Day 3

I just finished typing the story I wrote on Sunday for a children’s book. It’s not proof read or punctuated, that will come later. Typing it out is always the harder part.
The idea is to type them all out and edit later. I’m not putting any deadlines on this one, but I have a goal in mind. The publisher got back to me, said he will read my e-mail, so I’m waiting. My agent is not very enthusiastic but I’m sure he’ll come through at some point.
I’m I a fool for trying to publish? Earn a living from writing stories? Maybe. Story tellers have to be a bit foolish in the mind to make stories happen. Maybe not. I’ve not pushed this hard before, it’s worth a try, and I’ll have nothing to lose.
I know my mistakes;
1. I can be very lazy. I have very many half length stories
2. I get distracted easily
3. Sometimes I cannot control the thoughts running across my
mind like two toddlers high on sugar
4. I don’t like to proof read my own writing- honestly
5. I’m afraid of criticism. So I hide most of my work form other’s eyes

Day 2

The first call this morning was from school. It was a reminder that they are going to cancel my student Visa and I ‘have to go back wherever.’ I wanted to go right back to bead. But The second call, from Sharon,(Sharon represents Gary’s family from England) she wanted me to go over for dinner. I said yes right away. She makes the best lasagna. I was staring at my notebook to write things to do, but couldn’t figure out what to do when I received a text from Taha(Taha is from Yemen, we go back a long way and whenever I’m in trouble he says, don’t worry, I help you.) And that’s what he did. I told him my Visa situation. He took the buses-4 and came to see me, and he had a solution.
So now I need to write a letter begging them to please not send me back, because I don’t even have money for a ticket and I doubt I can hitch a ride from the boats.
My reasons:
1. I’m a good student, yes I am, I enjoy my course and stopping now will
be a neat blow across my face.
2. I’m a published writer. They can publish me and use the money for my
fees.I was published straight from high school, I’ve got better with
time.I just need the papers and I’ll be out of their face.
3.Honestly, I only came here coz I wish to see my grandmother stop digging .

It makes her knees and ankles and back and eyes pain. And the sun makes her look really old. I hate it. I cannot tell her to stop. If she stops then what? I’m I going to feed her. I can’t even feed myself.

So we went for Sharon’s dinner and had a loud swim after, yeah, it was great and the laughs went right into the bone marrow. At the end of the day, I haven’t written everything creative, but I thought up a poem which I’ll write as soon as my mind settles.
Yesterday I typed one chapter of my new children’s story. That’s counts.
I’ll take 8 buses to school and back tomorrow. That is enough creative time.

The first day of 6 months.

DAY 1.

I’m currently living in uncertainty. I might as well be a vagabond .
To change my situation, I’ll finish one thing
For the next 6 months. I will try to get my books published.
If by the end of the 6 months nothing has happened towards my goal, I’ll try again.
What do I have today:
1. A complete novel
2. 3 complete Poetry Collections
3. 3 children stories
4. Life from my creator

What I don’t have.
1. Most of it still needs to be typed
2. Money to pay the illustrators, the designers



What I need:
1. An audience to urge me on
2. Ideas



Let’s do this.

Cecilia Gathoni, my granny ,My Hero

According to her, she was born in 1942. 15 years later,
she married the cool 17 year old Munyeki, whose untiring pleads for her hand in
marriage finally bore fruits. My grandmother. A forceful ,one woman symbol of strength.
Munyeki died early, at the age of 38. My grandmother was heart broken but she was determined to go on with life. Her selflessness and daring power in her heart helped her go through the crisis . Her eager children, 7 in number acquired a fearlessness to face any situation.
A forceful trait that has been passed on to my generation.
On any day,I just need to hear her voice or think about her and anything seems possible.

I wrote this for a timed English proficiency test

I had a strange thought yesterday.
Not the one about potatoes and not about my secret desire to go and live in Hargeisa. Stranger.
It snuck up on me as I was getting ready for my Wednesday meeting. Just after I wet my hair to make it manageable.
I looked into the mirror to see if that was my thought.
It was, installed in my mind but moving deeper into the tendons.
I wanted to open it, explore it, see if it was a serious thought or just one of the many passing thoughts which sometimes will turn into a story.
Others, when said aloud reconfirm my- travels along my own orbit- to whoever heard it. Sometimes, it’s a serious one hat reminds me of my values my goals and responsibility kind of thought, rare though. On ordinary days, the thoughts are simply an in built entertainment system and are not to be taken seriously.
So this thought, not falling into either of the usual categories worried me, a little.
It was like a headmaster who came in and said- hey watch it and didn’t say what why.
It wasn’t a warning thought. It was more like and idea, a suggestion, a dare.
Then it left, leaving me wondering- should I shouldn’t I?
Now it’s gone and I’m not sure where to follow it or wait for it to come back. With a challenge, with persuasion, or with disappointment that I never asked questions.

a poem

Trickle, trickle,

Trickle the raindrops,

Trickling down to fill up a stream.

Trickle, trickle a big river runs,

From the mountains down the desert,

Trickle, trickle down the river.

Falling leaves and small bugs join up,

Into the river and wave goodbye,

Ready for a ride.

Inside the trickling river that sparkles,

Curve and bend, when a ridge emerges,

Small bumps and swirls to greet the bridge,

Hold your breath, here comes the fall,

Sigh then scream we made it fine.

Trickle, trickle down the big river,

Bless the trees the dark clouds too,

Here at last, our mother sits,

She’s waving and cooing ,

To the stream that came home,

To the bit ocean let’s now run.

picture courtesy of www. kaichang.net

Life expectances

I’m 25 this year. That makes my childhood playmates- SG and SN - 30. That’s really old. That was my uncle’s age a few years ago and I thought- this guy is age mates with Noah.

When I was 16 and knew everything, I thought at 23 I’d have progressed to speaking bulleted points with every word that came out of my mouth.

A 22, I had my doubts and eventually I realised that I was a blithering idiot.

I also thought at 24 I’d know things, like how to deal with people, keep a job, cook properly. I still cannot, so maybe push the goal to 28?

One thing I can confidently say I am capable of handling is money. It becomes quite easy when you mainly deal in coins. For things like rent and bills and rent I think you just pray.

25 is a great year I must say. I’ve promised myself years of beauty sleep seeing as I expect wrinkles to start showing anytime, but I have a few things to settle.

Like the admission that I am not as smart in the head as I’ve always presumed, so there’s nothing to be proud of and I have to open my mind to learn new things and to accept correction, like when I say hotel when I mean restaurant because in my mind it’s hotel for restaurant and big hotel for hotel.

I’ve also been able to determine that I can only do a bit each day, so I’ll have no pain killing myself with putting up pictures on google earth to show the world where Nanyuki is, someone else will do it.

Also no point in trying to learn Tamil and Chinese alphabets when I’m still struggling with Bahasa Malay, and even if I don’t perfect Bahasa Malay so what, I never perfected sheng and survived Nairobi with Swaenglish.

But above all, I’ve learnt that the basic human has a cord which anyone can reach if they try hard enough. So it’s not weakness in my part to apply persistence with humility because on sticking that cord, impending doors can easily open.

My face will soon turn leathery, and my teeth fillings and masking will fall out.

Last year I pointed out to my friend that I really felt like I had matured in to an adult. After a nice laugh he said- I don’t think so-

This took me back.

Then he said

-You could say you’ve grown more into a woman but grown up? Artists don’t grow up-.

So that’s it, perpetual childlike existence. Every day.

This world is a huge place for just that

(picture by Aobakwe Moeti)

by the look of things, a poem

Truth be said

I’m happy

I’ve got a bubbling joy

A laugh that churns

Inside of me and vibrates.

Truth be said

I’m not longer confused

Or undecided and unsure

I’ve got a voice

Enough to make a point

And be acknowledged,

If necessary,

And acknowledge others,

If necessary.

And not be pushed around.

Truth be said

The years cannot compare

With the joy of true knowledge

That gives purpose and hope

A friendship with the highest force

With a promise.

Truth be said

This life is not all

And truth be said this life is not all that

If firm we stand

Retain the faith

There’ll be another chance.

Truth be told

The best is yet to come.

(pictures from flicker through google)

poem

the age of innocence is past
the era of shame recedes
daring, unabashed,
the human race marches forth
completely unperturbed
as though masters.
yes, but masters of fading glory.









(10-02-10, was thinking of something deep, can't remember what now)

poem

We sat beside each other

Staring at the excited fire

The smell of the sea

The cry of the old crows.

We sat and breathed in unison

As waves crushed against the reefs

As the fishermen let out their boats

We linked fingers and watched the stars.

And a snaked slithered by quick

And the fire was burning out

We were getting drowsy

While the moon floated further east

While the stars dimmed and faded out

You turned and touched my face

I wiped the wetness under your eye

The night was running out

Your voice was shaky

I didn’t dare speak.

(haven’t decided on the last line yet.)

28^th June 2008

Note: I saw a cute boy, looking like a model without even trying, wished he was my bro.

I am a Cushite

A few weeks ago, we had a Kenyan hip hop artist come to Limkokwing.

I had planned to go home right away that day because I brought my laptop to school and it’s about 10.5 kilos so it’s not fun moving around with it but, since I was three news articles short, I decided to hang around and see if I could get a story.

One girl came up to me and asked- where are you from?
I said Kenya, and she said, oh, really?
I managed to get a few shorts and the tour guide said- group photo everyone. I got a spot right behind the superstar.
The following day I was with my friends and opened the site to proudly show them the picture since they didn’t attend the big event, and they are in film class so they prefer make believe, and I don’t think the artist gets air play in their country.
The group picture was there alright, but I wasn’t.
Haiya, They photoshoped me out .
I wonder why? One of them said
Maybe they didn’t like your two finger peace sign. Hahaha.
That’s what you get for telling people you’re from Frances Town.
So that was it. The news was-Kenyan fans welcome artist-
I always have to answer questions like these.

Where are you from.
Kenya .
Really?
Yes.
What tribe?
That’s when I say, no actually I’m from Northern Sudan.
Which is true anyway, that’s what they told me I History class,something like that.

Other times I have people speaking to me in Setswana and pidgin English.

In Kenya, people called me-shumari-(somali).
One time, in Mitero primary school, there was a new teacher and he was gonna beat me for-putting chemical in my hair-.

It’s all cool. I don’t mind for being mistaken as a Fulani from Nigeria, or a Kalanga from Botswana.

The other day someone told me hey , how come you’re growing so thin? And I happily replied, no I haven’t changed, you’ve just grown fat. I have to say I felt all good inside because finally, I’m no longer offended when someone comments on how thin I am.

Like a brother

He left a song in my heart
A memory
a story that spins and spins.
He touched me, forever.

He taught me values,
like patience and sharing
like proper words and diction.

He danced,
gave me laughter
and fed me berries
Sometimes I call to say wasup.

Every Good Gift, and Every Perfect Present is From Above

I’ve found peace
In long quiet evenings sipping tea
Listening to well prepared music
Thinking back to days gone by.

I’ve found a smile
Looking at yellow and Orange flowers
And red drying petals, scented white jasmine
A red beaked bird sipping nectar


I’ve found happiness
As I munched fresh cucumbers
And chewed simsim grains from my palm
Flat noodles are a favorite

I’ve found ecstasy
When calming words
Calmed and soothed my heart
Psalms and Proverbs, Isaiah too.

I’ve found love
Quietly, completely, forever
Giving all of me
Give and take puts pressure

I’ve found pleasure
Looking at gushing water falls, a meter high
Crushing sea waves that make me cry
And sunsets so red, so golden, so beautiful

I’ve found friendship
Around me, trusting, special
They get me,
I understand them.

I’ve found serenity
As I blended among crowds
Lost in my thoughts
Alive in my meditations

I’ve found comfort
In your letters, Paul
Firmly grounding me
Necessary training to be unmovable.

I’ve found freedom
In dressing, recreation and food
In views and reasoning
In truth.

I’ve found faith
Peace, Smiles, happiness, ecstasy
Love, pleasure and friendship
From the giver of all that is good.






pics-Fedbybirds.com and google

Blessed be Jehovah, who Daily Carries our Load

The sun is shinning the flowers have blossomed
The birds are singing, the trees carry fruit
The well is bubbling, the streams are clear
The mountains are nodding, the dogs bark in unison.




She’s got all her children by her side
He’s stroking his wife’s hair, alone no more
Dan can walk again, I met him up the hill
And Jackie answers when you call her name.



Everyday we wake with a smile, a laugh
Unbelieving how beautiful a day can be:
Cheap water, food and light
And this house my brother built for me.




Today we listen to David sing the psalms
It’s a day of feast to Jehovah
His never failing word, his love-
The joy he’s flooded in our hearts.





(ALL PICS GOOGLED)

You have been staring at a Photoshop page the whole day.
Your group members forgot to submit their parts to you. Tomorrow there is an exam, you could read, but you don’t have all the notes. Your eyes hurt.
Yesterday, when printing out a report you clicked on the wrong document and printed 35 pages of a report on sugarcane growing in Brazil, your report was on the History of Malaya.
Your pen drive vanished when you were queuing to print in the library.
Your computer keeps freezing, and the internet connection is extremely slow! You only slept this morning, for an hour. You’ve been eating friend rice all week
You asked for an extension for your report two weeks ago, you wish you had just, 2 more days, but it’s Thursday evening. If you don’t hand it in tomorrow you will certainly get a DNC(did not complete)You have an exam, a presentation, and you need to go to the bank tomorrow.
You look at google and feel very tempted to copy and paste, at least 1000 words, but you’re not like that, you want the 5,000 words to be “all” you.
You receive a text from home saying hey things are thick can you stretch the dollar another month? You stretched it last month you wonder how good its elasticity is.
Your bills doubled this month, transport increased, and your efforts to get a job are met with a tight, sorry smile.
Your Computer finally crushes. You meant to back up your assignments today. If only you had not spent hours reading people’s profiles on FB…
Maybe I can re-do them tonight, you think.

I feel you...


Picture: www.scottburns.co.uk/images/blog/stressed1.jp

poem

Day break.
With one eye open
-I regard the rays stealing into my room wondering-
Is this the day I find myself?

I’ve changed
Distracted by the world created for me
A breakable world.
A world with limitations.

The curiosity to explore and learn,
Has been pushed far, ignored.

You’ve become my decision maker
In this box of a world.
Shame, to be changed
To be content within these walls.

But I’m breaking out
Slowly, carefully, I’m saying-enough.


PIC(media-cdn.tripadvisor.com)

Slam Poetry

This is about staying awake,
thinking how it would be nice to end my day with a word from you,
Trying to remember what you said when we last talked,
how you stood…

This is about days when
I don’t wanna wake up,
thinking it’s another long day
and not a chance to meet you.
To see your face, your beautiful face……

This is a bout the way your eyes get soft when you look at me,
yes they do,
and my breathing gets uneven.
When I talk to everyone else
while all I want is to stand next to you and say nothing

This is about times I catch myself wondering when,
and if,
we’ll ever confirm our feelings,
or like strangers in a train
-the look will never be explored further.

This is about things that go on in my head,
when I wonder why is this time so different,
have I fallen?
Even though they say it shouldn’t be sad,
I’m sad at times.

This is about the different flavours that come alive,
the feelings I have for you,
when I see you,
– when I hear you-
when I spend hours looking at you,
until you become transparent,
so I turn away from the screen

This is about listening to love songs and nodding,
when they say all the things I wanna say to you,
all the things I wish you you’d say to me.
When we are together.

This is about daydreaming about our life together
And the room I’d make for you in my life,
and be dedicated to you wholly,
without a starry side glance ever.

This is about your odd ways and manner,
Your silence and charm,
How attractive I find you-
This is about,
how strongly my soul feels attached,
woven to you,
how I never want another man.

This is about times when I wonder,
Will you come right out with it
Or should I continue to pretend that
I just want to be friends?


Title-What this is about

poem

Keep me concealed in your heart
Let my memory, like a sweet song curve your lips into a smile
Know that I have loved you.

If I leave, let me go unbound
For forever we’re strapped together
No matter the time, no matter the distance
Keep this feeling wrapped in trust
Let the days make it grow, and bloom into something wonderful for keeps.
Remember the honor

If another’s heart should take peek
And the face of whose beauty shines-
Interest reflects,
If there be a shift, be kind to my heart, be gentle

Keep my love alive
Let my eternal love energise your bones,
I have loved you eternally, endlessly.

pic-Jupiter Images.

Kionjo

Mama's sons with the writer

We always got a beating, me and my 2 cousins.

One time for going to the neighbour’s farm to eat passion fruits-the neighbour’s kids had come to us and said- our mother is away, we need someone to climb up the tree to reach the fruits- so we had volunteered. We didn’t climb the tree, we just kept throwing sticks and clods of soil up the tree and ended up bringing down one of the passion fruit vines..

Mama had been looking for us and soon he was standing by the fence . He didn’t have to say anything we, simply spit out the passion seeds in our mouths and started to follow him. Along the way he broke off a few cypress branches and gave us each to prepare into a proper cane.

When we were busy throwing sticks at passion fruits, the baboons had come to the farm and flattened about an acre of maize and uprooted another of potatoes. So we were canned for all the sins, and when my cousin couldn’t take all, they wrote the remaining number on the calendar, to be spread out over a period of two weeks. I was hardcore ,I just told him to get on with it, and he added two strokes for attitude.

Another day, as we watched over the crops against baboons and grazed the cows along a thin strip of grass next to a cabbage farm, we got really bored after singing made up songs and digging holes in the ground, so we started to play Tapo-hide and seek. Soon enough we heard someone whistling and shouting from the other side of the valley- Thaimoni! Your cows are eating all your maize! Thaimoni is mama’s English name. His real name is Solomon but everyone calls him Simon.

We quickly chased the cows out of the maize fields and started to chase them around to get the bloat down. It helped a bit but Mama had to repair the fence, and we stood in a line and got a good caning.

Cucu found us one day twarite moko tukihoya mutheri kwene-with hands out stretched begging for githeri(maize and beans) from an old woman who lived near our compound.

We had broken two rules going to other people’s houses –kwene, and eating other people’s food- muhahi(because of greed). There was a big pot of githeri at home, but we like the old woman’s githeri. She used green maize and black beans and some peas. Cucu made hers from dried maize and beans.

The woman had 2 acres of land, so we were no only greedy but indeed very ill-mannered ‘trials’. Cucu took me by the thighs and for a few metres I was hopping behind her screaming,since I was the eldest. My cousins got the same-your skin would go sore for one week.

Later on when, we’d be beaten properly for talking about sex. We were just having a chat about what we knew about the topic one evening when we were alone, thinking no one could hear.

The following weekend mama interrogated us, since the women folk(tata and cucu) couldn’t handle such great sin. Then he took us very far from the house and caned us-incase anyone came round and asked –hey Thaimoni-what did they do

-Nothing much really, they were just having a chat about sex-that was unheard of.

I must have been 9.

We also got beaten several times in a week fr coming home late from school. Cucu Ciriba, my gran’s friend would invite us to eat whatever was in the house, then we’d forget we hadn’t reached home and hang around until 7p.m.

Yet, we had duties like watering the cabbages , bringing in the cows, the calves, the chicken, the sheep, bringing in some water from the tank, and the wash basin, cooking some food for the dog and covering the maize drying out in the fields if that was the season, lighting the lamps, and getting some onions from the farm…

Mama would say after beating us- hiyo ni kionjo-that’s just a taste.

(mama-uncle, Cucu-Gran,tata-uncle's wife, cucu Ciriba-cucu's friend- passed away)

poem

He's deep
Like a deep well.
Layers and folds
How to reach his core?










25th Oct 09

poem

I’ll take you for a walk
Follow me I’ll lead
Through these dust paths and mud bridges
Through the maize fields and past long horned cows
We’ll lean upon the cypress and regard the blue hills
Catch a speedy wind laden with leaves and
Sticks, seeds and smells, with dust too.

I’ll show you my home
Teach you about soil
Show you the ,stems their sap and roots,
Interpret smells for you
Show you how to climb blue gum
And which figs are ripe to eat
We’ll even roll on the grass.

I want to show you everything
All the tings I hold dear,
all the secret longings-Like a trip to the forest river-
If you come with me.



(I want steal you from yourself)pic-newsx.com

musings

I love you softly
I love you quietly
Like a song played on a keyboard

I love you gently
I love you tenderly
Like a mother rocking her child to sleep

I love you definitely
I love you with certainty
Like my first crush

I love you in my mind
I love you in my chest
Like The after taste of a good thing

I love you when I see you
I love you even when I don’t
Like grandparents love young ones

My love for you is like a quiet song
My love for you is gentle , tender
I love you certainly, definitely
My love for you is like a spirit within me
I love you all the time, always

Leaving Home

Once again, I’m on my way
Once again I’m leaving
And it breaks my heart
That my new friends, and acquaintances
Will be my old friends
And text will be how we speak.

Once again, I'm leaving home
Once again I have to cut myself off
It pains me
That things I’ve loved
And people who made me laugh,
And those who laughed at me
And those I loved in my heart,
I'm leaving them...

Once again, I have to learn new things,
Once again, I have to get used to new people
And if my will breaks this time
I’ll never find home
I have found homes, and families
But once again I’m leaving
And it hurts, it hurts, like the first time,
Like my 17th year
For certain, I was leaving.

Once again I have to park my things
Once I again I have to say good bye
And I don’t want to, really
I want to stay,
I want to establish permanence
Not have to leave again.

(pic;www.kaponetwo.com)

Aloe Vera,Bob Marley and 3 pieces of fruit

So today was the funniest day I’ve lived this year I’d like to declare. So many things made me laugh to tears.
Well, as far as I know I could be slowly losing it, going softer in the brain without realizing it ,walking around with a goofy smile like I just did something naughty.
It started when we visited this woman from Myanmar. Me, and a Japanese brother. Between us, we can trade bout 50 Malay words. The woman spoke Malay and Burmese, not a word in English. We had a book, translated in Japanese and Chinese. It was hilarious trying to communicate, we even mixed up her name and her son’s. So if she was Mary, we called Her Tony and waved bye to her son Mary.
On the road, we stopped to take a call and I was on the back seat looking outside and I saw a bird hopping about on the grass. Then looking on I see a snake running towards the car. Hahaha.It fell on the road and the bird was following it, poking at it, and back to the grass again, wispy –the snake raised it’s head as if to negotiate but the bird kept poking at it. Wispy was big, long, very big. Scared all of us off our seats.
Okay, he wasn’t he was about 90cms by 1.5, green with a red line from head to toe.,red tongue. And I was the only one screaming and throwing everything about, and my friends telling me-aa nasing, jus a nomo snake.. laughing at me. And as we drove off I couldn’t stop thinking of Mr. Wispy wondering if the small bird got him, did she carry him off or just kept picking at him until the pain was too much and he just lay there being eaten away like a pineapple. But I told myself the mother must have come looking for him and run off the bird and squeezed aloe vera an Wispy’s wounds.
Later we popped into our friend’s house,, he was going to Europe today so he was packing and we just entered. He told us about a story about one cat that was being groomed by a monkey the other day. Near the road The monkey would groom, slap , then kiss the cat, and the cat just lay there unconcerned. Donno how true that is but I had a good laugh just imagining it. Although the population of monkeys and stray cats here could beat the human one in a few years, so I guess the two must have worked out a system that works for them.
I Later went to see my friend and when I got to the bus stop, this man selling fruits handed me a fruit Mangosteen,. It was very sweet, I know the word for sweet and they were very happy to hear me say manisnya. I then took another two and tried to pay but he said no, it’s free, I gave him a look over, about 59, smoker, ,,, harmless, and he didn’t look like the kind. So I said thanks and said I was waiting for my kawan/friend. He told me his name was Doc, and that Obama is a nice man when I said I’m Kenyan.
Going home, I passed by this homeless man who starts to beg during the rush hour, this time he was fully clothed. He said- Bob Marley, hi..
I never heard him say a word before …and somehow I’d assumed he was half blind. I laughed out loud, right there at the bus stop and got several stares.
In the bus. This man started to speak to me, and when I go out, I realized I had told him his money was nice, pointing to his canvas bag. I actually meant to say the color of the bag was nice. He must have thought what a hick.





Running toward(In my language, I’d say ilikuwa inakimbia, it was running towards the car, not gliding )gtt he picture from some place in google, not mine