AT WAR

source: www.psywar.org

 

We are at war;

All of us.

Soldiers, warriors, victims, citizens.

With blood on knives, arrows, blades, blood on our minds.

Trapped in the cages we call minds,

Bound by chains of false promises.

We slave,

We hope, we wait.

As Buildings go up in smoke.

We hear guns and bombs…followed by silence and sobs.

We fight as they steal our freedom,

Sinking us deep in the sea of blood and tears,

“our bloody enemies are so close, they are in our ears”.

We are at war.

Black trenches...black coats,

Black as their souls;

Black as the skin on their bodies;

Black as the burning blood they spill;

Black as the hands that carry the weapons;

Black as the people they kill.

We knew,  we knew all along

Yet we shut our ears.

The cry of the orphan; we ignored.

The widow, the widower; we created.

The soldier, the child; we killed.

Dreams haunted by the oppression of war.

Violent men welcomed with pomp and glamour,

Celebrated.

Peaceful men, who wore compassion as their amour,

Disregarded.

We were at war.

Befado

Source: www.digitaljournal.com

Read More

THEY HAVE NAMES #GarissaAttackVictims

I had vowed not to write anything about this, not to view any pictures, not to talk about it at all; but last night hell broke loose. The walls and chains in my heart, mind and eyes could not hold it anymore…and I broke down inside.

Last evening I attended the vigil held in honor of the #GarissaAttack victims in Kenya. A friend and I had a matchbox. We went lighting up any candles that had burned out or had been blown off by the wind. There were 147 crosses in the area where the vigil was held. A freaking a hundred and forty seven. Count from 1 to 147; then you will realize how heavy that was. Imagine those crosses were on top of graves…graves of innocent lives lost. Graves of victims of circumstances, graves of young people who knew they would live to see the long Easter holiday. Hell, maybe they had already made plans, or called home to say they would be going home for the holidays. Students taken to Garissa University College (a constituent of Moi University) with hope that after completing their studies, they would help their families and siblings. Some of them were the only children born to their families, and like one case I know of, the mother could no longer give birth. 

These were students taken there by JAB (Joints Admission Board), and because they wanted to acquire education, they said yes. Packed up their bags and went. Then one morning, at 5am, some in their sleep, some in class studying, some burning that midnight oil, some saying their morning prayers; the grim reaper visited. He did not even knock, to let them know he was on his way so that they say one last prayer or say goodbye. He just came. He didn’t even wear a mask. He came in a name that people are calling “Al-shabab”. He came with guns, sprayed bullets on people who knew not why their lives were being taken, why they were paying with their lives.

As we sat in a circle last evening, as we were lighting those candles, as I walked across and along those crosses, lighting a candle for every cross that had no candle; I couldn’t help but think. As the embers of those candles went up…I could hear the screams…a hundred and forty seven screams, all at the same time. And for each scream, more cries from friends and relatives, all going up at the same time. My heart wept.

 My spirit broke down.

It could have been you or me. It could have been your work place, that supermarket you love shopping at, that bank that keeps your money. That matatu you love boarding, your car, your neighborhood. I watched a group of three ladies and three young men weep continuously at a cross, holding each other's shoulder, trying to comfort each other...for more than 20 minutes. I can never erase that image from my mind. Pain that tears cannot take away, but we can only cry, we can only donate, we can only do so much. I don’t want to imagine the pain of that parent who has to identify the dismantled boy of their son or daughter at Chiromo mortuary. It is just too much.

What pains me most is that the #WestgateAttack got the government and “high people in high places” more involved than this one. Could it be because this time round none of their “breed” was affected as I said here? I will not go there.

My heart goes out to the souls lost. May they Rest in Eternal Peace…all 147 of them. May god grant their families peace and comfort that we cannot give. They are not just a statistic, they have names.They were someone’s child. THEY HAVE NAMES.  Here are some of their names:

List of students who died in the  #GarissaUniversityAttack #147notjustanumber  (Source: Nation FM)

 
1. Jessica Cherono
2. Mlindiro Peter Magio
3. Prisca Auma Wayodi
4. Dorcas Kagusina Julius
5. Alex MueriMuchiro
6. Kevin Ouma Odongo
7. Selpha Wanda
8. Samuel Mutiso Musau
9. Mildred Nyendo Wakholi
10. Franciscah Ndungwa Joseph
11. Duncan Mwitu Baini
12. Abel Muthwana Watola
13. Virginia Simiyu
14. Peter Masinde
15. Gideon Kipkurui
16. Faith Kendi Gituma
17. Marion Musenya
18. Isaac Bushen Kosgei
19. Jeff Macharia
20. Stephen Mutua
21. Joy Chepkorir Kibor
22. Onyinkwa Susan Kwamboka
23. Emily Namaemba
24. Priscilla Kathure
25. Ivy Beatrice Wanjiku Kihia
26. Miriam Hawa
27. Veronica Felix
28. Jane Nyambura Mogera
29. Judith Chepkemoi
30. Everlyne Lodengo
31. Caroline Njoki
32. Aquila Mulekye Mulei
33. Gideon Bryson
34. Elidah Obiero Atieno
35. Purity Kawira Kaunyangi
36. Ruth Nakhanu
37. Caroline Mukami Ndumia
38. Syrus Sila Mutuko
39. Lucy Nyambura
40. Victor Mbogo
41. Jackson Kipketer
42. Beatrice Njeri Thinka
43. Ebby Alice Omari
44. Joyce Wakiuru Waweru
45. Annetter Miller
46. Oliver Maina
47. Peter Odhiambo Omondi
48. Duncan Mwendwa Kalekye
49. Joash Obare Mosiria
50. Newton Karani
51. Beth Njambi Gakenya
52. Aggrey Momanyi
53. James Ochonde
54. Faith Chepchirchir Komen
55. Ann Ongwae
56. Lucy Waithira Irungu
57. Jacinta Njeri Mwangi
58. Caroline Koech
59. Harriet Chemoita Andole
60. Alice Mbete Mulu
61. Angela Nyokabi Githakwa
62. Bilha Njeri Gitau
63. Philemon Thakaramoi Madaa
64. Philomena Kasyoka Munyoki
65. Caroline Mukami Ndumia
66. Catherine Mbithe Mutuku
67. Branton Wakhungu Anyanza
68. Amos Wanyonyi Mwangangi
69. Emma Mutahi
70. Mumo Kilonzo
71. Dennis Ouma Onyango
72. Mary Wanjiru Muchiri
73. Keneddy Ouma Echesa
74. Agnes Mwende Muthama
75. Alice Anyango Oduor
76. Stella Wamalwa Nyongesa
77. Monica Ngwasi
78. Susan Akinyi Othwila
79. Caroline Karimi
80. Mildred Chitechi
81. Edina Muthoni Michael
82. Joly Kananya
83. Thomas Nyaiburi
84. Moses Njuguna
85. Clinton Nyang’au Keffa
86. Salome Wambui Kinuthia
87. Jane Kanorio
88. Faith Kinyala
89. Dianna Musambi
90. Hanna Nduta
91. Laban Kumba Kangeni
92. Joseph Ngacha Nderitu
93. Romana Sambu Chelagat
94. Christopher Nyakundi
95. Odhiambo Okoth Christopher
96. Fredrick Okoth Odhiambo
97. Eric Ondari Nyabuto
98. Tony Opiyo Ochieng
99. Eliud Wafula Musambai
100. Elizabeth Musinai Namarome
101. Carolyne Njoki Gathito
102. Kevin Langat
103. Samuel Michere Gakuru
104. Jacob Makokha
105. Tobias Simiyu
106. Lydia Akoth Obondi
107. Isaia Chebukto
108. Milton Namai Mukhwana
109. Adhola Ochiel
110. Sheila Cherop
111. Doreen Gakii
112. Susan Nduta Wangare

Read More

WE ARE ONE

Ever reached a state in life where you cry and laugh at the same time? Tears of joy are on your cheeks but the pain in your heart is just so much? As I write this I’m an emotional wreck…wreck because I am torn between patriotism and something else. (Forgive me Lord, for I don’t know what I am doing).

 A few days ago, Westage was all we Kenyans could speak about. Some terrorists (suspected or otherwise) came and for a few days, our lives (excluding mine) were at a standstill. Then a great inventor, who I know not, added a new phrase to our list of national phrases. We all know about the “We Are One” concept, or is it the newly acquired synonym to patriotism. Well, I was recently involved in a heated discussion (more of a debate) about this new concept.

I remember so well those four days when our dear ones were held hostage, woooooooh Kenyans became really patriotic. From the social to the antisocial (yeah, I call it as it is; antisocial is the face-book, sister twitter and cousin whats-app) media, Kenyans really poured their hearts out. Wait! Before you judge me, I was also in the group. Oh how we changed or names on (anti) social media, how we changed our profile pictures and cover pages. You should have seen the number of text messages I received from “concerned patriots” asking me to say a prayer for those affected. And pray I did.

Oh, did you see how even network providers provided accounts for people to send money free of charge, and even some public service vehicles ferried people for free, how Kenyans gave blood donations that all blood banks are now full; wow. My favorite was seeing members of parliament, senate (name them all) came out from their hide-outs to give blood, contribute money and (annoyingly) visit west gate to “assess” the damage. I commend us Kenyans. Anyone who did not do any of the above listed was viewed as un-patriotic and inhumane.

 

Then it hit me. What happened during the Eastleigh bombing, the Baragoi massacre, the Sachangwan fire, slum fires, when hundreds of people die in attacks, were we “two” then? Didn’t such things also happen to our loved ones? The cases were different, you may argue out. Could it be that “We are One” only when “bad” things happen to the rich? Who was there to donate cash and blood when these other disasters happened, were we not one even then? 

Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against Kenyans or the rich. I am just saying that our oneness should cut across social classes.

So, till the next tragedy that affects the crème de crème of our nation, “We Are One”; or are we?

Read More

MASHUJAA DAY TRIBUTE

Happy Mashujaa Day!! Well we all know today is Mashujaa day (in Kenya that is). Allow me to shed some light on this for those of us not in Kenya or Kenyans. Mashujaa day is the 20^th of October, a day that Kenya takes time to celebrate the heroes who fought for the independence of our nation. Mashujaa is a Swahili word that means hero. It was previously known by the name “Kenyatta Day”, named after the founding father of our dear nation Kenya. Mashujaa day is the day we celebrate not only the heroes who fought indefatigably for the independence of our nation, but also the heroes in our lives.

Having said that, this is a special tribute to a hero in my life (what? Wipe that smirk off you face, I have the freedom to! If you didn’t write your hero a post; well, it’s your loss!). Born a few years before me, he is the one man I have looked up to all my life. As a toddler, I watched him play with other children with envy. I mean, before I could walk, he would leave me in the house in the morning and occasionally come back to eat with some sweat on his fore head. He made me want to go out and play so much that my parents claim that I started walking and talking so early, thanks to him. I can also boast that the few soccer skills I know, he taught me. Yes, he taught me to play with my left foot, which we all know not many people can do, which helped me play for the teams I have played for, as a left wing striker. (Yeah, I’m bragging now).  He trained me those days when I used to do track events in primary school. He is still an athlete, in a way, and plays soccer for a local team.

 Ever since I can remember, he got prizes every prize giving ceremony for his hard work and sharp brain. I remember in primary school, they would award pupils who did excellently with chocolates after each exam; and guess who would have more than twenty bars, and guess who he would give half of them to? (If you answered “you”, as in, me; you are right!!). Watching him being awarded at every prize giving, from primary school to high school inspired me to work really hard to (if not for the goodies) make it in life. This, he carries on till today in university. He is the only man I know who has been scoring high academically since nursery school. (And he doesn’t study that much; darn!!) He inspires me do my best when it comes to books.

He is the first person who introduced me to poetry, art and music (he does not know this). Being a poet, artist (sketch artist and painter) and designer, he keeps encouraging me to explore art and occasionally asks me to accompany him to various art, music and poetry events (whoop whoop).  He speaks and writes English so good that even I at times cannot understand; I have to constantly consult my dictionary (those who know him can bear me witness) if asked, I would say Patrick Lumumba tries to impersonate him. 

He has always been by my side. He has the strongest spirit I know of, despite all he has been through (which is a lot). His life is an attestation that hard work pays. He is the only person who has been on and by my side since I came to be, my greatest fan. He has never missed any of my performances.  He inspires me to be me in so many ways. I have always looked up to him and I turned out good (if we don’t count my retarded nature). He is my Hero. He is my brother, Murimi Kareithi (or as his peers also know him “Croemaestrus”). The pioneer of the Kareithi Empire; the first of Kareithi’s offspring and the duke of Kareithi’s Monarchy. This is a tribute to my brother. You are my Hero.

As he keeps saying to me, so do I say to you on this day;  “Think, and let live; or die doubting” (don’t ask me what that means).

Happy Mashujaa Day!! Celebrate your hero today!!

Read More

SPEAKING FOR FATUMA; LISTENING TO FATUMA SPEAK

The clock ticks 4 pm. Today is Friday. My 2^nd favorite day of the week (Monday is my favorite). But no day can beat this, no time can beat this, no event can beat this. Today, like every other Friday of the week, of the month, of the year; I will join great people in attending an event that has become an addiction to anyone who get the chance to attend it. It’s like falling in love with your best friend - once you fall, there is no getting up. And you fall so deep and you are sure you want to fall there forever.

I quickly make my way to PAWA 254 studio in Nairobi, Kenya. This is where it all goes down. Not only this Friday, but every Friday of the week, month and year (venues vary but it’s always there).  And the experience; wow! Only your wedding day can beat this!

I was on my way to attend #FatumasVoice. #FatumasVoice is a weekly event that happens on this and every Friday from 4pm-7pm. Why Fatuma and why voice? You may ask. Well, #FatumasVoice is a figurative gesture for a platform whereby young people meet to talk about the evils happening in the society and how they could solve them, their hopes for the future, their life experiences as well as networking hence expanding their social circles.

This is one event where one gets to experience poetry, live music, motivational talks (at times the tea and snacks offered are a motivation to me), and open forum discussions where people air their views on a certain chosen topic of the day.

#FatumasVoice was established with the objective of encouraging young people like us to know how to express ourselves, earn their self-esteem, improve their talents, be responsible citizens and to make us understand the value of networking. The founders realized that young people do not really get the truth about life in their homes, nor in the churches or mosques, nor in politics or their social quotas nor in themselves. They thus thought of something that will bring them (us) together to talk about important things that will help us mature. 

So far the bigger bunch of the audience is budding artists. Unsurprisingly, people from the working class are trickling in at a fast rate.This can be related to the moral support from a few people like Churchill Winstones and Bonnie Kim, who mentor the participants and founders.

Once you attend one event, missing it another time will feel like a break up. For those overseas or in other parts of the country, if you visit Kenya and particularly Nairobi (and it happens to be a Friday) you now know where to spend your evening between 4 and 7. Let’s meet there, let’s speak on behalf of Fatuma, let’s listen to #FatumasVoice

Here are the photo links to the previous sessions:

https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=oa.568879929824812&type=1

https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=oa.561279520584853&type=1

https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=oa.561285497250922&type=1

https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=oa.561282243917914&type=1

https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=oa.561987300514075&type=1

https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=oa.563593773686761&type=1

https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=oa.565866683459470&type=1

for more on #FatumasVoice follow Kenya Poets Lounge on twitter(@PoetryHubKenya) or visit their site http://www.kenyanpoetslounge.com

Read More

THE SOLDIER

There he stands, on the battle line; he is always at the front line.

 In the battle he endeavors, Fights with valor, to win the favor, of his supervisor.

I love the soldier, yes I do, and I love the soldier.

Left and right, front and back, up and down, other soldiers fall,

They lay inert beside him, in the battle.

They fight a losing battle, but not him, He fights, and lives.

He lives to tell the story, the story of the intense combat.

I love to sit and listen, hear him tell stories, scenes of the theater of war.

His stories I find stimulating, motivating, exciting, provoking.

He has won every battle, every except one.

Obstinately he fought, determinedly wrestling,

He lost it, capitulated to this master, the heart.

 

I love the soldier, yes I do, and I love the soldier,

He lost the one battle I knew he would, he fell in love,

In love with the lady that is me.

I love the soldier, so much, coz he is my soldier.

Befado

Read More

HUNT THE HUNTER

I killed a mosquito, last night

Squashed its cadaver, in my hands

Does that make me, a poacher?

He was wild, right

And kill him I did, not just tonight

Every night, for the past decade

Does that make me, a hunter?

The poacher, hunter is he

Who kills tens, hundreds, thousands, millions of game

With mercenary selfish thoughts and plans

He kills them, regardless of their future.

He kills them, callously.

Skins them, professionally.

De-horns them, unfeelingly.

At the market, he dares boasts of his proficiency.

Time is up, time is now

Kill the game, save the game

Hunt the hunter.

Befado

Read More

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

Read More

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

Read More