
Saw your face in a magazine,
Or a picture on –my space-
Would I,
Know who you are-
Would I,
See any similarities?

(Yea, it’s a change,
Which we accept
Nothing’s forged
It’s all a truth
It’s scary but it’s real,,,,,{strings}
It’ a change which we accept}

If I saw your work,
In an exhibition,
If I saw your name-
Would I know,
Or would I just smile,
And pass ‘long,
Thinking to my self-I know that name,
Would I,
Know who you are.

{ Yea, it’s a change,
Which we accept
Nothing’s forged
It’s all a truth
It’s scary but it’s real,,,,,{strings}
It’ a change which we accept .}

If I,
Heard your voice,
If I heard your laughter,
Would I,
Think to myself-
That’s a nice voice-
Or would I,
Turn around,
And check again,
Would I,
Know who you are,
Would I know,,?

{ Yea, it’s a change,
Which we accept
Nothing’s forged
It’s all a truth
It’s scary but it’s real,,,,,{strings}
It’ a change which we accept }

If you stepped’n my toes in the bus,
Would I,
Curse and swear,
Or would I look up,
And accept your sorry.

{ Yea, it’s a change,
Which we accept
Nothing’s forged
It’s all a truth
It’s scary but it’s real,,,,,{strings}
It’ a change which we accept }

{softly}If someone asked,,,
Would I smile,,,,?
and say-
Yeah, it’s not just me,,,,{soft drums}
Or would I,
Deny I know you,
Coz I know who you are,,,,,,{drums]
And it’s a change that I accept,
It’s a truth,
And nothing’s forged,
Yea, Happy to know of you.

Yea, it’s a change,
Which we accept
Nothing’s forged
It’s all a truth
It’s scary but it’s real,,,,,{strings}
Yeah,
{drums and strings,}
It’ a change ,which we accept,{fade}
It’s a change which we accept.

[26th Jan 07.Wrote this when I was having lunch,saw a girl with familiar eyes,and I thought,,,,,,I thought many things.This is a song but I doubt I’ll be remembering the tune tomorrow:-)}

Hope.

I don’t go visiting a lot,and if I have to,it is to and with specific people.When I was growing up I had one home I liked to visit,gwa cucu shiriba,my grandmother’s friend.
Now,I have another of those where I am a regular.When I say regular,I mean it.Like once a week.I’ll find just any excuse to go visiting.It is a nice quiet home where time seems to be on a stop watch minute I land there.I only get home after dark at such times.
Something real sad though happened a while ago. The head of the household, Mr Wang’ondu, he died. Ran over by the mad men that drive the Umoja 1 and 2 route mats,35/60.They hit him in view of all around, resisted any assistance from by standers, and carried him away. They said they were taking him to a hospital, only to dump him in a bush!!! That was very wrong.
Death is never dignified, or even easy to come into terms with. Mr.Wang’ondu’s death hurt many people.

The speaker at the funeral said something comforting .That our creator is a loving God.That God is love.
He’d never cause us to suffer or punish us to test our faith,by causing a painful death for our loved one .Only the devil is capable of such sadistic acts.Jesus described the devil as –A man slayer-John8:44
Which is true.The true God is our father, and just like a human father cares about his children, God cares about us and wouldn’t want us to lose our parents ,children, spouses, friends.
He is a God of love.We can go to him for comfort and peace of mind when we are hurting, without feeling like-you want to accuse him of ‘taking away’ your loved one. In any case, if God wanted to ‘take you away’, would he use an accident, fire, thugs, disease? No.
He also gives us something to look forward to in Isaiah25:8,9.When death will be swallowed up forever, when all tears will be wiped away.
Mr.Wang’ondu was a good man. Soft spoken. Now, I remember many times, he opened the door to their house for me. He would welcome me and hand me the day’s paper.
Coming in, now I remember way he would calmly remove his shoes, shake everyone’s hand, then continue. He was a nice man. But The true God will no doubt take care of Mrs.Wang’ondu, Joe and Hilda. We hope to see him at the resurrection {John5:28,29}.

Princess Muturi

Muturi sat next to me in class, at my right,and whenever we’d be required to share a text book,he’d shoot to my side like snap.
I wasn’t a big academic then, neither I’m I now.I believe in just getting the concept, then applying the rest.It works, sometimes,but not for calculations.
Muturi was particularly good in Kiswahili.He could chambua a word four times.His misamiati were unlimited.
His stringy handwriting made new teachers look up again,just to make sure-hehe.
On Sundays,when the boys went to play soccer in the rectangular strip of playground , and the girls were washing their clothes,we’d sit in class.Muturi,about two other boys,and herself.spinning stories.
I remember one story Muturi told me and I laughed the entire year. Then, everything was funny.Couldn’t determine if it was true but maybe I’ll find out;sometime.
It was about a very dangerous place where some relatives of his lived.
There,it was a world of reptiles.They were everywhere.If one plastered on a wall paper{magazeti}a family of snakes would set up camp. Not bad at all,since the dwellers have learnt a way to exist with their slim neighbours. Problem was these neighbors had other larger bodied relatives who lived in the bushes.If one was not careful, his sheep or goat would be swallowed whole.If further care wasn’t taken, a person could end up in a reptile’s stomach too.
Muturi ;however, said that a solution had been found and passed on through the generations.Sleeping with one leg folded at an angle.
After almost a decade,I can’t remember Muturi’s full names.What I remember is what he insisted on being called-Princess Kigano.
Princess Kigano, I’m told is a very effective veterinary officer .
A similarly coined story was told by the other boy who sat on my left,The Wag.Told of a place where the spiders were as big as a fist,or as he illustrated,as big as a black toad.Spiders so bad that you died instantly once bitten.
-And how do people go out to work?-
I had wanted to know.
‘Well,they use umbrella’s as shields,and one has to be able to jump,dive and duck out of the spider’s way.Otherwise you are spider’s meat. when I go there I remain indoors until it’s time to go back home,’ he said. Memories in print.16thNov.06

Shida Ya Nini?

Firi,wasee wengine hunijazz.Unapata mtu amekuuliza swali ingine ata we mwenyewe unabaki huna answer.Kama story za mapero,ama story yoyote tu ya home.Unacheki msee amekuuliza live-kwani hamnanga mbuyu{sp}?Saa hiyo anauliza tu vile unaweza uliza tarehe.Unashindwa huyu naye amenikagua mpaka wapi?
Siwezi uliza msee kitu najua labda itamhurt.Na avoid kabisa.
No wonder kuna vile najipatanga tu nimehave kulapisha story mtu akianza kuongea vizii.
Especially mababi wa mtaa.Beste anakuuliza-mbona unang’ang’ana kufua ming’aro hivo.Hamwezi buy washing machine?
Bana,mambo ingine si poa

Chasing The Dawn

{Read in the pace of Matchbox 20’s ,Real World}

I’d like to be the sun,
For a single dawn,
Way I’d watch my maids-
Run about and shout
Exasperated.

With cloth, with reeds, with beads,
To prepare my entrance.
Let’s paint this orange,
No, let’s have orange and grey.
Perhaps gold,
Silver and black?
How about red, fiery red?
You there,I hate the blue draping!
Why not try wool dyed reddish purple?
A silky blue sheet with yellow border.

I’d like to see some white.
And don’t make me raise my voice now,
Don’t let me change my voice.
Remove the moss.
You work is done here stars,
Far from here moon.

These clouds don’t match.
Perhaps some raffia,
Vinyl?
Try oriental,
Hurry,
Peel of the unsightly paint
And try to calm down for sunssake!
I said the blue was for later~
The beige will follow the train.
……………………………………
There she goes now, make way, make way!

20th Dec 2006
{It was the last day in my uncle’s farm and I still hadn’t written anything creative.So I woke up very early and took a blanket,stool,some pens and a note book.To watch the sun rise.Mama,uncle, was milking and the sun took very long to come out. I was shivering. He told me—we niwathukire-You are crazy,and left me to wait for the sun.}

Got the Blank Stare

Wondering the streets, in a world underneath it all
Nothing seems to be, nothing tastes as sweet
As what I can't have

I'm gonna muster every ounce of confidence I have
and cannon ball into the water
I'm gonna muster every ounce of confidence I have
For you I will
For you I will

Forgive me if I stutter
From all of the clutter in my head
Cuz I could fall asleep in those eyes
Like a water bed
Do I seem familiar, I've crossed you in hallways
a thousand times, no more camouflage
I want to be exposed, and not be afraid to fall.

I'm gonna muster every ounce of confidence I have
And cannon ball into the water
I'm gonna muster every ounce of confidence I have
For you I will
You always want what you can't have
But I've got to try
I'm gonna muster every ounce of confidence I have
For you I will
For you I will
For you I will
For you

If I could dim the lights in the mall
And create a mood I would
Shout out your name so it echos in every room
I would

That's what I'd do, That's what I'd do to get through to you

I'm gonna muster every ounce of confidence I have
And cannon ball into the water
I'm gonna muster every ounce of confidence I have
For you I will
You always want what you can't have
But I've got to try
I'm gonna muster every ounce of confidence I have
For you I will
For you I will
For you I will
For you I will
{Teddy Geiger}

My Day With You-BBC Radio

I hear the knock on my wooden wall. It signifies time to wake up.I say a short prayer and throw back the covers. I fumble a round the dusty floor looking for some shoes. Gumboots. Then I walk to the kitchen .The big aluminum Sufuria is a quarter full with hot water, and a kettle with last night’s tea floats in it. I push the burning wood further into the fire. A pile of last night dishes are sprawled on various areas in the large earthen floored kitchen: cups kettle plates on one corner, the pot with the dog's food still in it .We forgot to feed Simba.

I put the kettle aside, on hot coals and pour in some more water into the Sufuria, this to wash the utensils. I pick 2 containers and head to the milking shed. Mama, my uncle is whistling a favorite tune that rises above the rush of the milk. I put three litres into one container and two and a half in another and take it to the two calves. I then rinse them and overturn them on the drying racks.
My uncle’s wife, tata has woken up their young baby in tow. It’s still pretty dark.

I hurry to the kitchen to get a cloth to wipe the milk cans. The baby wants the torch. Tata is struggling to light a lamp using a splinter from the fire.

We arrive at the collection point just on time for the Land Rover that weighs and records our milk. I carry the cans as Mama stays behind to have a chat and a smoke with his friends. The dew is heavy, lucky me my pants are well tucked in the gumboots.

Tata is cleaning the utensils, her baby tied firmly behind her back chewing on a piece of home made cake. He says –Ngaari- I don’t feel like going back to bed, so I start to peel potatoes for lunch.

My grandmother, Cucu wakes up next and complains that we made such a din we woke her. She picks her panga and basket and goes off to plant seeds of some plant. Outside the dawn is orange.
At nine, the workers begin to arrive .They first have a cup of sugared tea, along with Cucu who is heading to her friend’s home for a morning of catching up.

(I wrote this for The Radio BBC Competition,2005.It was read one morning,and they sent me a base ball cap in a very large envelope. I wear the cap often. To protect myself from the African sun}

Veil

It’s a shy moon tonight
Peeping ‘neath frills of gray clouds
Now you see it ,now you don’t.

The sky tonight is a mystery
Divided for its own
On one side the stars spread in blue
On the other thick black and gray loom.

The moon’s poked out its head
Half like a setting sun
Sinking into the mulch of white.

It reminds me of an Arab binti
In fold and layers of black
With golden sandals for the feet
And tiny silver balls at the hem.

The moon has sank
But it has left a slight slit of light
To say -I’m still here.

Like the binti in the Niqab,
Brightly clashing with the dull coverlet
You don’t have to see her face
She’s there and she’s lovely.

u lala

My friend Wangu had been going on and on about-Toy Market-And I?I thought it was some kiddie girlie place where you can buy teddy bears and Powerpuff Girls pillow cases.Or like something I hear on CN-Toys R Us.
I don’t like stuffed animakls,I prefer a breathing pet.Last December she persuaded me to accompany her.
Being the wise shopper that she is,she stoped at the first bedding stand and bought a duvet forKsh:400,and a mattress cover for ksh30.
I was s-h-o-k-e-d! The duvet,had she bought it at Mutindwa or Ngara,could have gone for not less than ksh1,500!
So we took a stroll and came across a trader selling jumpers for 60 bob!
‘Come,come look at these wulalas.’ Wangu was pulling me to the jumper’s stand.
-Wu-what?!-
‘Wulala.’
Wangu is from TT and sometimes she’ll say something and a minute and a half later I’ll ask-Exactly what did you mean a minute and a half ago?-
Jumpers,she calls them wulala.Funny.
What though was really funny was the prices on the items in that market
A pair of socks,5 bob{same ones you buy for 30bob elsewhere},one and a half meter kitenge material,mia,table mats mbao,everything else was ten shillings.
I bought some passion fruits.They were real cheap and fresh.
I plan to go back someday buy me some warm gloves.
Toy market is Opposite Kibera Law Courts. Use No32c,Kencom,or No8 Railway

Brown Roses.

Yellow,orange,white,red,
pink,peach,maroon,roses.
Roses are beautiful.
Roses that grow out in the open-
have a good scent,
that settles into the back of your head
like a breeze.
My high school Principal put great store in her roses.You were not to be seen even trying to smell one.It was a great temptation:
When the orange roses blossomed,
When the pink ones budded
And when the wind blew off petals off the red roses,
To color the green carpet grass.
My young cousin Munyeki loves to arrange flowers.Sometimes he’ll create something so beautiful you’ll be itching to take a pic{and send it to success card makers}
I visited him some few weeks ago and he and his buddies brought me,say,three dozen rose blooms..White and red.Man!I wished they were older,and not relatives.
I slept late,that day,pressing the petals.
Now the red petals are crisp and a darker shade of red.
The whites?
What whites?
All I have is brown petals with a rose scent.

Ech ya Abiria.

Juzi nilikuwa naenda mtaani,na nilipanda basi la 2M,58.Kulikuwa na joto sana,ile joto ya kutabiri mvua.Mama mmoja akaingia kukaa karibu na mimi,upande wa dirisha.Akawa ajipepetapepeta kwa kijikaratasi huku ameliinua shati lake kidogo kifuaniNikamuuliza mbona asifungue dirisha-akajariiiibu,ikakwamwa.Alikuwa hana starehe hata.
Nikamhurumia nikamwambia wacha basi tufungue hiyo iko mbele kidogo.Nafikiri alishindwa mbona huyu naye kanishugulikia hivi.Mara ndiye huyu yuanza kucheka.Nikamuuliza-wafurahia nini,niambie nami nicheke pia-
Akasema-shukuru Mungu wewe bado kijana.Si ati kuna joto jingi vile,ni ech{age}.
Ukifika umri kama wangu hata wakati wa baridi jasho latiririka kama maji.Mtu hujiskia kama waweza tembea uchi.Unaona?!-Akaendelea huku acheka na jujipangusa jasho shingoni akitumia kitambaa kikubwa.
-Hii joto yaweza kukufanya ukafungilia taulo shingoni-Akasema.
Nilijihisi kuangua kicheko.Lakini nilijikaza na kutabasamu kistaarabu.