THE BIRTHPLACE

Send Gabriel to me, send him Lord,

Let him say t o me, “greetings, oh thou highly favored”’

Let this greeting, leave me troubled,

Let him then say to me, “be not afraid”,

Let me give birth to a kin of David.

No, let me be José,

Joseph, of course.

Fall in love with pregnant lass,

Taking her to the city with my ass,

To the inn.

Or rather, let me be the inn,

That has no room for him.

Wait! Mmmmh,

Let me be the manger,

For so long I have been in danger,

In danger of being thrown away,

As the hay, on my sides perfectly lay,

The birthplace of a king,

Who was, is, and is to be,

Born in me.

Befado

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PRESSURES OF CHRISTMAS

Well, well, well, Christmas is here. Yeah!! Pop the champagne, throw a party, cook dinner, visit places, have fun…but wait! Christmas is not the end of life. How now?

Just the other day, I was headed home with a friend and on the way home, we decided to stop by the streets of Nairobi to do some “mitumba” (second hand or "imports" as my friends and I like to call them) clothe shopping. We went ready, along the streets of Ngara. Shop we did, along with hundreds of other young Kenyans who frequent the area. We stopped at one stall (I don’t exactly know what they are called, you know, the wayside sales, I assume they are stalls with invisible walls).

After stopping for three minutes to admire some “button” earrings, I started feeling dizzy. My eyes became watery and I inhaled a stingy choking gas. I panicked. Rape and drugging came first to my mind. I turned to my friend and asked her if she was experiencing the same. She was worse. She had taken out her handkerchief thinking that her cold had suddenly become severe. We literally disappeared from the said “stall”.

This got me thinking, to what extents are people willing to go to earn an income this festive season? How many people are under pressure to buy that chicken (I have many Luhya friends), or that present, or throw that party and worst of all, host uninvited in-laws (and other relatives) with unrealistic expectations…

During this period, most of us are under pressure and where this pressure came from, I know not. When we were young, Christmas was special since it was just a community affair, no pressure to buy gifts, as long as the annual chapatti and kuku (Chicken) was present (and juicy cola for drinks). So whatever happens, I never feel under pressure to buy wrong and expensive gifts, just share the joy and laughter with family and friends….

Back to the shopping, I told my brother about it and he said that it must have been tear gas. Well, I’m not convinced, I believe someone was trying to drug us and steal from us to get off the pressures of Christmas.

Don’t give in to the pressures of the festivities. Remember, it’s your life. 

MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY NEW YEAR from the author's desk

twitter: @deekareithi

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KEEP LEFT

Christmas is finally here, and this reminds me of one strange experience I had with my Family. I am sure they can all attest to this: see, we were overjoyed since this long awaited trip to Tanzania had come. We had visited almost all sites in Kenya, and now it was time for Tanzania. We started traveled by road to Tanzania at night and stayed at Arusha. On the second day, we decided to visit Tanga, one of the towns in Tanzania with several historical sites and national parks. We had not bought a map and we depended on our phones for the GPS signals (yes, smart phones existed then, thank God). 

We were headed to a destination we did not know. We started asking for directions from the police, at gas stations, and from fellow road users. Wrong decision. Since Swahili is Tanzania’s National language, we had a problem understanding them because well, you see, in Kenya we speak “broken” Swahili.

We asked one lady in particular to guide us and help us know where Kilimanjaro National Park is. She got into our car and we started the journey, excited that we had finally found help. My father is not a fast driver so the lady kept on saying “kaza mwendo ama tutachelewa” (drive faster lest we get late). I kept asking myself why she kept on telling us to drive faster and we wanted to see sites on the way...tsk!

The first warning sign, which we did not notice, was when she asked us to drive into a street that had a “NO ENTRY” sign. Blindly, we drove in. we were surprised see police on motorcycles following us. We did not know why till they told us that they would arrest us for breaking the law. The lady, lucky for us, talked to him and explained that she had led us there.

Then she intended to ask us to turn after a roundabout and she said, “ukipita keep lefti, wewe vunja mkono na ukeep lefti” (when you passed the roundabout, join the road on your left.) by then, none of us knew what she was saying so we passed the junction to the National park. She kept mum.

After traveling for two hours with her constant “kaza mwendo”, we decided to ask her how far it was since it was getting late and we had to go back to our hotel at Arusha. That was when she broke our spirits.

“kutoka hapa si mbali, mtapanda juu ya huu mlima, hapo mtaweza kusaidiwa zaidi. Mimi nashuka hapa. Nimefika nyumbani.” (It’s not far from here, just go up the hill and you will get help there. I have arrived at home, so I will leave you to proceed).

Oh the anger that filled us!! How dare she use us to get her a lift home? And from what we learnt on our way back, the junction the we had passed was the right way to go! We felt wasted, but we had learnt a valuable lesson. We pledged to trust our phones only or buy a map. 

I certainly hope this will never happen again...or do I? I hope it does, it was great!! I wonder what will happen this Christmas!!

Twitter:@deekareithi

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TABU ZANGU

Lately I have been thinking, a lot. Thinking about the “After Life”. Well this is an area that most people would tell me not think about. Even the so called optimist strongly advocate against this. Who said that thinking about after death is thinking negative? I think of it as hoping for the best but preparing for the worst.

What triggered these thoughts? You may ask. No, it’s not the passing on of a loved one or a preaching, but a song. The song “Tabu Zangu” by one Rose Muhando and Anastasia. Hence this entry is named after the song. It is a song that has become my morning and evening dose. The song, for those who have listened to it, talks about what we, (I included) hope will happen when we pass on. This song encourages me in the walk in salvation which am sure most of you agree, is not a walk in the park. In fact it’s a walk in an erupting volcano...like you can't touch the walls coz you will get your fingers burnt and all.

So before that day comes, I have so many things I would like to do. So many dreams, some written down some still in soft copy in my mind, but the bottom line is, I would like to do most, if not all of them. I don’t want to run out of time. So every day for the past one month, I have been doing something different. I have been doing something for the first time, something I have never done. Ranging from greeting people I have never greeted,  visiting people I have never visited, calling people I have never watched and well, watching a movie/series I have never watched (yes, that too). And I would like to challenge you to try it too.

So, someone may ask, at the end of it all, the “after life” will still come. So why do all that? Truth is, I know that day will come. And when that day comes, expected or not, I will have enjoyed my life. The most important thing I am however working on is my spiritual life. That song helps me to “Keep on Keeping on”. Knowing at the end of it all, not only is it for God, but it is also for me. And I will live to my fullest for both.

By the way, no matter which century I will pass on in, please remind them to play that song in my funeral and burial.

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A MOTHER’S JOY

A few months ago, I held a new born baby. A tiny, sweet, handsome man that belonged to one of my friends. His tiny fingers tightly gripping my finger, his sharp nails (by the way, the nails of the tiny ones are usually very sharp) softly pricking my neck as I held him to rest on my shoulder. I smiled. A true and genuine smile, from deep within. It was a breath-taking moment for me. As I held the young one, I swiftly shifted to my fantasies.

I get invited to many baby showers and my joy is not even in the food (though I don’t mind) or the socialization, but in seeing and holding someone that has been delivered to this earth for the very first time and well, say “welcome to the world baby”. Also, I delight in watching (and learning from them), the mothers protectively hold and hug their own…mmmmh mmmmh mmmmh.

As I watched mother and son bond, I was really touched. I shed a tear, no two. I mean, there can never be enough words to express the sweet relationship and bond between a mother and a child. I was taken aback by this. No matter what circumstances the child came through, a mother will always find joy in her child or children.

The mum lay the young babe on her chest and the young one just slept there, on her, his head resting on the place where her heart is and just slept soundly…(yeah, its soothing). However, I am not saying that the fathers don’t bond with their young ones, but that of a mother is much more deep, much more…..more intense, profound. And to those who felt or still feel that their mothers do not love them, well they do a lot

As I think about it all, I can’t wait for my own young one to come (actually I can wait till then). He/she will be greatly loved! I will jealously love him/her and others will also be jealous. I just envision it and can already feel a mother’s joy in my heart.

A mother’s joy IS in their child.

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THE FALLEN

Boom! Thump!

A mother is rushing,

The walls are crushing,

Wails all around.

The victims we surround,

The screams, cries are loud,

The father, mother, sister, brother,

Victims of another’s blunder

As we stare and ponder,

Why kill your brother?

Where is the love?

Where is the love?

For the victims of Eastileigh

For the victims of Bargoi

This is Kenya,

Let's live together,

Loving each other.

For the sake of the fallen.

Befado

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SORRY by LORRAINE PHIKELILLAH

Being sorry can be very hard when we're overwhelmed with pride,
But sometimes our pride must take a fall before we lose out,
And when we have to say sorry we should mean it from our soul, A meaningless sorry is like a broken promise to the heart.

 And it only hurts more in the end, bringing bitter resentment,
And leading to the loss of a love that should be eternal,
Bringing us back down to earth from the fairytale world of our mind,
With a pain that is maddening, physical and sometimes critical.

My heart is weeping tears of blood for the pain that I've caused you,
And it's crying out my apologies to your mind,
Pleading for your forgiveness for my unfortunate outbursts,
I never meant, in a million years, to be so unkind.

I have made mistakes in the past but never as serious as this,
And I know I will only have myself to blame ,
And that scares me more than I've ever been scared in my life,
For you're my true motivation, the only real thing in which I believe.

And all that's left for me to do is say sorry in a sincere way,
With an apology that comes from deep inside my soul,
It's all I have left to offer for your love and your loyalty,
It's just a pity that my own loyalty, I couldn't hold.

So please take time to think about what I've said, as it comes from the heart,
Take time and try to forgive me my failure to deliver,
................................................................."s"

© Lorraine Phikellilah. All rights reserved

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THE EAGLE

I see him,

Stout legs, strong feet

Sharp talons, hooked bill.

I feel him,

Large, broad, strong wings,

Sharp, piercing eyes.

He spots me from a great distance,

I cover my chicks in an instance,

His eagle eyes on my young ones,

Ready to swoop low, in an second or so

Ready to rip the flesh from their tiny twisted bones.

He thinks I can’t see him,

But I do.

He thinks I can’t fight him

But I will.

He thinks he can steal my nestling,

But he won’t.

I will fight, protect, and support my pullet

From the assault of an eagle,

Any eagle, the eagle.

Befado

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WHEN I DIE.

 When I die, I shall live

I shall have a new body

No more bloody.

I shall rest,

No longer live in haste.

I shall fall prostrate,

Worship and praise him, Elohim.

I shall substantiate my faith,

In the waters I shall bathe.

I shall be washed up,

I shall be clothed way up.

No more ailing but well,

I shall drink from the well.

It shall be enough, no more cough.

I can’t wait, for that date,

When I die,

Coz when I die, I shall live.

 Befado

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SLOW DANCE

I came across this and it really made me think. the author is unknown.

Have you ever watched kids on a merry-go-round?
Or listened to the rain slapping on the ground?
Ever followed a butterfly's erratic flight?
Or gazed at the sun into the fading night?
You better slow down.

Don't dance so fast. Time is short. The music won't last.

 

Do you run through each day on the fly?

When you ask how are you, do you hear the reply?
When the day is done, do you lie in your bed
with the next hundred chores, running through your head?
You'd better slow down.

Don't dance so fast. Time is short. The music won't last.

Ever told your child, we'll do it tomorrow?
And in your haste, not see his sorrow?
Ever lost touch, let a good friendship die,
Cause you never had time, to call and say hi?
You'd better slow down.

Don't dance so fast. Time is short. The music won't last.

When you run so fast to get somewhere
you miss half the fun of getting there.
When you worry and hurry through your day,
it is like an unopened gift....thrown away.
Life is not a race. Do take it slower;
Hear the music,
before the song is over.

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POST ELECTION PARTY By Chris Mukasa

Forgive me not only for over-promising and under delivering but also for doing it intentionally.
Forgive me for abandoning the innocent childhood attitude of: I don’t know your second name and it doesn’t matter, you are still my B.F.F. and we can still hang out together...

Forgive me for not reading the manifesto of the aspirant I voted for, then playing the b

lame game, in spite of the fact that I’m the leader who leads my leaders into leadership.
Forgive me for forwarding an S.M.S. which was taken seriously by someone else who didn’t just buy a panga but also used it.

Forgive me for being behind the disappearance of panga’s from hardware’s in Nakuru just before elections.
Forgive me for taking advantage of you coz of your ignorant attitude which made you easy prey.
Forgive me for raping you in front of your husband and children then forcing you to watch as i killed them...

Forgive the policeman who raped you in turn after you reported the previous ordeal. scenic
Forgive the father whose family was killed while he was out throwing stones.
Forgive me for killing your love life by stopping you to intermarrying with a person from the ‘wrong tribe’.
Forgive the young lady who now raves each weekend but won’t wake up one day in five years to vote.

Forgive me for giving a bribe to escape arrest for taking a bribe.
Forgive me for not voting during the last elections because it was unsafe out there.
Forgive me for misusing young people by paying them and using them to perpetrate violence.
I ask you to forgive me, for all this also happened to me, and only after I forgave did life come back to me.
Let’s wake up, walk out and start building capacity, it starts with you then flows down to the community.

Change rarely begins with ‘us’; it begins with either you or me, If I say ‘A’ and my wife says ‘B’, it doesn't mean she isn't submitting. Who generates info? Let it be you and me! That way it will be factual, credible and timely, well packaged and presented accurately; Messages that raise more solutions than questions. Let’s ask, question, interrogate and research. Early warnings mean early responses.

Forgiveness may not entirely cover the cost of reconstructing broken families, but it erases the lines drawn between communities. Conflict isn’t war, but if we must fight lets fight for peace. I choose to forgive and possess peace for I am the ambassador. Let’s ensure that ‘nipo natambulika’ becomes real and not just another cliché.
Today I’m the one biting the dog, because this time round we are having a POST ELECTION PARTY!

rights reserved to Chris Mukasa

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BUTTERFLY

As larvae, you couldn’t

Couldn’t look at me,

I was disgust, repugnance,

A reason to squirm your face

A reason to slow your pace, and scream

An abomination to your neonate

Revulsion to you,

I cared not.

In my cocoon,

You had no clue I existed,

I spinned my anchor, endlessly working within

Endless days, nights, working to find myself a place

A place in a strange world,

Unstable, unsafe for me, yet I spinned.

After all the spinning,

I felt at home, in my cocoon, my home

But you cut down my leaf and still,

I cared not.

Now I am fully grown, crawled out of my cocoon,

Ready to fly, to feed, to live.

You had to catch me.

With my colorful wings,

A product of sleepless nights,

You dare see me now, you capture me,

Closing me in your palms, your jars

You incarcerate me.

Now I care.

Now I care so much that

I want to break free,

I want to fly.

I have wings.

Let me use them,

Let me fly,

No longer a larva, no longer in my cocoon,

I am a butterfly,

Let me fly.

Befado

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CONFUSED

Hungry for something you can't have
Ignoring the tell-tale cries of the wind.
Heart beating at maddening pace
searching for already there answers.
Confused

No one can feel what you are
Inside of that paralyzed smile.
Each step leads you deeper in
To see the cracks cannot be filled.
Confused



You sink up,
You fly down
The heart skips a beat,
Then it stays on one beat for hours,
You smile, You frown
You laugh, You cry
Confused





Why is this happening?
The brain crawls out of the head
The heart wants to break the rib-jail
The feet want to move,
The body won't
Confused

Befado

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I WILL BE THERE

When no one is there,

When no one remembers me,

I will be there.

When no one remembers my first step,

When no one remembers my first words,

When no one remembers,

I will be there.

When no one remembers my recital,

When no one remembers my first school day,

When no one remembers,

I will be there.

When no one remembers my first date,

When no one remembers my engagement,

When no one remembers my wedding day,

When no one remembers my anniversary,

I will be there.

When no one remembers my first birth,

When no one remembers my birthday,

When no one remembers the day I die,

I will be there.

I will be there for me,

I will be there when no one remembers.

For me, I will always be there

Befado

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WE ATE THE BIRDS by Margaret Atwood

We ate the birds. 

We ate them. 

We wanted their songs to flow up 

through our throats and burst out of our mouths, 

and so,

we ate them. 

We wanted their feathers 

to bud from our flesh. 

We wanted their wings, 

we wanted to fly as they did, 

soar freely 

among the treetops and the clouds, 

nd so we ate them. 

We speared them, 

we clubbed them, 

we tangled their feet in glue,

we netted them, 

we spitted them, 

we threw them onto hot coals, 

and all for love, 

because we loved them. 

We wanted to be one with them. 

We wanted to hatch out of clean, 

smooth, beautiful eggs, 

as they did, back when we 

were young and agile and innocent 

of cause and effect, 

we did not want the mess of being born,

and so we crammed the birds 

into our gullets, 

feathers and all, 

but it was no use, 

we couldn’t sing, 

not effortlessly as they do, 

we can’t fly, 

not without smoke and metal, 

and as for the eggs we don’t stand a chance. 

We’re mired in gravity, 

we’re earthbound. 

We’re ankle-deep in blood,

and all because we ate the birds,

we ate them a long time ago, 

when we still had the power to say no.

Margaret Atwood

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FUNNY COMPOSITION

I just had to repost this one. it is soooooo funny, I Laugh Out Loud each time I read it:

I was asleep. The jogoo shouted three times, I opened one eye and left the other to sleep abit. I was wishing I had slept with my uniforms putted on, but I realised if wishes were chickens beggars would been layin eggs. I woke up with only one eye open n and I was looking where the karai was put I wash my face. I found some cotton which I used to burn the jiko and cook a chai without milk called sturungi. I drank the sturungi haphazardy and hurriendily with a big piece of kiugali which had remained at night. I put on my uniforms and then I painted myself with fat and because there was no kiwi I had to paint my shoes with fat to.

I took a paperbag put books and biros then ran my everything, I beated the first corner hardly then as I was beatin the second corner I heard the school bell cry ncgririr nkngrirriririri nckgrrrirrrrr!!! I knew nimelate. When I reached the gate!! You dont want to know!! Mr Mogaka was standin at the gate with a big black nyahunyo. I was so afraid that I almost urinated. I was asked why are you late? I said makaa was poured with water at night teacher asked what has that to do with you coming to school late I told him the jiko was late to burn so it delayed cookin strong tea he said that is no excuse!!

Touch your toes!! I started to remove my shoes so I can touch the toes but he told me I just meant bend, he gave me the first nyahunyo on my buttocks,,hehe it was as hot as a boiling water, I dried that one, he gave me the second one pap!! This one was much hotter n started hearing to cry, when the third one was given to me I heard so much pain that I touched my buttocks, the teacher said you have erased that one!! 

I will have to give you another one!! When I was given the fourth nyahunyo, tears started getting out of my eyes uncontrollably,, the teacher said, you removing tears for who!! I dont want to see even a smell of tear, ran to class and dont late tomorrow. My buttocks as I went to class were hearing as if sitting in a burning jiko.. I dried the tears because my classmate would laugh at me for crying. When I entered class I walked slowly to my desk and when I tried to sit it was so pain I could not seet. So I seeted on air above my chair holding my desk. From that day I sweya I will never come to school late again even if the makaa was poured on water!!!.

Examiners comments:

This school should be turned into a tourist attraction. This is a classic case of a comedian in the making. I will refer this student to the African Centre for Talented Individuals next to K1. No marks can be awarded as this will negate the whole idea of nurturing county talent.

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MUSIC FESTIVALS: YOUNG TALENT

Well, if there is any event that I look forward to (other than classical concerts) is the annual music festival. I used to participate in Music Festivals since primary school, all the way through high school. So hooked was I that in my fourth year in high school (I hope my parents never see this) I missed my Kiswahili Mocks paper since I was attending the provincial music festivals. Not that this time I was participating, I accompanied a friend. Since I came to my senses, I have never missed any national finals, except this year.

Well I got the chance to watch the state house music festivals concert, which was aired live by the national channel a.k.a KBC. I saw talent, young and rich talent that soothes the soul and settles my musical restless soul. All those who made it for the finals were all great, but I must mention a few that caught my eye … (or is it ear).

Dances.

Among the colleges that made it was the Friends teachers college Kaimosi with their Dance…my oh my…their iskuti moves made me stand up and try to dance…I say try because I could not match up to what they were doing...their shoulders…wow!

High schools. The Kibirichia Boys High school. These ones got my attention the moment they walked in…with their well built masculine bodies… (Yes mwenye macho haambiwi tazama)... and their short lessos...well I never knew boys look so lovely with short lessos...and their meru dance had creative moves.

 Choral verses.

I must say this section has grown most since I started attending music festivals. Among those that made me excited was Mumbi Girl’s “Evan animals Have Tears”. They got everyone bursting with laughter describing the wildlife situation in Kenya. Lagemo Primary’s “I Am What You Are” was a masterpiece; reminding us to be good role models, particularly the parents…they got baba laughing with the comparison of parent’s certificates and children’s performance in school.

Zilizopendwa

We all love this part; these songs take back our minds to the good old days. Chavakali Boys really had their moves going and it was reported that they got a standing ovation during the Festivals at Meru. Now I Know why. Precious Blood Riruta’s piece was amazing! Kudos to them. 

When the event was ending, during the last performance, I saw baba dozing… or was it “resting his eyes”…surely, the last piece was not that bad..! Now I await next year’s festivals.

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A SILENT PRAYER.

He called last night, drunk as usual. He said many nasty things. He blamed me for everything that is going wrong in his life. Blamed me for his drinking. Blamed me for the break-up he had with his last girlfriend. As if I even knew he was dating. Blamed me for making him want me but not have me. Drunk, he said nothing that made sense. Called me all sorts of names and pushed in “Honey” and “Sweetheart”. Shamelessly, he paused and said “I Love you”. Then he coughed from the drinks he had taken in the chilly night. I hope you choke and die, I almost say.

He says that we should talk things out; we should make up and be a couple again. He is my past, I tell him, and he had the chance to, but betrayed me, broke my heart and went for another girl. We dated for two years; it took me a whole year to get over him. When I finally move on and heal, he dares call me. How dare him, HOW DARE HIM! 

I am feeling depressed. I had just come from a prayer group that had turned to one-hour blame game, arguments. I am feeling crushed, the weight of the world in upon my shoulder, and then he dares call.

I take my phone and dial the first number that comes to my head, no answer. I try again, no answer. Where is my best friend? Now I feel so devastated, desperate to talk to someone. My friend texts, but by now, the devastation has turned to anger. Anger towards myself, for not being able to compose myself. Angry at myself for not being able to express myself. Angry at my ex for breaking my heart and ruining my night. Angry at my best friend for not picking my call.

I switch off my phone, switch off all my lines. I don’t want to talk to anyone anymore. Its 1 am. I slip under my covers and try to get some sleep. I wake up in the morning. Its 6.45am, am supposed to leave the house by 7. I take a quick cold shower; I dress up hastily, at 7.10 I leave the house. I get to the eating hall, confusion. People complaining endlessly. The cooks are on strike, there is no breakfast. Damn! I am already late for work.

I go away without breakfast. Who needs food anyway? As I walk to the bus station, it hits me. I did not talk to God.

As I walk, I say a silent prayer, a prayer so silent that I can barely hear it myself. Will God hear my silent prayer?

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TAME YOUR TONGUE

There was a song we always used to sing in Sunday school (those of us teaching Sunday school still do), “be careful little eyes what you see, be careful little eyes what you see, for the father up above, is looking down in love, oh be careful little eyes what you see”. Then we would sing to the ears, to the lips, to the hands…..

My emphasis today is on the tongue, lips, the constituents of the mouth. At times we use this feature of our body to break others, to kill their spirits and to make them feel worthless. We ought to be careful with what we say, not only about ourselves, but also to others.

The other day we were waiting for the bus that picks us up near one of the petrol station. Apparently, the petrol station got a new management team and the first thing they did is tell us (my fellow workmates and I) not to wait for the bus while seating on their seats. The others were furious and started saying all sort of things, I was tempted to also give the manager a piece of my mind, but I knowing that this would choma picha yetu, I just had to do the best; walk away and go far, far from where the others were, praying to God to give me strength to tame my tongue. Paul said:

“⁵Even so the tongue is a small part of the body, but it takes credit for great things. How much wood may be lighted by a very little fire! ⁶The tongue is a fire; it is the power of evil placed in our bodies, making all the body unclean, putting the wheel of life on fire, and getting its fire from hell...⁸But the tongue may not be controlled by man; it is an unresting evil, it is full of the poison of death.”(James 3:5-8)

Another day I sat in for vocal practice at a local church, one lady was apparently singing quite louder than the others, and the voice coach decides to shout to her, “you are too loud” and the rest of the group bursts with laughter! I felt sorry for her. The coach would have used his wisdom to let her lower her voice. The lady no longer comes for practice these days.

I could give so many other examples where we, me included, have killed people’s dreams and spirits with our words. You feel the urge to say something nasty to someone and you just say it, then when things go wrong you start saying how you did not mean what you said, you were joking. And you lose friends that way.

Such incidences are unavoidable, like when someone has told you a secret or something confidential and you just feel the urge to tell it to someone else, when you feel like telling someone how poor they are at something, e.t.c, we can avoid such.

It requires grace though, the Grace of God, so when you feel like killing someone’s spirit, just imagine if you were in their shoes, and then ask God to help you tame your tongue.

 “He who keeps watch over his mouth and his tongue keeps his soul from troubles.”(Proverbs 21:23)

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PRIORITIES

We were sitted with a group of friends in a hall waiting for dinner/supper .

“Ngai!! Siamini Samantha alifukuzwa!!” (Oh my God, I don’t believe Samantha was sent away!!) one girl exclaimed, standing up due to what I assumed was to prepare for the intensity of the discussion that was to begin.

“Imagine alifukuzwa, alienda jana!” (Imagine she was sent away, she left yesterday) another exclaimed.

“haikosi ni indiscipline!” (It must be indiscipline) came a comment from the back.

My God, I really felt sad for the so called Samantha. From what I had been hearing in the past few days, exams were around the corner. It must have been sad for this Samantha, being sent away from school (or so I thought), just a few days to exams, because of indiscipline?! Oh my!!

I decided to listen on. A heated discussion started:

“Nancy alikua na bahati alisaviwa” (Nancy was Lucky to be saved) another added her thoughts.

“I hate Ian, I’m sure he is the one who suggested that afukuzwe!!(sent away)” another said clearly angry.

I was in the audience of a group of university ladies, and this discussion was worrying. I decided to ask the one next to me what had Samantha done.

The answer I got really shocked me! Apparently, these Samantha and Nancy were participants in the Tusker Project Fame 5!! I could not help but laugh at myself!! But then you cannot blame me! With the exams around the corner, I didn’t expect a group of university students to waste time (yes waste time) following some television programs faithfully and forgetting the reason for being in school, BOOKS!!

I will not even start on soaps, soap operas that cause students to skive evening classes to watch or fail to read for cats or do assignments because if they miss, they will not be able to contribute should another “heated” discussion on the said episode start the following day.

We are students, and what should come first is books, these other things like programs we can get later in CD’s in streets for as little as 50 bob or borrow the episodes from our friends. My friends, students, lets get our priorities right.

When the discussion reached a “hot” climax, I heard one girl whisper to another, “By the way, si you will help me with you Company Law book, sijasomea cat ya kesho” (I have not read for tommorow’s cat).

And the other whispered back, “OH! Ata mimi sijasoma!” (no way! I have also not read)

I felt like saying “I told you so!” but I din’t, since I had not. Now I will get  reason to, if they read this.

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FOR SHE

This is for her,
For she.


Snatch way her toy,

You will be awake till morning,

She is sensitive.

Invest in her,

She will work so hard,

She is hard working.

Hurt her friends,

She will be there without a halt,

She is concerned.

Show her kindness and love,

You will experience her warmth,
She is loving.

Give her people in need,
She will reach out and touch their hearts,

She is compassionate.

 Get her husband sick,

She will not sleep,

She is caring.

Hurt her child,

You will experience her wrath,

She is protective.

She is she,

The greatest of God’s creation,
She is the baby girl,
The chiq,
The girlfriend,

The daughter,

The wife,
The mother,
The grandma,
The her,
The she.

Cheers to she!

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FOR HIS EGO

Someone once said that women were created to serve and submit and men to lead and to love. But I feel like tables are turning in this new age. The men are not being allowed to lead, or even love. Reason? Their egos get bruised day in day out. You see, we ladies at times do not allow men to be men. This feeling and need to be independent is slowly pushing men away…and bruising their ego so much that they cannot stand up for themselves. What we get are men who are not responsible, who cannot lead, cannot love since they feel worthless.

The scenario these days is, if a man comes to help a lady do something, they say they are ok, they can handle it… come on, at times give them a chance. When a man comes to show me something, I pretend I do not know anything, like I have never heard it before.This gives him the chance to brag about what he knows and can do. And what is the result? A man whose self esteem is lifted, is confident and most important, his ego is satisfied.

Don’t get me wrong, I am not saying you allow him to do anything for the sake of his ego or give him the audience to just talk about himself, which by the way I don’t tolerate: a man who 90% of the time you are with him all you hear is I this and I that. You would think I was the only alphabetical letter the nursery they attended was teaching. No, I would not recommend that.

Anyway, ladies, if a man’s ego is satisfied, it means that he feels a sense of admiration, he feels valued and he feels an important person in this world. (my friend who is a man told me so). And as a result, he will take up his responsibility and lead and love. What you get is a happy man who is ready to lead and to love, their roles.

So ladies, at times its good to sooth his ego, let him show  how fast he can change a bulb, a flat tire, roast some meat, fix anything, or solve a mathematical/statistical sum. Yes men, I said AT TIMES, not always. Once in a while, for the sake of his ego.

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THE FOREIGNER EXPERIENCE.

Most of us find living with foreigners, nationals of other countries, well hard. I came to experience that first hand. Not that I have a problem with them, but from how I  have grown, with Kenyans around me, it becomes hard, especially in the communication sector.

I am currently on attachment and where I stay, a Tanzanian happens to be my neighbor. It is not the Tanzanian I have a problem with, its me. You see, the first time she came, she said “Jambo” and I was left thinking, who uses Swahili Sanifu these days? Little did I know that I would be digging up my archives to look for basic Swahili words for things I easily say in Shenglish (sheng + English).

So on the first day, I wanted to let her know that supper/dinner is being served. All I came up with was “Wanapatiana chakula” which  could easily be misintepreted for calling the other person a beggar. I felt so ashamed.

 Then came the names, never before had I gotten used to be called by the Swahili version of my name but I have to get used to being called “Dorkasi”. (sigh).

Then came the other day when I was away for the weekend and when I came back she said “Jameni Dorkasi, nimekukosa”. From what I learnt, “Kukosa” means missing someone (sigh).

Sunday was the worst of my Swahili vocab days. When she asked me to let her know where I attend my services and the order of services, my mind went blank as I searched my brain library for the Swahili word for “service”. After a long search, I just said “Savisi ya kwanza (1^st service)….Savisi ya pili(2^nd service)…” and once again, I felt totally ashamed.

And to think that Swahili is our official national language, I felt like taking a course on the language. Now I can’t help but remember a statement bu one of my friends on this matter. He said, “Wakenya inatufaa sote tuishi Mombasa ili tujue Kiswahili, kwani wakati East Afrika itashikanishwa, tutawezaje kufanya biashara na watanzania?”. What he was saying was as Kenyans and Kiswahili being our  official national language, when East Africa will be merged and  the same Kiswahili is made a regional language, we will not be able to do business. How well do you know your national Language?

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UNFORGIVABLE

It wasn’t a stranger, but a friend.

A cup of coffee, just a cup

A dance, one dance, and I waved goodbye.

This man friend of mine,

He smiled nice, stayed employed, taking me out for coffee.

With a simple welcome to my house,

I made a nice meal,

But my kindness, mistaken for hints;

And my friend, my friend, turned foe.

Driven by lust, locked the door behind me,

And I was left with scars!

I had been betrayed! By one who knew me!

A friend!

Someone I called friend, turned beast!

Betrayed, heartbroken, wasted, dirty,

I could not let this happen to only me!

 I too became an animal, man to man, beast to beast.

My trust had been breached!

I needed revenge, and revenge I did! To all men who my path crossed.

My fellow women, judging me,

They don’t know me! They don’t know why! Yet they judge!

They called me bitch, a female dog!

They called me a slut, as if my legs could not shut!

They called me a hooker, and other ugly names.

But all I wanted was to be unforgettable,

A memory, a wound to every man.

A wrath, madness, to other women.

Each morning I woke up, a joker by my side.

Oh I glittered in the wind; desired by my fellow animals.

At 3.00am I rose, removing the arms and legs that trapped me,

I made myself a bath, flavored gels, assorted oils, perfumed water, to wash away his smell;

To become me again: Clean, head high, sweet scent,

Walking down the streets,

Knowing I was still dirty,

Knowing the many nights, I had cried myself to sleep;

I hated me! I hated me.

I wanted to jump, jump out of me, to leave me alone, to be gone, gone with the wind, never to return.

I fell into a numbness.

The only tree I could see, took me by its branches, and held me up to the breeze,

And once again I got life,

I found peace, in the clean fresh breeze.

There I found her; I found God in her; I loved her.

I found me; I found God in me; I loved me.

Stench made scent, dirty made clean,

The unforgivable was forgiven, forgiven and forgotten.

I forgave him, I forgave me.

Befado.

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RED

A red rose,

The rose of love,

The rose for funerals,

Today I held a red rose,

In my arms.

Was it a rose of love,

Or of the love dead in me?

The funeral of my heart.

A red dress,

An expression of love,

An expression of pain.

Today I wore a red dress,

Over my body.

Was it an expression of love,

Or of pain?

The pain in my heart.

Red wine,

The wine of love,

The wine of distress.

Today I sipped red wine.

Was the occasion love,

Or was it distress?

Of what I feel inside.

Red colour,

The color of love,

The color of pain.

I see red all around,

Lost amidst the love,

And the pain.

Should I love,

Or feel the pain?

Red.

Befado.

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