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.