A good morning

A morning than all
A similitude to 1992
Potency a word to behold
A good morning
Hey!
Quite domesticated
Indubitably blithe
Like a garment of a
shining one
intellectual gleam diffuse
about his presence
The old boy
wakes up to the
chatter of the birds
Look at his face shine
with grace of a cat
steps out of the bed
the old boy.
Light comes in through
the openings of the cave

Son

I didn’t sleep yesterday,
thought ’bout you son,
didn’t escape mine heart,
as I looked at your mumie.

Beside me she lay,
her beautiful countenance,
I beheld.
Thought’ bout her

Thought ’bout you ,
hard you kicked
her “stomach “
son.

A world full of serenity,
A good place,
full of good people like
Kino

In Covid19 world son,
you will be born.
In the corrupt world,
you will be born.

I’ll write a letter for you.
I’ll write it after your first cry.
I’ll write it after the “cutting” of umbilical cord.
I’ll write it in the “secretest” place.

A beautiful letter.
A wonderful letter.
mumie is smiling,
“it’s lengthy, hunny”
come back to bed
She smiles

Men’s day

Thank you men for you are men.
Your muscles a fort for the women
The word echoes we men
Your bosom you provide for them women
No need for armor to guard your women
You wear the armor of God, men, we men
Women and them children secure in your hands

Thank you men for you are men.
Sons are happy when they try the shoes of
them fathers.
daughters are happy when they lay on the
bossom of them fathers.
Family so good a place

Thank you men for you are men.
So magnanimous you are men
A rib you gave them women and
a name
A society needs strong men
women and children are secure.
Strong men never batter theirs women
Stupid ones do so
Strong men come home to them wives with
bundles of joy, love, hope and happiness

Thank you men for you are men
You bring order to the society
It pains women and we men when
men rape
The hearts of women bleed when
men molest theirs daughters
The tears of women and we men shed when
men batter theirs wives
Those are not men and we men are not
happy.

Thank you men for you are men
If all men were men the world would be
orderly.
If all men were men the family would be
the best place.
The world is fucked up because men are
not men.
The word men to many men means the arsenal
between their legs.

Thank you men for you are men.
women and we men are bitter because
men in our lives left
men that mattered, our fathers, they left
We wish they were here when we were growing up
Look at theirs energy sapped by the world…

Thank you men for you are men.
Your sons and daughters want to hear your voice
They feel secure
When you home
model for them
Love them
Provide for them
Pray for them
Make the world a safe place for them
Women and we men
You are men
“man up” they always remind you when
you appear stupid and weak
Happy men’s day

Papa, why?

Good morning papa,
I saw your face turn black
as you kicked her belly.
Why did you hit mama?

Good morning papa,
mama’s hands broken,
mama’s face bruised.
Why did you hit mama?

Good morning papa,
You shout at mama,
her dignity you dispel.
Where is her worth?

Good morning papa,
so young my sisters,
full of dreams my sisters.
where is their worth?

Good morning papa,
My sisters you married off,
“dispose” you said.
Where is their worth?

Give them hope.
Show them love.
They are beautiful.
They are our mothers.
They are our sisters.
They are our daughters.
They are our wives.

A book with ten thousand words

Brightness blurs my eyes
The cave as cold as ice
Suddenly hot and lively
His glory fills the cave

His head hidden beyond firmament
His clothes shine brightly
It feels otherworldly in the cave
His glory fills the cave

His hand touches my bald head
and peace pervades my heart
and peace inexplicable and
His glory fills the cave

And hope and joy, my heart full of
and love He gives me and
gentleness he bestows in the boy
His glory fills the cave

He holds my hand and walks me
out in the still, peaceful place
He shows me a little book
A book with ten thousand words

Look at these words and
words we never utter
Look at these words and
words we never write

I took the book and
kept it in the cave and
read it every day and
A book with ten thousand words

Succor them

I watched them eat and drink
A cascade in their scenery
Made their hearts merry
Unaware of the impending darkness
Their hearts darkened too

Grim and sordid they were
Under the atmospheric cosmogony
They had put aside their agony
Sitting behind the mahogany
Their eyes sharp on their pulque

Evening like no other
The chorus of the ants muted
The chirping of the late birds
A owl on the roof next house
A bard falls in their midst

Oh! we need succor, shouted they
no peace and festivity no more
Adder bites their balls off
They run berserk
Who was their leader?

They wanted harmony but
chaos prevailed tonight
They wanted peace but
look at their poor hearts
Not vouchsafed their greatest desire

The neighbor I hosted

My neighbor had a fight so crafted
A fight with his brother; yes, his brother
A fight so long it lasted I say
I saw them ramshackled and silly
I cajoled them to stop it yesterday
They didn’t cease fire on each other.


I sheltered my neighbor
My neighbor so weathered
I gave my neighbor a room
A room built for my young child
Look at my neighbor grown fat
In the room I built for my young child


My child has grown up
My neighbor refuses to leave
To leave the room for my grown child
Look at my child so grown
Look at my neighbor so mean
He says the room is his
But did I not host my neighbor?

My neighbor has speared my wife
My wife imagine!
He says the woman is his
They had an intercourse yesterday
To kill me tonight ; yes tonight
The neighbor I hosted
But did I not host my neighbor?


I’ve fed my neighbor enough
Enough to have energy to grab mine property
I saw my neighbor with the surveyor
I saw my neighbor with a ‘Title D’
My neighbor dreams of replacing me
He is so mean my neighbor
But did I not host my neighbor?

BBC says I host him till dawn
Till there is enough light to see
Till my neighbor can heal
from  wounds of the fight
Shall I listen to them or send him away?
The neighbor has no respect
He is waiting in the valley
Ready to mock me and kill me

IZZ says that the room is his
Says I leave it to the neighbor
My child is grown and wants the room
What do I tell my child
The child of my youth
Look at me so tired and bend
Look at me so sorry of myself

My neighbor’s ejaculations with my wife
Shake the room I gave my neighbor
In the neighborhood they can hear them
They can hear the shaking of the bed
celebrating my overthrow
I can’t withstand it no more
Withstand the shame?

Desert Chronicles

Arriving at Garissa feels like the journey is over. Oops! It’s the end of the tarmac. The temperatures are so high. I had thought my home county was the hottest until I arrived at Garissa.

There is a thorough police check at Mondika. They scrutinize our IDs, our luggage are turned upside down. I think they are checking whether any of us is traveling illegally. The police check takes more than 1 hour. It’s a long hour of waiting. The refugees traveling from down Kenya undergo more scrutiny; they produce their manifest and they still have to be taken behind the police van, “for more scrutiny.”

It’s a rough road. No there is no road at all. It’s a journey to the desert. Forget about the documentaries. This is a reality. “Hey driver,” I gasp, ” don’t you break our backs.” It’s the most scary journey I have ever had. I sat beside an old man who slept throughout the whole journey; from Garissa to Dadaab. With all that speeding of the vehicle in the sand.

We arrived at Hagadera refugees camp at around 2pm. “So this is the place, ” I chuckle.
Quickly, a driver who we later get to know as Mohammad MUHUMED, picks us up. They warmly welcome us.

We are very curious. Look at us. Listen to the questions we are asking ;”How is the security in this place?”…”How many years can someone stay around here?”
All we get is a smile of assurance that everything is all right. The company of the friends is the best I could ever have. We all agree that Hagadera is the best place and we will dedicate our time to teaching these refugees.

“Hey daktari,” I gasp, “you’ve hit the core of the nose.” Corona testing is quite an experience not so good. We’re tested for covid 19 on Wednesday. We waited for a couple of days. We spent more than a week in the compound as we awaited  the covid 19 results.

The life in the desert is amazing. Life in the desert is to admire. It’s been 7 weeks and still energetic. The students are doing a CAT across all the camps.

You need to adapt to carrying a bottle of water every morning. You can fail to do anything else but don’t you ever miss a bottle of water. The temperatures are extremely high.

Even as we boarded the organization’s vehicles, to be taken to school, we could think of how fast time moves in the desert. We trailed behind the police van hoping that everything was to remain okay.

Serving among the vulnerable was the most fulfilling thing ever. But remember they click their tongues as a way of consenting. Take it easy please! In down Kenya you can almost kill a student for clicking their tongue. In the desert we lived by common sense and instincts.

We listened to the learners as they expressed themselves. Going to class and hearing their clicks as a confirmation to their understanding what you’ve taught was Carthatic.

On Thursday of 4th March, 2021,at around 9am something fishy happened. There was a commotion and noise emanating from the students. Upon peeping I saw a masked guy trying to pull a teacher out of the class. If it were not for the students’ intervention, the worst would have happened.

The argument was that the teacher who happens to be a Luo had been spotted some days earlier in the company of a Somali girl. He attempted the unimaginable. In the following day he was escorted out of the camp. It was the scariest scenario I’ve ever witnessed.

Such incidents have had occurred in the past
My friends who happens to have been around for more than ten year tells me that they had witnessed such so long a time. A teacher had taken a girl to Hanshi Hotel in Dadaab and next thing they heard was a message to collect his body in AL Ameen forest.

Living in Hagadera needed a lot of energy. To be inside the staff compound by 6pm. I would have wished to see what happens out there at night. Walking from the compound to the market and back. It’s baffling especially when someone says they had been around for more than ten years. Hagadera refugees camp!

The routine revolved around waking up, probably at 6am, taking breakfast, traveling to school, back to the Hagadera staff compound at around 5pm….

Desert Chronicles

Arriving at Garissa feels like the journey is over. Oops! It’s the end of the tarmac. The temperatures are so high. I had thought my home county was the hottest until I arrived at Garissa.

There is a thorough police check at Mondika. They scrutinize our IDs, our luggage are turned upside down. I think they are checking whether any of us is traveling illegally. The police check takes more than 1 hour. It’s a long hour of waiting. The refugees traveling from down Kenya undergo more scrutiny; they produce their manifest and they still have to be taken behind the police van, “for more scrutiny.”

It’s a rough road. No there is no road at all. It’s a journey to the desert. Forget about the documentaries. This is a reality. “Hey driver,” I gasp, ” don’t you break our backs.” It’s the most scary journey I have ever had. I sat beside an old man who slept throughout the whole journey; from Garissa to Dadaab. With all that speeding of the vehicle in the sand.

We arrived at Hagadera refugees camp at around 2pm. “So this is the place, ” I chuckle.
Quickly, a driver who we later get to know as Mohammad Muhumed, picks us up. They warmly welcome us.

We are very curious. Look at us. Listen to the questions we are asking ;”How is the security in this place?”…”How many years can someone stay around here?”
All we get is a smile of assurance that everything is all right. The company of the friends is the best I could ever have. We all agree that Hagadera is the best place and we will dedicate our time to teaching these refugees.

“Hey daktari,” I gasp, “you’ve hit the core of the nose.” Corona testing is quite an experience not so good. We’re tested for covid 19 on Wednesday. We waited for a couple of days. We spent more than a week in the compound as we awaited  the covid 19 results.

THE BEDROOM SOILED BY VASHA… Episode 1


Remorseful, I banged the door behind me. He had already fainted after I had hit him on the forehead. I didn’t know it would escalate to such height. Luckily, the children were away in their grandparents’ compound. The questions ringing in my head now were whether this is really what I wanted. Mutiso lying there breathless, his eyes not moving, a fixed gaze at me. I had felt his left breast and there was no reverberation.

We had met several years ago. Apart from his dark complexion, nothing more charmed me to the young man. It was in a friend’s funeral that we met. From his stare at me I could infer that he meant to have an intercourse with me. From my vantage point of view i saw him plaster a smile. It was all meant for me! I felt flattered or I was naive.

Within two weeks everything was set to its course. Things had moved quite fast. He was imbued with a desire to give me the palatial life that I so desired. Having been born in a family where struggle was the order of the day, this was a great win for me, for us, he could help educate my young siblings.

Yesterday we had slept doors open. ” I don’t know what you are talking about,” Mutiso had said.
” It shouldn’t worry you because you never even cared an iota at first,” I had replied.
As he placed his hand on my shoulder I felt as if it were a log on my shoulders. It was not the same hand that romantically caressed me. As we kissed, it tasted sour. Not the same kiss that I was used to.” I’m sorry, ” he uttered. Heretofore I had made my calculations which could forever cost my peace.

I tried to restrain myself. Keeping mum, I got out of the bed and made for the restroom. I didn’t know what I exactly wanted to do. Maybe get in the bathtub. Something to redirect my feelings. Sitting room was not the best place to sleep in; not after our quarrel. The children’s room was there. But this too could have had bad impression to the children. They were old enough to join the dots.

Last year we had exchanged blows in the sitting room for the children to walk in unannounced. They were still young. How could we descend to such a low level. But he wanted to drive some sense in me and I couldn’t just sit there as he beat me. It was the first time that he called me by my second name. I knew that something was amiss. For the last five years he had never addressed me by my second name.

At first I had thought that it couldn’t be true that Mutiso was having an affair with my best friend. A man I so much cherished. I trusted my friend so much. I thought it was dent to my husband’s reputation. I dismissed such allegations as mere envy. How so? Were the questions that lingered in my mind. My poor heart missed a beat.

A friend we held so dear. I had invited her to our house. But was she not dating Mutua? I couldn’t see her as a threat to my marriage. After all she was Mutiso’s sister’s friend. Therefore, there was no reason to suspect her. There was no reason to bar a friend.

I couldn’t imagine that Mutiso would fake a business trip to take Kalekye to Naivasha. As it trended in the social media platforms, little did I know that I could be caught pants down. That it could happen to me too. We had laughed about it and people made nasty jokes about men taking their ‘mpango wa kando’ to Vasha.

I had even confided in Kalekye about writing an article in reference to Vasha Chronicles. The Subaru narrative. We owned a Subaru but such thoughts as my hubby soiling our matrimonial vows were far from my mind. It had never occurred to me that he could have the audacity to even think about it. My entrusted hubby? No way! Kalekye had even confirmed that my husband could be the last person to do such a thing.

I have had a great deal of information on how to hide murder. I had watched so many movies on murder but those were mere scripts. I had killed in practical. I had killed my husband. I had ended the life of the father of my children.

Mutuku, the first born was 8 and in grade 4. A very brilliant boy; a very
attribute of his father. A chatterbox who kept us awake with his recount of so many stories…

Desert Chronicles

The journey was indubitably long. Woke up at 4.30am to prepare for the would be harrowing journey. ” At what time is the vehicle departing?” my friend calls…”Oh! Diamond coach bus will pick you up at Kenyatta road stage,” he says.

The group at Kahawa Wendani were left behind by the bus. I was almost left behind . Our journey to Dadaab refugees camp turns out to be an exploration, sorry, an adventure. Of course we have heard of so many stories about ‘… habaab.’

The signing of the contract forms appeared like making a death wish. Have you ever written a will? Relax then. I had never imagined working in Dadaab at any point in my life. We won’t discuss a lot about the journey from Nairobi to Garissa. Maybe we can mention Thika, Makongeni, Matuu and Mwingi…

The Dadaab refugees camp Chronicles

Sometimes I didn’t get energy to write anything down. To explore my thoughts to the optimum. To interrogate my subconscious mind and try to understand the abundance therein. The thoughts could choose to be private to the self. Heretofore the life in Dadaab has been good save for the fear of unknown. I could sit and overthink. In a moment of nostalgia go through my diaries and album. Try to reminisce those moments of life when I wished to grow big and be as independent as I am. This is the moment I become vulnerable with my thoughts. The fact hits me that I am not growing younger but older. The other day I saw the guy in the mirror and I knew that years have really gone. Hahaha! It’s a private reminder though.

My green cat

Our cat was such a playful thing
A green cat
Never seen other of the kind
Our cat so playful

I watched it tease rats before tearing and
I saw it play with the lizards and
I watched it gossip with our dog
Our cat so playful

Then one cloudy afternoon
One cloudy afternoon our cat
Our cat went missing
Our playful cat

Where is our cat so playful?
Where is our green cat?
I tried posters it didn’t work
Our playful cat







Pandora

Let’s all get out and see the darkness
Let’s tiptoe lest they hear of our coming
I can hear of their whisper
They can’t see us
What are they planning?

Let’s not listen to their whisper
Let’s look up to the stars
The stars are looking at us
They are wondering why we are out
Why are the stars wondering?

I want it written in the Pandora paper
That we are out here listening
Their intercourse is heated and
The ground around them is shaking
Why are the stars looking at us?

The trees too are looking at each other
They want their stories in Pandora paper too
They are never happy with the woodcutter
Look at the trees too
Why is it too dark to see them?

Let’s get back in before they see us
Let’s just read it in the Pandora paper
It is too dark out there
Clouds are forming
maybe rains too

A weevil

Look at this weevil so colorful
It has destroyed my flowers so beautiful
Let me go home and bring an arrow
Its devastating and a harrow

Let me kill it and bury it so deep
Why kill a weevil so colorful?
Why do people kill a weevil so colorful?
Why do weevils destroy my flowers so beautiful

I’ll instead buy a gun and shoot the weevil
I’ll contract them that smuggle guns
I’ll invite the media for coverage
As I shoot the weevil so colorful

I’ll question of its destroying beautiful flowers
I’ll mock it and then kill it
I want it to be all over social media
Of how I shot a weevil that destroyed my flowers

I want it written in the international newspaper
I want it watched in the CNN
I want it seen in the BBC
I want it captured in the AL Jazeera

The bettle

I looked at him
he opened up the bottle
The bottle hosted the bettle
Of how the bettle got in a mystery
He opened up the bottle

The other bettles outside looked
The bettles wondered
They wondered if it were a real bettle
He opened up the bottle

The bettles kissed
They kissed the freed bettle
They didn’t enquire of its estrangement
Estrangement in a bottle
A black bottle
A bottle in the darkness

I opened my journal
The words looked up at me
The refused to bring a meaning
I held a pen
A pen to write of the bettle
The words refused to form

The flower

The dust settled on the beautiful flowers
The flowers so beautiful
Their sweet aroma attracts beautiful insects
From afar

The driver didn’t stop
The driver didn’t have respect for the beautiful flowers
Their sweet aroma didn’t attract the driver
The dust settled on the beautiful flowers

The rains fell on the beautiful flowers
The rains cleaned the flowers
The beautiful insects are so happy
The rains fell on the flowers

The gardener came to pluck the flower
Where was the gardener when the vehicle settled dust on the flower?
But the gardener came and plucked the flower
The flower so beautiful

The flower to mourn his dead dog
The flower to mourn his dead donkey
The beautiful flower
Where was the gardener?

From my vantage point of view
I watch all this happen
I can do nothing for the flower
I’m not the gardener
And I can do nothing
I’m a watcher

I saw the vehicle
I saw the dust
I saw the flower
I saw the gardener
And I did nothing
Nothing to change the situation

I sing

I sing a song of joy
I sing because the flowers are happy
I sing because the leaves are joyful
The members are delighted

I sing because the branches are clapping
I sing because roots are dancing
I sing because the branch is
smiling
The members are a unit

It’s a song in the hearts of them
Of them of good will
A song synchronized by hope
A hope that the beautiful song will be sang
The members are a unit

A song of hope for the refugees
A song of peace in Dadaab
A song whose rhythm is the
Punctuations of love, peace and unity

The flowers won’t survive without
The members
The leaves won’t survive without
The members
The branches won’t survive without
The members
The stem won’t survive without
The members
The members are a unit

Semi finale… The tree

The turbulence has ended
The rains are over and
The flowers are happy and the leaves plaster a smile and the branches whimper and the roots are not very happy and
I want to write

I want to write today but
The roots whimper
The roots whimper and
They matter
They matter coz they are
They are part of the tree and I can’t wait

I’ll walk round Gadera
I’ll visit Jarajira and see if
If they really are there
I’ll look at the tree and
I’ll write about it

I would like to get to Heger dam and
Use the waters to cool the temperature and maybe
Maybe water the tree and
I can’t write

The flowers are happy and
I want to write
The leaves are happy now and
I want to write
The roots are happy now and
I want to write
The branches are happy now and
I want to write

The tree

The sun so hot to dry the paint
Chase that lizard away from the table
The paint to dry in the hot sun
Allow the table to dry

It’s raining heavily and
the table is outside and
No one is doing something and
You all look at me
Take the table in

Take the cat out and
Take the dove out and
Leave the room empty and
Take the table in
The flowers so happy and
The branches frown

Maybe I will write after
The rains are over after
The table has dried after
I can’t wait longer after
Maybe
Maybe

The turbulence is so much but
I want to write
The rains are so heavy but I’m still out here
Is somebody in there?

The tree

The flowers clap for me
The branches jeer me
The leaves cheer me
But the roots don’t understand

The owner of the tree
Dresses the tree
The owner of the tree
Was incarcerated
The owner of the tree

I’m happy coz I’ve a pen
I’m happy coz I’ve a book
I’m happy coz I remember
I’m sad coz I can’t get
get a table

A table to write on
Give me a table and
Give me a a chair and
don’t look at me like a tree
Give me a a chair

A chair so long to reach Gadera
A table so long to reach Gahaley
A table to place my book
A table made from the Jarajira tree

Paint it white and
Leave it in the sun and
Invite everyone in Gadera and
Force them to touch it
Touch it with their small fingers and
Smile

The tree

The flowers complain
The leaves whim
That I’ve said much
That I won’t write
That I would spend a lot a time wishing

I wake up early to write
I stay awake to write
To write about the tree
To please the flowers
To please the leaves
A lot a time wishing

The shadow covers Jarajira
The shade hosts Gadera
Give me a book and
Give me a paper and
Give me a pen
A lot a time wishing

The stem is thick and
The branches are large and
The roots are deeper and
I wish to write about the tree
At least tomorrow

I WANT TO WRITE

I want to write
write about a tree
I want to write
write about its branch

I want to describe
Describe its flowers
Describe its fragrance
Draw its leaves

I want to collect
collect sand
Name every particle
Every particle round the tree

The trees look at me
The leaves wave at me
The flowers smile at me
But the branch

About the birds
Parching beneath it
look at the tree
It’s flowers , leaves
But the branch

In the outskirts
Away
In Bushra
But the branch

Give me a pen
Give me a paper
I want to write
I want to write

They heard it

They slowed their pace,
They paced like a chameleon.
behind them a wilderness,
a vast wilderness,
What was that sound?
They heard it.

A donkey ran behind them,
Camel spotted a mile in front,
Mmmmh!
What was that sound?
They heard it.


In front of them a desert,
The cabinet so heavy,
Unbundled themselves,
a gander they took.
what was that sound?
they heard it.

A sound so loud,
echoed afar,
They wondered,
What was that sound?
they heard it.

The key


Press the On button
Press the style button
Press the voice button
Press the start button

Touch me with dexterity
I breed melody
Play the black keys
Play the white keys

Touch me seductively
I breed melody
dance to the rhythm
Romantically caress me

Touch me with a skill
I’ll heed
Touch me like no other
Look at the skies

Carthatic a tune
Irresistible a melody
Feel me with your fingers
I love your fingers

A PAT ON THE BACK


In the stretch of imagination
In the glories of exploration
In the inconclusive experiences
In the lugubrious afternoon
lurid glare under the stars
A placid staring of the stars
Vulnerable in mine soul
Hunger in mine soul
Opened mine eyes
A Pat on the back
Happiness
Kindness
A Pat on the back
serenity of stillness
An exquisite brilliance

*lugubrious – gloomy, mournful

*lurid – pale

Optimism

That we could see the moon shine. That the brightness could brighten our ways. That we could enjoy the Lustre of the stars. That we could appreciate the beauty of the sky. That the sun could shine our paths to destinations. The horizon couldn’t limit our hope. Every rising of the sun we see hope. Lighting our paths. That in the wilderness we could see hope. That in the valleys and mountains we could adjust not only our shoes but also our walking style. That thanking God won’t escape our minds. #Forever grateful

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