Culture, Deep and overstood, Dionysus, Kenya, Life, Love, Lust, Prose, Travel

Monday..brrr….yawn…oh..a template… :)


Namaste bi…Wait that’s Kevin Mutua’s greeting on the Sanaa Whatsapp group. It’s been a cold 2 months and now we are on the 3rd one. Heed Eddard Starks words : “Winter is coming” and Ebola might be the Whitewalkers. Just thinking out loud.

I found it fun when I found this template. Seems people have direct answers for most of this stuff. But as usual my brain always reads too much into simple words so this is my version.

 

Making: Love? No? Ok, making time count. I am trying to get loads of things I have procrastinated on before done. Like editing my poetry script and hopefully publish the best 30.

Cooking: Way too many eggs!! I have them in everything. Rice, Toast, Spaghetti etc. But I am craving that protein and energy due to my new workout regime. Twice a day at 7 AM and 10 PM is hard work especially after a long day’s at work.

Drinking: Tusker. But that’s too common. So the new thing I’m drinking is Kate’s Organics Green Tea. I have had it in my work locker for a while now. It’s a great stress reliever, antioxidant and yes, that secret weight loss method I have used before. Dropped 5 kgs in a month. Now dropped 15 to date. Oh but don’t think that is the only thing you gotta do. I don’t take sugar at all and remember working out mentioned above.

Reading: Game of Thrones. Been at it on my phone for 3 months now. Had to find something to do once the series was done for the moment.

Wanting: To find a football pitch with a real organised team close to work. I am tired of my own where the pitch has so much gravel that every time I fall, I’m ruled out for 2 months. How will I ever manage to impress Wenger’s scouts??

Playing: I wanna say her but I am single so mmmhh let’s say Candy Crush but I got stuck at level 86 four months ago and I kind of gave up. I have therefore for the moment joined the bandwagon of hating on those who send requests on Facebook.

Wasting: Sleeping hours. I sleep for about 4 hours daily. Except on weekends when I overdo it. I need to sleep more. But that means I need to slow down my brain without using any drugs. Proving to be quite a feat.

Sewing: My vests?? I think I should just buy new ones or just stop working out. Or both. My biceps are 12 inches now. I think. I know brag brag brag…so my sleeved vests suffer.

Enjoying: Watching arsenal’s pre-season games. Sanogo is coming of age but that kid Bellerin is who I want to see more of. Damn that pace!!

Liking: My renewed OCD to clean up for myself. No more washing ladies and I have managed to do my washing and general cleaning 5 times now.

Loving: The fact that I found these bunch of misfits we met while in high school. All of them. There was Ann, Tracy and Nyambura. And all of us finally, all of us reconnected on Facebook. It has been a long 10 years.

Dreaming: Of Premier League glory. So close and possible I can almost taste it.

Hoping: That she understands my French. My words, my poetry, my only mastered language. 😀 Who is she? I have no idea.

Marveling: At these Dubai water fountains that dance to “I will always love you” in tribute to Whitney Houston. The science and the art that went into this is amazing.

Needing: 3 table spoons of codeine filled cough syrup so I can get some sleep. These coughing is making me lose so much sleep.

Smelling: Absolutely nothing. The almost 3 month cold spell has done well to work against my flu immunity and I get like a bout every 2 weeks. So now my nose is blocked. Food tastes like cardboard. (Don’t ask when I ever tasted it but I did.) But worst of all, I hate the coughing that makes girls shun you just at the moment when you need warmth and hugs. 😦 😛

Wearing: This awesome blazer. Well worth the price. Even the camera guys at the Heineken Desperado Launch could not stop taking photos of it. 😀  Thanks B.A.K.E for the invite again.

 

Photo Courtesy of Bundi Anassi Photography
Photo Courtesy of Bundi Anassi Photography

Following: @Jeanwandimi  of http://thewineandfoodreview.com/ and  of  http://theveon.wordpress.com/ One writes about wine and alcoholic events 😀 , the other about campus stories and puppy love poetry. 😛 Both read my blog. Great writers and great personalities.

Noticing: Despite my initial criticism of Instagram, 2 weeks without an android phone is killing me. I also miss Instant Twitter. Follow me at @TheDivineBandit and http://instagram.com/thedivinebandit I won’t follow back today or this week either but I will when I come back to a 100+ notifications.

Knowing: I’m like 3 years away before the nudges at family events to “get married” become full on body charges followed by a scrum down and a neighbour’s daughter as a try. That sounded mean but I had to clear the sports analogy.

Feeling: Happy despite the blocked nose, inflamed throat and erratic coughing. I am alive and so is all of my nuclear family and my best friends and friends. Most that I know of are in good health. Feeling a bit sad when I think of Robin Williams. A little is an understatement.

Eating: P….Pus…It’s spelled Pistachios damnit!! I like indulging in some exotic nuts..Ok this keeps sounding wrong. So I guess I’m done. 😀

#IAmKenyan, Culture, Deep and overstood, Kenya, Life, Love, Politricks, Prose, Travel, War

The Man in the Mirror needs to be Kenyan


I had a harder time coming up with a title for this post than I had writing it. This is because I always knew how I would tell the story. How I would pass the story across. How despite my Kiswahili influenced phrase translation, I knew most of my audience would get it. That’s because they are Kenyan. When they read this, they don’t apply a particular accent to it. No, they use that familiar pronunciation that most are accustomed to. Yes, that way Kenyans speak that makes people always question where I’m from every time I travel. They seem to easily recognize the Oga and other Western African accents, I have been told the Tanzanian’s English is more sing-song than we can tell. And of course in Omugurusi’s country, they are easy to identify and well popularised by the hilarious Anne Kansiime.

Most of us especially writers insist on writing British English despite the fact that it’s harder to speak in the same accent. We have “U’s” in humour, favourite and all our endeavours. See what I did there? We also have “S” in place of “Z” in the past participle of most verbs. I actually forcefully use the S in my posts no matter how many red lines appear under my words. If you have been on my blog before, you will realise that these first two paragraphs are what I use to get my mind to focus. ADD is a bitter gift and a sweet curse. But I have the hang of it now.

About 3 weeks ago, I was to do a post that would have started with the simple phrase: “I HATE KENYA!!” My reasons would have been justified. As far as my perspective was concerned. See, I had been in Angola for just over 2 weeks. In those 2 weeks, I had to contend with knowing  blood was flowing back at home. My brothers and sisters were getting killed or maimed for life. And this had prompted quite an emotional post from the south side of Africa. Ironically, here I was in a country that had experienced civil war into the 21st century. They had obviously learnt their lesson from what I could see around. They all mostly speak Portuguese and marry without discrimination on tribe or colour bases. This is saying a lot. The country has a machete in its flag for Chrissake. And yes, I know that was not the intended meaning.

Cogs, Machetes and Stars. But still peace reigns.
Cogs, Machetes and Stars. But still peace reigns.

Back to why I hated Kenya at that particular moment. I landed on a Monday at 3 am. And I was still a bit sad from the news I had read while abroad. I was supposed to be off  work for the next 2 days due to travel and jet-lag. But I had a conference on Tuesday and so despite the fatigue, I was up by 6 am to pick up a Ugandan guest who was here to attend said conference. Long story short, by 8 am that day, I was not nodding off to sleep at Geographical Information Systems conference. I was standing in a stuffy, ammonia smelling, wall graffiti ridden room at Kibera Law Courts.

It’s still art no? #Scofield Moments

Yes, I had been arrested. For failing to use a pretty non-existent pedestrian crossing as I crossed Waiyaki way. Yes, I was at fault as long as the rule of law is concerned. But, yes I would do the same thing over and over as I told the cops as other guests at the back of the “Maria” tried to negotiate for their release. The thing is, on Waiyaki way, it does not matter where you cross the road, (that is unless you have a foot bridge close to you), you still have to rush across it like a demented oryx who learnt how to walk from Bambi to avoid getting hit by the onrushing traffic. See, no one slows down at the said pedestrian crossings. Some cars actually seem to speed up near them so as to avoid traffic that might be caused by people crossing. It does not help the case that the road is sometimes widest at these same points. I tried asking why not arrest the reckless drivers first who have made the pedestrian crossings unusable. I got comically stupid answers like “We will start with you today then we will move to the drivers.” Yes, you would have to use the Pedestrian crossing for the moment and if you got hit while following the law, they would make sure the driver paid heavily for your physiotherapy or your funeral. I had to pocket just to avoid slapping the tiny brain out of his ear.

But the arrest alone was not the reason I was so angry at the country. Neither the fact that I had to wait a whole day, standing till my old sports injured foot hurt like hell to pay a one thousand Kenya shillings fine. Nor was it the fact that some people charged the previous day with the same offence had been fined 20K or a month in jail. I thanked my stars I was not one of them. No, I was angry at the fact that in that one day, we were about 1000 people that were charged with such a minor traffic offence. I was angry as I saw a man arrested carrying business wares in a paper bag; weep at the fact that he could not afford the fine. Yes the poor would become more poor. But most of all I was angry at the fact the perpetrators of Mpeketoni attacks had gone through traffic blockades without getting arrested. I was angry that the grenade attackers had evaded these same cops. This great law enforcement order that could arrest 1000 people in one day for not crossing the road properly. Yes, they had missed an internationally re-known terrorist who would end up bringing terror and bloodshed at Westgate. Yes, my innate patriotism was gone. I could not afford to be loyal to this country. The next chance I got for better pastures, I would not even cross the border chewing cud. But that was 3 weeks ago.

My rationale is always too strong. So with time, love for my country has come back. As always we know who to blame. But we always forget about the man in the mirror. Yes, 26 years since the Michael Jackson hit. We still sing along without taking into account the lyrics. I will not adopt a holier than thou attitude and pretend I have not been in the least bit tribal before. But I have over time always worked to negate any history I might have had with that ugly attribute. I actually stopped using my actual second name so that one could not easily tell what tribe I was from. That way we could act with no prejudice. Be friends unconditionally. My 7 best friends are Kalenjin, Punjabi, Meru, Giriama, Luo, Kamba and Taita. I did not choose for them to be. No, their personalities are what makes them be accorded such honours. I have to state that I am Kikuyu otherwise this will not make sense. In that cell, my best friend was a Luo. Yes, in the eyes of our so-called leaders, we are supposed to be water and oil. They make jokes that never can you eat Omena with Githeri. Such shameless and archaic analogies.

We had been talking since the bumpy, overloaded, no-safety belt ride from Waiyaki way via Ngong road to Kibera. None was benefiting from the other. We just shared jokes and political quips. But by the end of the day, the relationship was forced to become symbiotic. He had no one to pay for his fine at the bank so I had my best friend do it for him. And with his knowledge of the Luo language he made sure he negotiated with the senior cop so we did not sleep in a cell. He was a brother in alms. (Yes I spelled that right). We even took the same cab to work from the hell in a cell. “Omera, Nyasaye ogwedhi”

I hope this is not the rapper, but it just might be..

I have written a post on how I was taught how to love growing up. One thing I was not taught is how to hate. I was actually taught of how evil that would be. How much of a sin that was. In later life when certain people have driven me to such an extent. i have only learnt of how consuming hate is on the person producing it than the one receiving it. It is a cancer. And its consequences are almost as deadly if not worse.

Yes, we called Luos, “Mera” growing up but that had loads to do with the repeated phrase; “Omera” . Which I later came to learn is one of the most endearing words in the language as it means “my brother”. I admired the Luo workers who used to live in Central Province then. This number has since significantly dwindled. They were hardworking, astute, muscular and if you know me then you would knowI kind of very much followed in these footsteps. (Just like being Luo, GymRat is a lifestyle 🙂 ) I have said before, I am a child of the world. I really do not care where my good qualities come from. All humans are my brothers and sisters. My enemies are those who try to oppress them or hurt them regardless of their creed, race or tribe.

Because whichever political rally you attend, whomever you vote for. It’s that neighbour you sell your wares too, that driver who drives your kids to school, that friend in your network who informs you of a vacancy at his workplace. That is your real friend. When in need, your wedding committees, your burial and funeral arrangements, your hospital bill Harambee does not have IDs being checked for tribal name tags. Yet, all and sundry who have known you, have respected you and have loved you will show up at your door.

We do not inherit the earth from our ancestors; we borrow it from our children

We are the perfect generation to exact change in this country. We are not the leaders of tomorrow but those of today. We can change two generations at once. We can change our parents and make sure our kids never learn otherwise. They learn nothing but love. They never learn to be Luo, Kikuyu, Kamba or Kalenjin. Teach them to be Kenyan. Yes I know it will be not be easy. Nothing worth it ever is. You cannot give up on this. The whole country will depend on you. Your heroism will be unsung. Not a single verse will be written in your honour. But I will stand too. I am sure as hell that I am not alone. My brothers and sisters from all parts of Kenya already ride with me. Are you willing to join me? I am not a Kikuyu, I am not black. #IAmKenyan

This will not be poetic, this will not be prose.

And for some time the thorns will outshine the rose.

The book will not be written. The history not recorded.

The wise will understand for the message will be coded.

The blind will hear the message and communicate it to the deaf.

The couriers will be the dumb so the secret will never be known.

We will have not seen, heard or said anything evil.

The war will be fought by the crippled, master minded by the bald heads of cancer patients.

You see the battle will not need brute strength.

The lid on the jar is already open and the concern will be how to get it back on.

The man in the mirror will already be one with his reflection.

The step of the Boy Scouts will sound like the army, but we will not hear it.

The bubble wrap around this new world will sound like gunshots but we will not fear it.

Peace, love and unity will be tissue thin but we will not tear it.

The struggle will be real but we will bear it.  

THE DIVINE BANDIT October 17, 2013

Check out: http://iamkenyan.or.ke/

Culture, French, Kenya, Life, Love, Prose, Travel

Odysseys, junkets and business trips: woes and pleasures


I try hard not to smile but I'm happy..clap along...no? ppshhhh
I try hard not to smile but I’m happy..clap along…no? ppshhhh

Ever had an idea hit you and actually makes you wonder how dumb you must have been minutes before it occurred? No? Happens to me every 6 months as I look back on my life. And I laugh at how smart I thought I was then. This is what recently happened when I realized that I have never written of my travels despite having visited a couple of countries. I am not yet the “Up in the Air” type but still I have been to India. Yes I like mentioning that because in my planned travels as I grew up, that was never in the plans. I have passed through some really hot (and not in the beautiful kinda hot way though they are) places like Qatar and the UAE. I left my jaw at the Ethiopian airport. I wonder how the Ethiopian men maintain their sanity with that much beauty floating around them. No wonder they are always doing long distance running. One has to get a way to get rid of the dhaaaasttt you know. 😉 And I have been to countries where my French versatility really came as a great help. But never have I ever been at a loss like I am where I am now. To be surrounded by people whose only knowledge of English are the words yes and no. Not really their fault. I should have learnt Portuguese. But for now I have to contend with loads of sign language and “Portuguese-lised French”.

My woes started as soon as we landed, it was funny at first but then it became very annoying. We landed in the middle of the airport. About 2 kilometres from the actual airport. (I am not sure about the distance, I have said before on this blog how messed up I am at estimating distances). You see the thing is, we had come in the huge Boeing 777-300ER and the Luanda airport could not accommodate it till some planes moved. So we had to stay right smack in the middle of the runway and wait. But tell that to the travelling group of about 40 Chinese guys. No. They stood up and started getting their luggage and heading to the exits. This was despite the explicit instructions from the pilot to stay seated. The flight attendants had to get each one of them back to their seats but 10 minutes later they were up again and at the doors. I laughed my heart out to the chagrin of the cabin crew who were very annoyed by now. I kept wondering why they were in a hurry to get off the plane. Was Angola moving and I didn’t know? I am rarely in a hurry when I have no control of the factors influencing time.

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We finally made it into the airport and we got to queue as usual at the passport control/immigration. I have never really cared which is which. I had 10 of the Chinese clique ahead of me, fast talking in Mandarin, (I think) while carrying bags so big they looked like they were KDF in training. I try not to judge or be prejudicial based on race, tribes etc. But something happened that had me chewing on my spectacles (yes, I still say that instead of glasses) to avoid spilling the bile that built up in me. I had more venom on my tongue than a cobra that has its flute hypnotist playing the “Toklezea” tune. You see as we got in, they were checking for Yellow Fever cards before ushering you to passport control. Many of the Chinese guys did not have theirs or had put them way too deep in their big bags. (Yes, that happens to someone with so many fanny packs, they look like they have the Batman utility belt. 🙂 ) Anyway, most of them were behind the 150 t0 200 or so other passengers. Soon some of them started coming and checking with the 10 ahead of us (you know language barrier and all, yes I thought I had it bad till you see a Mandarin vs Portuguese conversation). I don’t know how it happened, neither do the other passengers as no one complained. But 15 minutes later, all the 40 Chinese guys were ahead of us. SAY WHAAAT??!! That single moment almost made me hate a whole race. But I am a pretty rational person so I simmered it down when I remembered just 4 years ago I had a really huge crush on one of their ladies. 🙂

 

That aside, for the first two days here, I had to drink juice yet I really wanted water at the hotel. You all know “Water thirst” is unquenchable any other way. Poor me. Only one receptionist speaks English and he works during the day when I’m off to work. Finally my Wi-Fi worked and I Googled the word. I felt silly. Again wondering how stupid I was 2 days ago. Aqua would easily become agua. SMH. But that was not to be the end of my woes, coming from the office very late at night one day meant, I had to take a motorbike as the actual taxis are very expensive, like a 100 dollar expensive and they offer no receipts. This would mean reconciliation wars back in Kenya so I opted for the cheaper 200 Kwanza option. A friend from work negotiated the price and told the driver/rider the hotel name then he left. So 5 minutes later, we are cruising on a highway, no helmets on and me holding the motorbike carrier so hard I almost pull off the mesh. My Kenyan man genes can’t allow me to put my hands around a man’s waist. I’d rather die (almost quite literally as that is what would have happened if we hit a pothole or bump). But I was more worried about the guy not having gotten the right hotel name and then I would have ended up disappearing in Angola and working in a diamond and oil mine to save enough money to get back to Kenya. Of course my family would want me back but I guess the more interesting search party would be Sanaa Book Club running tags like #BringBackTheMane #KeepTheBandit on Twitter. This might seem like a joke but it almost happened in Vadodara, India. Having been to more urban provinces like New Delhi and Bangalore. I ended up wandering past the “English literacy” zone. So I was stranded outside a market, jewellery, sun glasses, saris in a paper bag trying to explain to 5 tuk tuk guys where my hotel was. Never felt tears sting the eyes so much but I couldn’t cry. They finally flowed from relief later at the hotel as I hurriedly packed for a flight that was at 1 AM if I remember well. I had got back to the hotel at 11 PM having cleared at the market by 7 PM.

Is this what Anto Neo Soul is singing about?? lol.. Sari sari sari sari...
Is this what Anto Neo Soul is singing about?? lol.. Sari sari sari sari…
I got late being a celeb. They thought I was from the States. :)
I got late being a celeb. They thought I was from the States. 🙂

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They tell you that certain gestures are vulgar in certain cultures. No one told me about English words (I thought they all meant the same everywhere) and so surprise…..surprise when everyone looked at me shocked and in disbelief when I asked about the clubbing scene. So apparently, a club in Luanda is a brothel or are brothel like. And not chips funga brothel-like. Like naked or 1/16th dressed people kinda brothel. House parties are the norm here for most young people. I am yet to confirm this. Nairobi men would thrive in this kind of environment. That is unless the below happens but I hear that is rare here. 🙂

Phone yake imeenda mteja... lmao
Phone yake imeenda mteja… lmao

 

One thing I have learnt from travelling is that home is not just where the heart is. No. Whenever I travel I miss my country so much and I’m nostalgic to the point that the “Bonoko” audio file I have on my phone provides solace. Home is where I’m understood.Home is where my jokes are laughed at. Home is where my family is. Home is where my best and oldest friends are. Home is where I love with a fierceness that scares even me. With the corruption, the lies, the blood, the tears, the potholes, the afandes. I love my home. Blood will flow for the moment but we shall be peaceful again. Home is in my prayers.  Home is where I love so many people even those I don’t tell, those I can’t tell, those I won’t tell. Home is Kenya. Home is 4 days away. 😀

And now for some shots of the worldly me. 🙂

 

DSC01679
MVP…. 😛
Brrrrrrr.......
Brrrrrrr…….

 

DSC00496
It’s like I fell in a Vaseline bucket… 😦
Awesome team...worldly..
Awesome team…worldly..
The gym does not know timezones..
The gym does not know timezones..

DSC00599 425681_10150596568743346_534088345_8892198_46006202_n

Never felt like such a pimp...hehehe
Never felt like such a pimp…hehehe
Deep and overstood, Hip hop, Kenya, Life, Politricks

No Angel


Another one from TDB and his grandson

Doing something to change the world.

Still on hold.

Not so bold.

It’s like am waiting till I get some gold.

Nod like I can’t do it in my current mode.

My ideology to the public ensure its sold.

Not rich enough, powerful enough but still can offset some load.

Start an idea, change the mood.

However small still consider it good.

Through my words and ideas, revive some hood.

Never experienced poverty, slept without getting food.

Still got no laxity in helping however I could.

No angel just don’t see the point of having too much while others have too little.

Allow me to intrude your comfort zone don’t wanna be rude.

Point out the injustices leave you nude.

The divine bandit shoot ‘em up reload.


High as a kite.

We gonna win this fight.

Gonna take this flight.

As we have no fright.

I tell you this feels right.

We kill all fear tonight.

I am the divine bandit and I rhyme cos it’s my right.

My dreams I never lose sight.

Whatever the recipe I always take a bite.

Make a home for my wayward mind as I survey the site.

Look at my forefathers as I do this rite.

Pour a drink to them as I pray for height.

My heart and head are heavy never light.

So strong yet they ignore my might.

I breathe these words and make this verse tight.

I am on the weighing scale check my weight.

Love QWERTY but on this touch-pad I write.

I wanna continue but I got this date.

That I consider to be my fate.

So I’m never late.

Always early to open the gate.

I shine on these words at a higher rate.

You need not applause just make sure you never hate.


Back at me still biting the bait.

Too soon don’t rate.

Just set up a date.

To bring change and not with Cate.

Got potential to change their fate.

Not solo got the support of my mate, Ed not Nate.

Start up a few projects.

Listen to society not just object.

Understand the root of the problem before trying to eject.

Less our efforts just lead to more neglect.

Made a leaflet, the eye light.

Addressing issues uncensored that will definitely leave your stomach tight.

Kids dying while food we eyeing.

Human rights activists mysteriously dying.

The church joining in their game of lying.

Corruption, embezzlement and negligence around us flying.

Not enough just praying.

A foundation to bring change we should all be laying.

Starts with you as an individual before our neighbors we start slaying.

Hope my words lead to some gratification.

Strong willed cos of my affection.

Raise the alarm get some attention.

Try to facilitate their accessibility to basic needs and highlight their oppression.

This my consideration of an ultimate penetration.

Deep and overstood, Kenya, Life, Love, Politricks

I AM BECOME TRUTH


I have watched and waited.

For the truth to come out.
Why they killed our best leaders.
Why there is no one else to teach us.
I have watched and waited.
For one who would see through the system.
Confront it unbiased and come out victorious.
For one who would tread the floors of Nyayo house again.
Walking barefoot for there are no shoes to fill.
I have watched and waited.
For one to confront BIG TOBACCO.
Take away the smoke screen.
Stagger to the drunken table of BIG ALCOHOL.
Get rid of that hangover once and for all.
I have watched and waited.
For that girl who tells on the philandering husband to the wife.
For the STD prone one who carries his own condoms.
For that HR who tells an employee he is being underpaid.
For that boss who admits his mistakes and lays himself down for the bus.
I have watched and waited.
For that best friend who tells you to respect women.
For those girl cliques that admit their new style is shady.
For that preacher who has more fingers on the Bible than a bosom.
For that street urchin with more of a clue than glue.
I have watched and waited.
No one was forthcoming.
Just a 3rd world and soon fourth coming.
My empathetic heart has seen no sympathy.
Calls rejected, call it SIM apathy.
But now I am become that person.

In the battle with chance.
And being bludgeoned by circumstance.
In the fight to be the captain of my soul.
And sticking to forever solo.
I will tell the stories.
Of liars and cheaters.
Lion carcasses and cheetahs.
Of haram MPigs.
And sausage fests full of wigs.
I will declare my undying love for the Lord.
Yet question interpretations of His Word.
I will admit that my liver has seen better days.
And my lungs have breathed in better ways.
I will speak of my divinity.
While showcasing my banditry.
I will flow in rhyme.
I will grow and prime.
I will love and lose.
I will have and muse.
I will speak my flaws.
And stick to my goals.
I will be active not an activist.
I will choose colours but not be racist.
I will speak my thoughts.
I will display my faults.
I may not be the punishment of God.
But I am become truth.

Deep and overstood, Kenya, Politricks

REFLECTIONS


I hold this pen and contemplate. Should I rhyme or just alliterate?

I have made this a habit. To always see rhythm in my work as fit.

I sometimes think of how; my memory will make heads bow.

But I always end the thought with a smile. For I know I won’t be dead for a while.

Or possibly the Good Lord won’t let it be. His plans are all that matter to me.

To be an artiste who believes in Him. It’s quite a hard feat as being inquisitive is part of my realm.

To be remembered after I am gone. Not in a sad way that leaves someone forlorn.

Neither does it have to be by the whole world. Just to those who matter and in whose hearts I will be found.

My thoughts have always been weird. But rarely in my writing has this reared.

In my stables I have chewed the cud. Watched every morning as the roses opened up from the bud.

Hysterically I laugh and my sadness sometimes hits bottom. It is part of life, c’est la vie a fitting idiom.

Some have questioned my sanity. While others, when they get to know me; my insanity.

I have enjoyed every aspect of my life. Happy times have overruled the strife.

I have learnt to enjoy each day to the full. I do not waste any second like a fool.

Be it in my own cocoon or among friends. I make sure to smile at the fads and social trends.

I have always loved a good quote. Smiling at how oblivious of that phrase the writer must have been as he wrote.

My writing might find its way to a Presidential speech. Probably on a lover’s tongue as he serenades his damsel on the beach.

But all I need is for it to be remembered by just one. To have it treasured as a folded paper back that has been worn and torn.

I work in an office and I love it. Not because of the money that makes ends meet.

But because of the growth I experience. I get to meet people who make me happy by their existence.

I sometimes want to be out across the land. Not just in my country but in overseas beaches where my toes dig in the sand.

With a clique of like minds with whom I can communicate literary. It could also be that one person who is always on my mind, literally.

Looking at that that strong willed Aminata. Imbuga must believe me a nutter.

I am the Lion to her Jewel. In her warm embrace, I revel.

She makes me reconsider marrying when I want. Like a ghost my thoughts she haunts.

Tribalism is supposed to be the river between us. But for that grain of wheat I will make no fuss.

For all the petals of blood we have shed. This island of tears we will mend.

As we bring down the devil on the cross. The land with no thunder will no longer be at a loss.

No longer at ease has been a running theme. As we meet in the dark and whisper these subtle morphemes.

We will one day see the Promised Land. But the citizens need to decolonize the mind.

I am the last born despite my girth. What a son though I never taught my mother to give birth.

I like manning up to the people. This despite my resolve has never been simple.

Through my journey as I encounter Africa. As the neo racism makes me sicker.

Showers bless our dry land. I am coming home from looking for the rain god.

It’s a good day, no mourning. And it is well noticeable in the morning.

It is time for the festival to make hay. Time keeps running out each day.

We will tell this one story as one tribe. We will garner this one victory with one vibe.

We will occupy so this our kids’ minds won’t preoccupy. Hoping my cipher will be lost to any spy.

The country will learn to change. And the stiff necked leopard will join us on the stage.

The pie may have been fallen in soil. But soon their plans we will foil.

I stand ready for that moment. And whether they televise it or not, the revolution will be part of the movement.

For it does not matter who I was or who I am but who I will be.

Like a Midas touch, my plans will excel.

As I walk my talk you will learn that I keep my word.

To my mind and my world I will give you access.

And with that you can gain the power to reach a higher point.

With the potter’s words we won’t need a wand.

We will conquer fear and with our courage show our enterprise.

This unexpected journey will have a ring to it.

This will not be poetic, this will not be prose.

And for some time the thorns will outshine the rose.

The book will not be written. The history not recorded.

The wise will understand for the message will be coded.

The blind will hear the message and communicate it to the deaf.

The couriers will be the dumb so the secret will never be known.

We will have not seen, heard or said anything evil.

The war will be fought by the crippled, master minded by the bald heads of cancer patients.

You see the battle will not need brute strength.

The lid on the jar is already open and the concern will be how to get it back on.

The man in the mirror will already be one with his reflection.

The step of the Boy Scouts will sound like the army, but we will not hear it.

The bubble wrap around this new world will sound like gunshots but we will not fear it.

Peace, love and unity will be tissue thin but we will not tear it.

The struggle will be real but we will bear it.

Deep and overstood, Hip hop, Kenya, Politricks, Swahili

UPAKATAJI WA MANENO


Ninapowasili kivuli changu ni Kiswahili.

Makofi yanayopigwa siyo yanayostahili.

Kuandika sio mashindano kwa hivyo nayastahimili.

Nyota ya majivuno haing’ai kwa changu kiwiliwili.

Nikifika, mbiu yangu yafanya mwaitika.

Binadamu wa kila kabila hata rika.

Nawaangalia kwa macho ya asiyetishika.

Maneno kwa akili naendelea kuyapika.

Kila siku niamkapo nikiwaza.

Fikira zanizunguka hadi ninapojilaza.

Mimi sio msanii kama Gaza.

Ni sauti ya moyo wangu ninayoipaza.

Ninaposhika yangu kalamu.

Sitaraji kuayaandika yaliyo matamu.

Lakini miye hushikwa na hamu.

Ndiposa naandika kama asiye na fahamu.

Ukitaka unaweza nidharau.

Lakini tupo wengi kwa hili dau.

Kwa mfano kabla sijasahau.

Lazima utakumbuka fulani wa ukoo wetu Mau Mau.

Haya maneno yananichesha

Sina habari na sijali kama nje kwanyesha.

Kupingana kwako nami hakutanichosha.

Kwani naamini shairi langu ni mambo tosha.

Kabla sijalitia kikomo.

Wacheni tuwakumbuke waliotuacha kwa kufunga yetu midomo.

Maisha mafupi ya aliyekuwa wangu somo.

Agosti miaka kumi na mitano iliyopita na wengine waliomo.

Kalamu yangu haitaisha wino labda kitabu kijae.

Najua kila mmoja wenu yuajua maana yake.

Nitazikunja zangu vidole na kuwafanya mshangae.

Lakini kwa sasa, wacheni twendelee baadaye.

Deep and overstood, Kenya, Politricks

I AM


I step on this stage

Test the mic, 1-2, 1-2 and turn the page

I’m growing older, turn into a sage

Wise beyond my years, the number is just an age

I do my work, give me my wage

Either that or I will erupt in a rage.

Test me; see me flip over the gauge

So hot they got to keep me in a cage


I’m a child of Africa.

Still walking, not a chance of A-FREE-CAR.

I drop these beats, see me go far.

I am no lawyer, but I pass the 16th bar.

First I smile at her

Then I get the paper

Soon I get her

And she smiles at my paper


I am in no team, but I got this wordplay

Grab your attention, listen to my words play

You drop your gaze and I make you pay

My words on your ear, you won’t hear what they say

So dedicated, my will has many ways

So bright, when I sleep they still say “Good day”

I search for you, invade your thoughts; shine a light with this ray

I won’t preach to you, let me teach you if I may?


Months gone and I’m still on this phone

Got my crew with me they are never gone

Like Liverpool, I never walk alone

Hungry for success, throw this dog a bone

I never whisper, pay attention to my tone

So hot, I’m making these words moan

Can never decide whether that’s an adjective or a noun

I’m not a knight or a king I’m that rebel pawn

I use landmines not sprinklers so stay off my lawn

I sweat for this, always reaping what I’ve sown

Falling seven times, standing up eight as I never stay down

In time you will witness how I run this town


So here I stand with my black grenade

As I blow up be ready for I will serenade

Shine till the end of time, I shall never fade

East to West, I never see a shade

I go the whole night that’s why I love a jade

I just became I was never made

I do this for the people, never have to be paid

I don’t chase yet I still get laid

I don’t run, I am never afraid

And hence in this decade, like a crusade, finer words will never be said.

Deep and overstood, Kenya, Politricks

OUR SONS KILL AFRICA : A REPLY TO KEN SARO WIWA’S AFRICA KILLS HER SUN


Dear Bana,

There is no justice in this world as proven by how late I received your missive.

This happened almost 10 years later and I am not being defensive.

The greed in the society we lived in had proven divisive.

I tried to look for you Bana, when they came to question me, I was ever evasive.

I tried to find connections that you had on the Merchant Navy but they proved elusive.

Even the report I got from the prostitute from St Pauli was inconclusive.

I never heard of your stint as a clerk in the Ministry of Defence.

Thank God I did not because I would have seriously taken offence.

I knew the kind of person you were and you always spoke your two cents.

Your rage at the impunity in our government would never condense.

I would have enjoyed every moment while waiting for the battle of wits to commence.

As I laughed hysterically as your words built wisdom walls around them at their expense.

 

I find it amusing that you referred to yourself as a robber, a bandit or anything else you deemed fit.

I always considered you my own kind of Robin Hood, stealing knowledge from those who didn’t have use for it, my own Divine Bandit.

It was always scary for me. When I heard of your experiences with the police, I prayed that you don’t get hit.

I asked for help from the White Jesus and with my faith wavering I also turned to our fore fathers and for them an altar lit.

It’s a shame that considering how far I travelled on the run from the police that we never did meet.

And tears well up in my eyes as by your graveside, I hunch my back and there sit.

I grieve for the fact that you thought that you had to pay a price.

You never hurt anyone and being too idealistic would have been your only vice.

They never knew that you and your friends were no richer than church mice.

And your only plan for the national cake was to make sure that everyone got a slice.

We were not horses to be content with imported or rather donated brown rice.

We had lost the game long before it started as they had fixed the dice.

 

You must remember how we used to laze about, but with the whole police force after me, I have grown limber.

After five years trying to be the game changer, I moved to the lovable country where they call the brave lion, Simba.

They did try to follow me there but they were a hospitable people and I will never stop wishing this was the same for you, Sazan and Jimba.

No one will ever sing songs of praise for the three of you as they will never find the right timbre.

On golden oaks they crucified their heroes without considering the price of timber.

Clearly the journey to the top of Mount Everest remains unbeknownst to no one else but the climber.

We live in a continent where almost everyone is dark skinned if not charcoal black.

Yet as you pointed out, we still associate everything bad with the color which shows that in wisdom we surely do lack.

I could easily see how all these combined could be the damned molting straw that broke the camel’s back.

And despite the childishness of this statement, we really do suck!!

 

Bana, my tears flow thicker than blood as the fact sinks in that your epitaph will only be immortalized in your letter but never as a graveside plaque.

 I was deemed an enemy of the state and even in this foreign country, of me they still keep track.

I would love to have you smile from the other side of the grave, but Bana I have no children.

This was my own choice so please my dear do not label me a villain.

I looked at our continent, how our sons slit the throats of our daughters and mothers like chicken.

In their eyes full of anger and malice, I saw a true evil hidden.

I on my own had tried to talk to the few who would dare listen.

But as their evil brothers scrambled for their attention, I, being ignored was a given.

Do not be surprised when I tell you that what I speak of now has nothing to with our country.

It has become evident that our country folk are not the only ones who are hungry.

The hunger for justice has crossed borders to the rest of the African colony.

However, their definition of justice has filled the rivers with blood and as a punishment the Almighty has unleashed global warming and now our continent has become painfully sultry.

At the altar of their sacrifice, the political elite have thrown in their jibes, hooliganism, all and sundry.

My knees buckle at this but on my feet I have to die for the human community.

 

Bana, forgive me for the scenes that I have recounted.

I know you loved me despite the fact that you left me for all these moons and harvests that I have counted.

There comes a time…..you used to say……wait……..that was someone else on whose charred memory this phrase is mounted.

Nevertheless, I do believe that for all I have accounted.

I hope I am not a disappointment for what I have amounted.

In all this pain, hurt, stupidity, black self-hate, the word LOVE has surmounted.

Four days after I got this letter.

I vowed to make a life better.

Notwithstanding my own, so I went to a children’s shelter.

I adopted the most adorable twins who make me smile as they stutter.

I could not change the world so I changed the person I had put on a tether.

In this world or the next, Bana, we will always be together.

Our sons, our leaders kill Africa.

Forever loving you,

Zole.