Dad, Love

Peter Mukabi Njoroge 1943 – 2016: THE ROCK THAT MADE OUR HEARTS BLEED


The day our father died.

There was no thunder or lightning.

No previous night’s rain to bless the world he was leaving behind.

The day our father said goodbye to this world;

There was no group of friends and family around his bed.

No last kiss on his forehead or a hand to offer one last comforting squeeze.

The night our dad went to sleep for the last time;

He did not inform anyone that this would be the last goodnight.

That he would not wake up from one last dream.

 

Because you see, before our father died;

His smile had been the lightning to many a sad heart.

He always had a way to shock you out of your cocoon

His voice thundered with a hearty laugh;

That always followed one of his sly jokes.

He was a blessing to his children.

And he had a way of raining goodwill on the rest of those who knew him.

Our father did not need to say goodbye to the world.

Deep down he lives in each one of us.

We can still see his smile, feel his calloused hands.

And in both of them, we get the strength to know;

That he intended for us to live on and achieve our dreams like he did his.

 

Our father.

Your husband.

Your brother.

Your uncle.

Your grandfather.

Your late son.

Your friend.

 

He was but a man.

But he managed to be more than that to each of us.

He was a helping hand.

He was the joker in the crowd.

He had aged wisdom.

He was a force to reckon with.

This man had careworn palms.

Yet he held kids and showed his gentle heart.

He had a quiet simmering temper.

With which he stood up for friends and family.

He could discipline with one look.

And love with one phrase.

He fought wars with himself.

Won battles for each one of us.

He was the calm to our storm.

He was the gentle breeze in our sails.

He made ways for all of us with his will.

Taught us that it was allowed to dream beyond our means

 

Our father was in no way perfect.

But each of his flaws made him unique.

In being the man he was.

He mirrored the attributes of his children

Orphans will sing the whole-hearted giving nature of Virginiah.

We found your silent wisdom and maturity in Jane and Carol.

The sounds of clashing hammers lead us to the workaholic bee in Dave.

We shall gather on warm nights for advice from the boy you made a man’s man.

Who deserves the name Kelvin for always striking when the iron is hot.

And when this family needs to smile again;

Irene and I will be at our wit’s end to make sure of that.

 

I am sad.

As most of the people here are

But I stand here to celebrate you.

For giving us the best of your years

For being the best of dads

I know you can hear us.

Let not these cries dampen your soul.

Let that crooked smile never leave your face.

And when the skies light up with stars tonight

I will remember that twinkle in your eyes.

That always spelled mischief.

That twinkle that said,

There was something you hadn’t revealed fully.

I hope you can finish the story for me one day.

Deep and overstood, Jesus Christ, Life, Love, The Teenage Years

Untitled 01:45h 19/12/2015


I: God

Take me back to a time.

When being good was as easy as breathing.

And my mama’s words resonated in me.

When her bidding was stronger than a belief.

Proud to be called clean, faithful, a follower of rules.

Take me back to Sunday school.

When I believed in forgiveness.

In King David after the transgressions.

Saul would become Paul.

And the past would be forgiven.

Early mornings, when I’d remove my  socks and shoes.

To be equal to the other village kids.

When my lullaby was the thoughts of heaven.

And not finances, planning on how to break even.

Take me back to being what they called a junior youth.

Looking forward to a life of serving not mastering.

Living for Him not aspiring to attain.

Take me back to the Bible not the blogs.

To learning rather than just reading.

 

II: Love

Take me back to the fairy tales.

To dreams grand and of sunsets.

When love was a gift and not an achievement.

And a source of never-ending happiness.

Not a path to probable pain.

Take me back to when today mattered.

To when the future was always bright.

Not a reflection of past mistakes.

Take me back to Celine.

To Luther Vandross and ᗅᗺᗷᗅ.

To staying alive and celebration time.

A fulfillment of the life that would be mine.

Take me back to hand sculpted gifts.

To names carved on trees and doodles on my books.

When the thought far outweighed the cost.

And the character way better than looks.

Take me back to primary school.

When affection made my heart skip not beat faster.

When I’d be transfixed in moments not lost in the next.

When what I felt was said and not lost in text.

Take me back to just being divine.

Before I let in the bandit and stole more hearts than one.

It’s been a while since I went out of line.

Lost the chance to enjoy the moment and ran after the fun.

 

III: Author

Take me back to senseless writing.

To holding a pen and trying my best at cursive.

To when the ink was the blood from whence poured my soul.

And truth riddled every sentence.

Take me back to basic lexicon.

When being deep was not the goal but a happy coincidence.

To when morphemes and synonyms did not matter.

And rhymes came out as staccato as a stutter.

Take me back to real poetry.

When  my life leaked with every phrase.

My thoughts and fantasies saturated every page.

This gift was not even recognised as one.

Take me back to grammatical errors.

To a period way before the nazi era.

So I can write away my troubles.

Let the paper fade away my pain.

Take me back to Wordsworth and Frost.

Before I end up on the road least taken like Poe.

Lost in my melancholic notes.

Of the writer I could have been but never became.

Take me back to Shakespeare.

From thence I can find my path again.

Still a poet by any other right or how I write.

Immortalized in my own song of La “Wino”.

 

IV: Life

Take me back to singing and dancing.

To India Arie and Maxwell on a sunny afternoon.

To ill-fitting earphones and cassette tapes.

To bitter lemons without a tequila shot.

Take me back to addition and subtraction.

Not regression and plans for my progression.

To learning how to draw, no matter how badly.

Rather than designing a dream house  in every reverie.

Take me back to freedom.

To aspiring to be President.

Proudly sitting at the head of the class.

Rather than murmuring at the back row.

Take me back to undefined genius.

Rejoicing in completion rather than competition.

To figuring things out not judging them.

To creating and not just utilising.

Take me back to long walks not quick rides.

To sun basking and making images from the clouds.

When I’d revel in heavenly splendour.

Not lost in thoughts of what tomorrow will bring.

Take me back to open spaces not closed walls.

To old friends not new acquaintances.

When I’d play in the rain rather than in its after-scent.

Enjoy every living minute, make it a lifetime moment.

Take me back, just take me back.

Deep and overstood, Dionysus, Haiku

Haiku Beast Day 15


This last lighting up won’t last the trip.

Becoming the Lordy Vordy of this car.

The phoenix rises, a basilisk needle stuck on its wing.

Deep and overstood, Dionysus, Haiku

Haiku Beast Day 14


Benson peered over her Hedge the day she was born.

Marred borrowing of human rights started then.

The Rocket touched down as she mooned his Rooster.

Homeless of Nairobi, Kenya, Life, Love

They are not the “HOPELESS OF NAIROBI”


I know I have been off this site way too long. As I get closer to 30, time seems so scarce. Taken over by work, moments of football punditry etc. But let me be honest and say, a certain 6 month project at work that ends next week has had my hands quite full. Clearly also getting new titles comes with it’s “workaholism”. You are now looking at the new……enough about yourself Ed!! This  I feel is the first real post of 2015 as it is prose. Poetry as I have said before comes quite easily to me. This post is not meant to be heart rending. It is not meant to make you feel sorry. It is not meant to make you feel bad about your elevated echelon. It is just meant to get your attention, to have you realise what happens where your eyes don’t look..or avoid to look. To give you a fresh perspective. Something you don’t necessarily have to live with but know for just that single moment that others live with. Something that can change the way you think or have you want to make a change. I had been part of this endeavour before. On a previous month when I was assisting Kibali in his month’s pledge. Then, I was just letting my heart lead me. There was no logical questions about it. I had some extra money and was willing to help. However on this particular day in May. Something else led me there. During the day, due to the aforementioned work commitment I had failed to have something to eat for breakfast and lunch. By the time I left the office with rain clouds looming; the storm I was paying attention to most was in my tummy. I have acidity issues and that evening found me almost keeling over as the acid burnt through the lining I would assume is not as thick as it used to be B.C (before cocktails). I struggled to make the walk from Riverside to Westlands, I found my mind lost in another thought process. This is not quite an unusual thing. I’ve almost walked past the bus stop more than once, lost in thought. I was imagining how weak I must be to be in this much pain because I had not eaten in less than 24 hours. I was wondering about the person who has not had a meal for a week. If that was me, would I indulge in cheap drugs to get rid of the pain or to forget what kind of hell I was in? Did this seem familiar to the “one for the road” of the rest of the white collar society? If that was me, would I snatch a phone to sell it for a measly 500 to be assured of a meal for the next 2 weeks? Would they judge me then? Would I judge myself? Would I really view my life as that black and white? Would I so easily understand the law when I barely knew how to read? The above is not a justification of all the crime, violence and wrongdoers out there. It was something that got me back looking at my life. I am not ashamed about it. I work hard and have studied hard to be where I am. But what makes the difference is that I had the chance to. I get lost in thoughts of whether I would have survived past the age of 10 having been sick most of young life. Again, same tummy issues. What would my body have done to fend off illnesses when I could not afford antibiotics worth 100 shillings? What did you do to deserve the life you live? The family you have? Chance? Fate? You were good in your past life? This reminds of a case where I dropped a dollar in New Delhi as I fumbled with my wallet and walked away without noticing. Seconds later, a filthy street child would tap my arm and I almost leaped away from him (Nairobbery instinct) and was about to tell him I had nothing to give him when he handed me a dollar and walked away. I barely managed to speak to him before he disappeared into the crowds. Not waiting for a reward. Ok, this does make me want to weep. 😥 What I want to say is that I made it to that feeding program in Westlands with quite a change in attitude. I was not giving because I could, I was giving because I could manage to stay without. I could manage to live in a comfortable cheaper house if hard times hit. I could manage to live without eating beef. I could manage to not have milk. I could manage to live without a cocktail here and there. I could manage to walk part of the way to work and save 60 shillings per day, 2400 per month. Because you know what?It takes 2500 shillings to feed 65 to 70 street families/people at Clifford’s feeding program in collaboration with the Homeless of Nairobi. That made me vow to feed some 70 people a month for as long as I live and more as my life, effort and returns rise. As an African, we are very insistent on teaching how to fish and that is also what Clifford’s program is about. From finding shelter for these people, schools, rehabilitation and work. It does not stop at food. I had a talk with one young man who helps Mwalimu Cliff out in serving food every weekday night at 7.30 behind KFC Westlands and in front of Uchumi opp. The Mall. He came to Nairobi to find work. He previously had work installing air conditioners in Rwanda but that did not pan out. He would like to act in plays, he’s a comedian. What this people need is a chance.Remember the chance you got when you were born to able parents? Use that chance to make sure another kid does not have to be born on the streets. This story seems all gloomy right? No. I was welcomed with genuine smiles. More genuine smiles than I see in my side of society. Happiness from money is overrated. Really. These people are homeless, some jobless, others parent-less but most are not HOPELESS. You can read more about this program here: http://www.bbc.com/news/world-africa-31359061 You can find Cliff here: https://www.facebook.com/clifford.c.oluoch?fref=ts and @OluochCliff Homeless of Nairobi: https://www.facebook.com/homelessofnairobi?fref=ts and @melessOfNai

IMG_20150614_162344IMG_20150614_162242 IMG_20150614_161254 IMG_20150614_161810

Deep and overstood, Dionysus, Haiku

Haiku Beast Day 13


His walk, his gait, proved he was her Super Match.

The Absolut power of her raspberry lips drew him in.

Her Merlot voice was the last thing he heard.

Deep and overstood, Dionysus, Haiku

Haiku Beast Day 12


Blows off her Lucky Strike.

Whispers in the ear of her Shisha sister.

He hears the word “bigger” as he sips his Lager.

Life, Love, The Teenage Years

Lost Art, Incomplete posts – A step back into history


I am a hoarder. Of plastic containers from Chicken Inn and those from the Juice and Smoothie corner at Sarit’s food court. But worst or rather best of all, I am a hoarder of books, writing pads etc. This is how as I cleaned my bedroom from an OCD hit, I found some long lost poems I wrote in another lifetime, some a bit too erotic, others incomplete and others just plain old boring.

Messed up handwriting and some pieces written in IT class, others in B.A classes. :)
Messed up handwriting and some pieces written in IT class, others in B.A classes. 🙂

For the next few days, I shall post one of the poems I found and try bring a new ending to the incomplete ones. Take the journey with me. Before I tasted beer, when I was an IT geek and most importantly, when I was an idealist. Untainted by the harsh realities of love and life. The tag will be YoungCrow.

Deep and overstood, Dionysus, Haiku

Haiku Beast Day 11


Closed eyes as I show the three ladies how to lay the pipe.

Mary, Jane and Molly are not so new at this.

They beat me off at Dre’s; all ten of them.

Deep and overstood, Dionysus, Haiku

Haiku Beast Day 10


Climbed the Darn Hill.

And as I breathe out the Sweet Menthol.

She steps out of the Embassy in Aspen.