PACES

Well, this post was to go up a few days ago, before the alleged month of love ended but meh! Life happened but here we are :-). Now, the month of February had a lot of stuff going on, from friends getting married, people declaring undying (oh the irony) love for each other on the 14^th, people hosting and attending singles events, people getting engaged, people passing on; all on the same day/weekend. It makes you wonder, all these things that happen in this feared and dreaded day, what do people do the other day of the month? A friend told me that she asked her boyfriend not to give her anything…well, I don’t know how that would go with most readers, but I guess guys would really love that. In the same month, we (I) saw the birth of two young establishments and the slow death of another. We also saw some lions escape a national park in Kenya, and the jokes and memes all over were just hilarious. What caught my attention though, is this review by this website that I had never come across (shekirout!).

Copyright: me

Now, in the same month, I happened to visit Hell’s gate National Park Kenya and hike Mt. Longonot. Well, it was not my first time to hike the said mountain, I had been there severally. The mountain holds a special place as it also hold very special memories for me. This time though, this time was different. It felt different. Not because I was there with a different group (a group of young scientists, by the way. you see, scientists also know how to have fun, forget what CBS portrays with Sheldon et al). A group of us had a mission. We wanted to go round the rim and reach the highest peak. And so with great determination and sheer excitement, about 20 of us started the journey to the summit. Armed with water and other sugary stuff to keep our energy levels up, we started the great hike. A few minutes in, some of us started getting tired and taking breaks. If you have been there, you know there only two resting places; at the middle and at the top. On our way up, several of us were stopping to take photos and selfies, unaware of the daunting task ahead. At-least all of us made it to the halfway point. Some were left there as they felt they could not go on, while some felt so energetic they were running up, literally. I was left with the last group, not that I could not hurry up, but because I wanted to make sure that at-least those who started the journey made it to the top, regardless of the pace. And so four of us started the journey at a snail’s pace, picking up a few other hikers along the way. 

Copyright: me

As if things could not get worse for those already tired, heavy rain started falling. Heavy rain.  So, you are in the middle of a hike, with bushes all around. Heavy rain is falling. There is only one way up. The half way resting place is too far to go back. So what do you do? You keep going and pray that you will not get a cold. Keeping your eyes on the hut at the top, you strive forward. Half an hour later, you finally make it up with the last bunch of hikers in your group. Rain is still falling. Someone makes a joke about us hiking in swimming costumes next time. We all laugh. We rest a bit and then the group breaks into two. Some of us want to reach to the highest peak (which will take us approximately 2more hours), while the others want to return. Long story short, only 9 of us made it round the rim, with several episodes of rain and sunshine. 

When we got down to join the other team for lunch, I couldn’t help but think about how different paces (yes, paces not a typo) in life are. Here we were, a group of young scientists. We had one thing (two…three…okay several things in common). We were scientists, human, but we also had a goal of scaling this mountain. However, some of us were faster, some of us more determined, some of us more ambitious, some of us more experienced in hiking; and all these determined our paces. Some of us were hiking slowly, some slow. Some of us got discouraged by the rain, some of us enjoyed the rain (I mean, when was the last time you got drenched by rain?). Some of us made it to the peak, some did not. Some of us made it to the summit, others got tired half way. I could not help but think life outside. There are these personal goals that we set and there are those goals society expects us to attain. Like getting married, having a family, getting established, (for those of us in science) papers to publish, finish school and the likes. Spiritually, we have the same personal and societal goals. We desire growth, we desire to do things that we read about people do and we want to do them. See all these things are doable and attainable, but guess what; we all have different paces!

At times we get discouraged or want to do things in a hurry because so and so has done it and succeeded. This is especially for our young generation. We want to compare ourselves with our friends and peers. But you know what; we cannot all be the same. We move at different paces. We have different experiences, different resources. We might have the same goals, but getting there will be at different paces. So the next time you feel like so and so has done so much in life and you have not done a lot, the next time you think of getting married because your friends are getting married, you want to move to a posh estate because your friends are doing so, or want to start a business because your friends are doing so, you want to accumulate quick wealth because people are doing so; remember this. We move at different paces. And life is not a race. So long as you are moving, snail speed or otherwise, so long as there is progress, we will all get there. Scale that mountain, at your own pace! (and if you get company or someone who is encouraging you and challenging you to keep on, the better :-))

The Champs. 6 countries represented, One goal, One victory.
Copyright: me

Happy New month from Njeri Kareithi’s Desk

Facebook:  Njeri Kareithi

Twitter: @deekareithi

 

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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

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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

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THE SHADOWS by @wanjiru_wanjiku

The shadows in here converse;
Low grumpy conversations,
Gesticulating and pacing,
With their fingers growing long each passing minute,
Embracing my neck-
Squeezing and soothing.

I had known how to silence them,
Let them watch in awe as I practice a smile,
And a gait so blissful when I carry the wind on my shoulders.

Now I observe them with tight lips and a heart so torn that the sun rays go right through it,
Let them dance on the chandelier of hope laying somewhere in the room,
Gaze as they squeeze the very last ounce of light from my eyeballs.

What I know about living
is that pain is never just ours,
After a while we learn to dance to the music of our hearts again,
Wishing on porch lights like they were stars on cloudy nights.

But they wake me at night,
Howling again and again
that my heart has just skinned it knees...
A worse day is yet to come...
That maybe tomorrow...
is just an illusion.

So I toss forcefully closing my eyes,
Mumbling to the darkness that girdles me,
To the voices in my head...
To my soul hovering somewhere...
To these walls that have become friends...
To the spirits in here throwing stones
forcing me into an introvert's shell.

I had mastered the art of sealing lips and ignoring pain,
But the sea inside me is so full of bottles it no longer tides,
The messages taking on bipolar tendencies-
Some read "live"
Others " just how much water do you need to keep the pills down!"

So if tommorow really is an illusion
Let the world know I tried
But when I thought I had hit rock bottom
It hit back so hard
That the thread holding hope together snapped.

All rights reserved Shiru Wa Mum 2014 

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TO HELL WITH YOUR DONATIONS.

“Let’s go to Africa, salvage our slaves,

Let’s donate money, make names for ourselves,

Call local and international media,

Let Africa rejoice, here is their redeemer.”

Well, to hell with your donations!

Oh come fellow slaves, come let us rejoice,

Let us sing, dance, write and recite poems,

Let them take pictures and videos of us,

Playing around with our hopes and dreams.

But I refuse to. I refuse to join in the applause.

See, today I am here, raising my hands to feed my stomach,

With new shoes and new clothes, bales of flour and cooking oil,

With smiles and great high spirits.

Tomorrow, back to the same shack, taking beer and spirits,

The shoes you gave will be sold; my feet know not how to be sole-d;

The clothes will be sold, for my body knows not how to be clothed.

So go, go back to your filthy rich homes, rich and filthy homes, be out of my sight

Out of sight, out of mind, you make me wish I was blind.

Every donation you make, I feel you dancing on my grave.

Without you I will still I see myself together,

Through the holes of my tattered sweater.

I will sew myself together,

Mend my broken and torn life together.

To your face I say; to hell with your donations!

But then again don’t go,

Keep donating food, money and clothes; dig a well.

We’ll take and sell, use to pay bills and settle debts  as well.

But what would be better,

Is if you would make us better,

Empower us with skills and knowledge,

Show us how to make the clothes, how to grow the food,

Then we will make money.

But till then; to hell with your donations!

Befado

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AN ARREST ( MY FIRST EXPERIENCE)

Ever been arrested? Either for the right or wrong reasons? Well if you have never, I beat you to it. Last evening to be precise. You may wonder why I’m so happy to write about it, just wait and see.

So, it’s Saturday evening, Skater Boy and I have come from training in Thika, we are now in Nairobi. We go at a hotel to have an afternoon snack as we watch a game. Here my already bad day got worse. See, I’m an arsenal fan and I had so much faith in Wenger’s boys for this game. Skater boy is a Manchester united fan (yeah makes the perfect couple). If you all watched that game you know too well how it went down. So, as we linger in there a bit longer as I drown my sorrows in food (we ladies know that food works so well, despite the source of sorrow). 

By the time we leave, it’s a bit dark. We decide to head to Central Park, which is at the center of Nairobi. The flood light at the center of the park is shining bright and the place looks too tempting. Wrong thought. Skater Boy and I are quite crazy, you see, so we agree to stand below the light and we start dancing. (Blame this on the “dance like no one is watching you”). It is a park, right? And people are walking past the park hurrying home. Us; no we had to. The day had been long and hard and laughter and fresh air was all we could think of.

We all know that all movies and books/novels list chasing each other across a field as a moment of…well, you know; a perfect moment.

Well, not in this one. We challenge each other to the nearest pathway and the winner gets to buy the loser some ice-cream (I was hoping to loose, but he beat me to it). At the end of the finish line that is the path, we find some people, cuffs at hand, waiting for us; talk about a bad victory reception. Just imagine Usain Bolt finding such a party at the finish line….sad.

So that is how we got arrested. We cooperated and they did not cuff us (thank God Skater Boy did not get very aggressive, you see, he is also a professional boxer). So we are taken under a tree where we find about 50 other Kenyans, some in cuffs. SB (Skater Boy) and I find ourselves a bench and we await the vehicle supposed to take us to a police station. We are all told that we were arrested for being in the park at “ungodly hours”. We are informed that people are not supposed to trespass the park past six; as he speaks, people are still passing by, but it seems like they had arrested enough people.

They tell us we will be taken to a police cell, expecting the men to resist so that they find a reason for arrest. Strangely enough, we all agree and we state that if the arrest is legal, we would like to record statements. They panic. See, these men introduced themselves as policemen warning us that they will fine us all. A lady at the back starts crying saying that her guy is not Kenyan, that he does not know the rules in Kenya. SB and I laugh. We take out our phones and start recording everything. We knew those guys were people extorting money from naïve and innocent Kenyans.

We pass by Kenyatta avenue round-about and our fears are confirmed. See, if you are to be taken to the police station/ county council cells, you do not turn right, as we did, and headed to Uhuru Park. Several of us started asking which police station we were being taken to and all we got was a “kuna wengine huku, mtakujiwa na lorry hapa” (there are other people here, a police lorry is coming to pick you up).

So we get to a place and find other 50 like so Kenyans sitting there, also waiting for the police lorry to come. Now, the retards that SB and I are, we go around greeting people asking them why they are there; all this time recording (thank you Sony Xperia for having a larger internal memory space). So by now it’s around 8 pm and no uniformed policeman has come. The leader of the gang tells us that they are willing to help anyone who does not want to go to jail. Here you see Kenyans who do not value their hard earned cash. Why do I say this? Some were giving bribes as much as 20, 000 to be let free. SB and I are still recording all this.

One of the “police men” suspects that we are doing this and asks us to sit in a secluded place. Thank God for friends who have friends in high places. I get the number of one of the anchors in Citizen TV and explain our situation and where we are being held; in a gated store area at Freedom Corner. The reporter gives Nairobi OCPD my number and he calls me. I explain the same thing and in a few minutes uniformed policemen are at the gate. Our other police panic and order us to get out, while those who want to “get assistance” to remain behind. We decide to go with the group that wants to be taken to jail.

Now we are two groups, half remained to “get assistance” and half of us knew our arrest was false and we wanted to get justice (and finish our recording). We demand to be taken to a police station. Instead of being taken to a police station, they start taking us upwards, towards All Saints Cathedral, several of our group run away and the fake police leave them. Now, funny is the conversation I heard between the uniformed police and the “police” who arrested us. This was actually a deal between the two!!! The other police even had walkie talkies that communicated with the actual police. Sad.

All this time I am informing the OCPD where we are being taken, and he gives an order for all of us to be released. Half of the group being “taken to jail” is let go. SB and I choose to remain behind. SB and I tell the remaining group not to give any bribes; our escorts hear us and we are pulled out of the crowd. At this point, we have gone round Uhuru Park and we are at Parliament road.  One of the “police” gets us aside to question us; why we were arrested, if we want any assistance. We tell our tale. He tells us he is forgiving us because we look innocent; we laugh.

He tells us to disappear and not get caught again, but we were not going to let him go that easily. We demand to see his police badge and he suddenly gets busy and his arms start shaking. SB and I look at each other and smile. He gets tensed up and gets his wallet out. He starts explaining to us that he is busy calling and we tell him we are patient. Now its a few minutes to nine. The uniformed police are busy taking bribes from other people in the group we were picked out from. The guy starts explaining how I don’t know who was killed where in the park, who was sleeping where and gibberish. We remind him that we are waiting to see his badge; he pulls out a number of cards and picks one out, one with his blood type, no name and no police number.

SB and I laugh and tell him that we know what they are doing and that he should let everyone go if he wants to be safe. Realizing that he has been busted, he gives an order to his people to let our group to go. They do. As we are leaving; His arms are still shaking. I tell him to be careful, some Kenyans are watching and they are talking. Our recordings are with us, a reminder of what innocent Kenyans go through.

It’s now 10 pm; SB and I walk into a hotel for coffee. Now his Manchester united game is over; and we never watched it. But they won, damn!! oh and I lost my precious ear rings in the process :-(

Now I am left to wonder; how many other people walk around masquerading as police men, extorting money from innocent Kenyans, as much as 10 to 20 thousand per person (real police men included)? And us Kenyans, when will we know our rights? Stop giving bribes for crimes you did not commit!!

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WHERE ARE WE HEADED?

Recently, a controversy broke out about a church poster that was termed as “not fit” for not only Christian viewing but also general viewing.  There have been talks, debates and all that hullabaloo about it. The church came out in defense of their youth course (though I did not hear them support their answers with scripture as is expected of any religion follower accused of going against their faith). But that is not what makes me angry.

 

“What brings you to church” I asked a youth man in an un-named city church. The young man laughs and glances around before saying; “The hot girls, of course. I realized that it’s actually easier to get sex in church, because many of these young people are rebellious, they come here to mask their behavior. They are the wildest group I know of; most are just pretenders,” he confides.”

This was an excerpt from a local daily that was investigating on the same. Now, before you get judgmental and all, I am a born again Christian, who believes in certain values, and above all, HUMAN. This does not mean I am “holy”; I do make mistakes, I do sin, but by the grace of God keeps me safe from most evil and sin.

Now, back to my anger. I am left to wonder where our Christian values, those values our parents taught us, and brought us up with; where are they? Where are we headed as a Christian nation? We are at a time and age where gospel artists no longer give content that is based on the scripture (and none of them seem to care). Where a Christian artist goes ahead and gets models for his video and publicly says the sees nothing wrong in appreciating beauty (as they dance erotically). Where worship leaders spend the night at drinking parties and in the morning they are leading worship. Where we Christian youth are getting married to cover up some pregnancy. What happened to no sex before marriage? Where dancing styles like “bend over” are danced in church, at the pulpit mind you, and the church leaders just smile and say “the youth are dancing for Jesus” and “our youth are talented”, as they look at the congregation with pride seeing how young people have flocked their church.

What explanation do they give? “We are attracting the youth to church”. “Times have changed; we have to give something that is attractive to the youth, to lead them to Jesus”. 

“¹I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the compassions of God, to present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable to God, [which is] your intelligent service.² And be not conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of [your] mind, that ye may prove what [is] the good and acceptable and perfect will of God.” Romans 12:1 and 2

Where are we headed? Where have our Christian values been buried in the name of “attracting people to Jesus”?! Call me old school, but such are the values that we need back. It is as such moments that I echo my colleague Dickson Otieno’s words; as he put it here. 

If there was a time we, the youth needed prayers; it is now.

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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?

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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!!

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A CONVERSATION IN THE DARK.

At 3 am she rises, despite the fact that a few hours ago she was awake, making ready her family’s clothes for the following day. In the next one hour she will be busy, talking to a friend, her lover, a ruler. After that she will go back to sleep, sleep for another hour before her day starts.

She delights in this habit that she developed while she was young.  Many, even her husband, are not aware of this. One might think she’s in an affair with this ruler. Coming to think of it, she is. So as is custom, she awakes this particular morning, goes to the call line and dials a number that she is too familiar with, her lover’s. Their conversation goes on well, she thanks Him for who He has been in her life and that of the family, then goes ahead to the business of the day. Her husband is in trouble; their children are not turning out to be what she hoped for. 

In the middle of their conversation she breaks down, it is too much for her. Yet, the ruler does not hung up, actually he never does.

As she cries and opens her heart, He listens, carefully. Their conversation is filled with tears but she does not mind because she knows that at the end of it all a burden will be lifted. She knows too well that this conversation at this time of the morning is what will determine how the day will carry on. These conversations hold so much. It’s this conversation in the dark that ensures that the day is full of light. As the rib of her man and the source of the fruit that is her children, she knows if she does not have this conversation; their affair will be in vain.

She was taught and she knows about the power of having this great conversation in the morning, particularly at this time of the morning. As you see her walking about in the streets, or at work or in her car, you see her smile. She replays their conversation in her mind all day long. She smiles. Amidst the pain, the harsh words, the wounds, she smiles; a real smile. God, I love how people envy her. People say she is strong, she is a fighter. What they know not is that the conversation at dawn is what gives her the strength. She vowed to continue with this affair, 365 days of the year. Occasionally, her husband and children join her in this conversation.

  
I wake up with her at three and eaves-drop as they hold their conversation. I enjoy listening to her and her lover chat. I know that I too will be holding similar conversations in a few years time. Actually I have already started. No, its not an affair that I am involved in, but a conversation with the ruler of the world, our God. Because of this conversation at dawn, she is sure that her family is protected, no matter what happens to her husband, to her children, she holds them firmly with prayer. She is the strength behind her husband’s success. She is the shadow that no one ever notices when he stands in the limelight. But she takes pride in being his rib. And when things go wrong, she worries not, for she is a warrior, a prayer warrior.

The strongest woman on earth is the prayer warrior. She fights battles (spiritual or otherwise) on behalf of her family.

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FACING YOUR FEARS; ONE BY ONE

Three months ago, if you would have told me I’ll be driving through the streets of Nairobi like a pro, I’d have ROTFL (by the way, the Rolling On The Floor Laughing is never real, not unless someone is tickling your tummy and you’re 8 years old! More still, those who write that I’m sure do it in the middle of really boring, meetings or with a stone face and their bodies are nowhere near any floor).

Fast forward to some days ago, my first long distance test came. You see, I always had a fear of driving and cars. Since a close friend was killed in a car accident while being given a “lift”, I developed a fear of cars and driving….and it put me down for years. This was till I decided to take driving classes… well, let’s just say I was pushed…ok I was forced to. So I signed up for the classes, just so that the nagging may stop. Two weeks later and my instructor signs up for my exams...and pass did i. (but they didn’t fool me, I went back and made sure I had maximized use of my fees)

So a few days after getting my license and I was driving through the streets of my home town like I had been driving for years. I had taken my first step to overcoming my fears. Most of us have serious fears, like my other fear of millipedes (I wonder how I can overcome that one). But I came to realize, all it takes is taking that one great step. Believe that you can overcome it. Having someone who constantly tells you “you can do it” “I have you back” “I’m here for you”; having someone to help boost your confidence. But mostly, you just have to believe in yourself.

Then came Friday night and my dad announced that I will be having my first long distance test. Driving to Nairobi and back…at first I was nervous but that night I called a friend and he told me he believed in me. I was now ready. 4 am and I started the “journey of a life time”. I must admit it was a nice experience, accelerating till I felt as if I would fly, slowing down at bumps to occasionally hear strangers ask “is that a child driving by herself?” watching policemen stare at me in amazement as I passed them. Oh it was lovely!  Snaking through the hills and valleys of Central Kenya (coz there are no hills in Nairobi). 

At the end of the day, I came back feeling so tired, my eyes sore (I was actually shedding tears. I guess I took the “keep your eyes on the road” too seriously). When I picked up my phone and called my best friend to tell him this great fear I had overcome, his reaction was a boost to my confidence (that is part of the reason he is my best friend; the way he encourages me *smiles*). Anyway; even though I now have to go back to wearing my glasses, I did achieve something great. My list of fears is one fear less.

Take that first step. I dare you to face your fears.

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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

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TO THE ASK SHOW WITH MY CHECKLIST

Well, it’s that time of the year again; the annual agricultural shows are here. I am so excited about this year’s show. I am so excited because I have a bone to pick with the ASK (Agricultural Society of Kenya).

If you attended the shows when you were young, you will agree with me it’s where we spent every shilling of our savings. My brother and I would save for several months for the sake of these shows. See, our parents would pay the entrance fee and leave us to “explore” the area. Warning us not to get lost and telling us to meet at a certain food kiosk at lunch time. The show was like the event of the year, especially when we were in primary school. Walking around in cliques looking at what the ASK termed as wonders of the world.

 This time round, I am going there as a lady on a revenge mission.  The ASK lied to me, deceived me at my tender age, and I go there this year on a revenge mission. Like ARROW the series, I bear a pouch with some writing materials and cameras as my arrows and I do have a check list (by the way if you still have not watched arrow the series, ensure you do :-)). In this checklist, I have several things that ASK deceived me with. I am going with only one aim in mind. To prove (with photos where applicable) that some of the things they made me glare at, drool at, having visions of those wonders of the world that I believed then, could only be found at our local area.

Some of these things include mermaids (don’t get me wrong, I am not trying to say mermaids do not exist but am sure those were a fake), half-men-half-women, (till this day I don’t understand how they pulled that one off), some chicken that had tits and gave milk (I swear hiyo ni uchawi), the half-man-half-donkey (I know, I believed they are real!). Those are the few that are the top of my list. On my visit this time, I will ensure I touch (or throw a stone at) any of them to see if they move. I will even sneak at the back and take pictures of their “back-stage” acts (well i will also give that evil laughter in a cheeky voice that goes like ehehehehehe...gotcha!)

As the ASK Embu show starts tomorrow the 13^th, I will make my way there on 14^th with my checklist and my mission in mind. Well, I will definitely ride that merry go round! I know that one was real, and so was the thrill of riding it :-)

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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

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