Poem 7

Her face was always a tight sneer,
Sometimes a painful scrawl
He took her home, and waited for the promised smile
That never came despite, the shape her mouth took
A suggestion that if she smiled.
It would be sunrise. She never smiled

But she laughed, one time when, the child jumped and fell in a heap
Across the fence
A loud,
Crazed noise that echoed to the valley
Where he was bent cutting grass for the child’s rabbit hatch

And when she died,
She took long
Dry, wordlessly, she laid
Finally ,at the public hospital downtown she lay rigid
And when he looked at her face,
The smile,
The overdue smile
‘Let me take her home’, he said
He laid her body on their couch, and called the camera man.

He’d have tried to save then
Wake her
Presence the new beauty resurrect

Beautiful in death she was,
Still
Serene eyes shut
.Still,with a smile
A smile of she that would eventually smile
He framed the picture

Art

My friend sells things at the maasai market,and last week she asked me to help her take pictures for her catalogue.So as I was touring the market after,I met this artist who according to me should not be selling his work at the nomad market,but rather should have his work exhibited at Ramoma,Gallery Watatu and FCC.Not that it wil change who he is but his work impressed me to such an extent I
asked if I could take a picture to post on my site.I was hovering at his stand for about half an hour studying his pieces.
Like the typical artist,he really doesn’t care about publicity he told me-kaa hii sinimeuza ngiri mbili-I’ve sold about 2 thousand pieces of this one,he said pointing to a back and white painting of some herd’s men walking towards a sunset.His name is Eli Mumira,his work is that of a mature artist.

{can't post any pictures.I'm in the slowest cyber in Nairobi}

Kwani?Open Mic

I enjoyed this month’s kwani pen mic.The featured poet;Karinga, has always managed to

bring back any minds that were beginning to wander back to the stage.I am yet to figure out how one can store 15 poems in the head.The one time I tried to recite a poem,in standard 5,I started with the last verse.It went something like-oh rainbow,rainbow,rainbow,you who sits on high…
I remember adding my own words,not really my own,actually,they were lines from the famous poem-An African storm
-the wind blows,the trees sway,
the open window shuts with a bang.

After not getting further than interschool competitions,I never attempted to do a solo verse again.

When I was called out to read my poem,I opened the book and the DJ started to play a song,so I was sitting there wondering-huh? And the audience was smiling and I was repeating in my head-oh no oh no.

Then the Cindy Ogana-runs back on stage and starts to dance,the DJ was playing the Cecilia you’re breaking my heart song and now I had to dance! I tried to look a bit confused hoping they’d let me-just read my poem-wapi!I had to dance despite it being a public secret that I donno how to dance.Believe me,even traditional dancing iliniweza.

It’s not the first time,many times I meet people and when they learn my name they start to sing -Cecilia you’re breaking my heart,you’re shaking my confidence-
I could revert to my other name but that wont help,when I was young,there was a hit song that Mama and his friends would sing to me,went like-
Gathoni Gathoni Gathoni ii,
Gathoni ,Gathoni,Gathoni,

Gathoni blaki beauty!

The opening artist was Munyi,that young boy who plays the guitar on his back but has a rotten mouth.He played Hotel California and Spanish guitar, then Nuru Bahati{Light Lucky} recited a poem.He is a pen artist and can do voices,made me laugh most of the night,and that little girl kweli who didn’t forget her words this time reminding me of when I was 18 and trying to look serious,hehe.
Cindy makes a great MC,and among the things I’m going to miss,Kwani?Open mic is number one on the list.
{Pictures on my album on facebook}

T 9

When I was small,there were three things I feared.An ogre,a T-9 and a Kanyutu.
In my mother tongue,a big person is called a kimundu,following the ngeli ya m-ki.A normal person is a mundu.A big p erson is also called impolitely, irimu.Irimu is an ogre. One day I watched as a child ran back to it’s mother saying-mami mami!Irimu!" In front of them a very tall man stood.
Mama told me that there were three times of marimu,those that carry baskets{irimu cia nyakondo},those that have three eyes, and Cain. I feared the first time most because if they came across you,they put you in their basket and took you to their very old grandmother who would boil you in a large pot as the ogres played a game of fire jump.Cain I was told could only be seen by children. I was not very afraid of him because he was only one and I believed if he was still making his round mwenda,he’d be somewhere as far as America,and before he returned I’d have grown up and wouldn’t see him.
When mama narrates a story he’s very dramatic, if he wasn’t so attached to his potato and cabbage plants, and his three cows,burugei, bahati and nyakairu, he would have made a career from telling stories,then his age mates would think he’s gone soft in the head,and kids would make fun of his sons at school.Though I doubt he’d get paid anything close to what he earns from one gunia of wheat for two or even 3 narrations.
So kanyutu he told me,was an animal that walked on it’s two legs, it was beige in color and could move faster than my dog chui running away from cucu if she found it in the kitchen watching me peel potatoes.
He said Kanyutu’s favourite food was cow’s udders. It would snatch the udder right out from under the unsuspecting cow and before the cow realized it was missing an important bargaining part ,fainted,then got up to moo, kanyutu would be in charity{charity was a village about 25 km from our village,up up the hills},disgorging another udder,and when the alarm was raised there,kanyutu would be in Baringo, another hilly 25 kms. Carrying the two udders like money bags from both hands, you can imagine, like a man running away and looking behind once in a while. The way he put it, kanyutu would know in advance where to go, and his route back so there was no way to keep watch to catch him.
I lived in terror of kanyutu.He said no one ever saw a kanyutu.
Last weekend,my neighbor was listening to Coro fm at his kiosk and when I went to buy a bamba twenty . I heard them mention kanyutu . I asked him what it was and he pointed to his calendar.I laughed.In my mind all this time,I had assumed mama had made up the story .Kumbe, a kanyutu is cheetah, and this time, the name was not even coined by mama.
The other cause of fear was a T9.These,everyone said were some very tiny rubies ridden dogs released from Uganda by Idd Amin.I don’t know how true that is .I never saw one but I saw it’s effects .When T9 caught up with your dog,the dog went mad immediately and started biting everything in sight.
One of cucu’s friend had only two cows, one they fondly called gathambu,and another silky one which gave them more milk. Gathambu gave about a cup and a half. When the T9 Paid their shed a visit, it bit the silky one. Now , the rule was that I such a case, one had to report immediately to the chief. Then the chief would send some askari to shoot down the animal. I remember that day, many men gathered in the field and dug a hole, like a grave then tied the cow with ropes and bang! It fell into the hole. We, the women folk were a bit far off , it felt like a funeral.
When two of my cucu’s cows were bitten, cucu was very sad. One died the following day, the other had to be killed. Now that I think about it, it must have been a very big loss. The neighbours came to comfort us.
Had it been a calf or a bull, the loss would have been minimal.
With dairy cows, there is always a connection. Which comes naturally from all those days you lean your head into their stomachs as you milk them twice even three times in a day and when you stay up with them to help them calve at 3a.m.No wonder the naming. Daisy , Rosy, Gathambu.
I have never understood how a small dog will just bite one animal and go the next, why just wound while it could bite, even eat the animal, maybe a calf and die happy instead of all the mad running around.
Ogres don’t scare me anymore, although when I meet a very huge person, I look again, just to make sure .
These fears are no longer prominent, but when I go to visit cucu and it gets dark and from the forest comes all sorts of sounds, I think-there is a kanyutu nearby,and that’s a fact.

Standard Five

Adolescence

Still in standard five,when we began to study homescience,some girls suddenly realized that indeed,their chests were undergoing a transformation.Some were happy,some started to walk with their eyes cast upon the ground,shoulder’s hunched. I still had some years to go before I faced the problem,but I was curious,me and another late bloomer. We managed to talk one of the girls whose chest was no longer like a boy’s to giving us a peek.
We could have gone behind the latrines or even in a bush on a way home but nine year olds thinks just like nine year olds.When one day we had our evening prep and no teacher was going round, crouching below the desk she gave us the peek, the mystery was dissolved, and we went on with the prep.
The following day during the morning parade,the teacher on duty had an important announcement.
-Can the following ngaos lemain mbihind-
Our three names were called out.We received a beating,and a warning,and we were told to keep away from boys.
That reminds me of the kind of mischief one will get into in school.In high school,our class prefect was very funny.
One night during prep,the class was quiet and everyone was busy reading something, even though for some it was those very popular sweet valley high teenage romance novels{SVH}.The teacher on duty came in and called out the prefect’s name,
-what do you think you are doing during prep?-
The following day,the entire school knew that Form 2 Pluto’s Cop had been caught mending her brassire in class during prep,by a male teacher.It was a big joke,to the prefect,but she was punished for it even though it left most of us who had humour genes in stitches.

The Other Side

How come, we hear the drum?
How come our hips are full of rhythm?
How come, the king of the jungle lives right here.

How come the trees blossom,
The flowers bloom,
The fruits ripen,
And the roots thicken?

How come there’s laughter,
And our stomachs don’t always rumble?

We cry at weddings,
Weep at funerals-

How come we see beautiful sunsets?
And have Nyahururu falls, The Nile,
Kilimanjaro, right here?

We dig the ground and gather gold,
We set our nets and fish come in.
Cocoa farms, coffee fields, tea estates,
Plantain, rice, sukuma-wiki, arrowroots,
Herbs, carrots, mangoes,
How come they grow?

Athletes, artists, swimmers.
Honey ,milk, muratina, the sea,
The ostrich, the weaver bird,
The bee, water, air, moon and stars?

Language, love and feelings?
Rich chocolate skins, black shiny foreheads,
Locks, white teeth, strong build.
Actually, it also rains on the other side.

Music

Now,if there was a subject I didn’t begin to understand until my last year of studying it,it was Music.I remember once.Mr.Jakubu,he was our music teacher and very practical at it.
The first lesson in class 6,he beat out a tune on his desk with a ruler and told us to write down the note.We!Life had never been harder.Even my two deskmates,Elijah and Amos could not help.We were all looking at him open mouthed,tutururiirwo.Elijah was the the funny one,but Amos was the funnier one because at such an instance,he’d have started to speak in his mother tongue despite knowing very well that would put him into further trouble.I remember after much struggle,I scribbled something like-tuu…kakaka….tttt. and then drew a crotchet along the line.Mr.Jakubu looked at me once,looked at my book,back at me again,,then hurled his famous string of insults,asking me whether I had ever gone mad,and announced how he was going to land 7 canes across all our armpits.He was fond of saying-wee kihii giki ngugwikira thanju mugwanja cia njegeke ungurane,I’ll cane you 7 strokes across in your armpits until you recognize me.He spoke in kikuyu,always,at the parade,in class…When he explained how to draw a semiquiver,it was,D nini njeke,ina matu meri.A small letter D with two ears.
After two lessons in class,he decided to make us real musicians.He asked us to bring bottles,flutes,tins,plastics,,and when we had the fortnightly music lesson,we’d perform for the teachers, or for the villagers in their shambas around the school.
During assembly, if he realized someone was not paying attention,he would wait until he was finished and he’d call out the person’s name and ask them to translate his speech, first into Kiswahili,then English,and leave out not a single word.
Mr Jakubu held a wedding,and we attended,just to see the bride.She was pregnant,people said that was bad,I was puzzled because,it was widely known they were living together and raising other children for more than a decade.
I later caught up on music,not the singing,but recognizing the notes,the latin words,and the musical instruments in Kenya which had a whole text book dedicated to them.