WORLDS APART

Under the moonlight

In the silent of the night

Dancing to the song of the knights

To the tune of mirth and might

In movements clear and tight

No words, but silence in part

The gentle breeze brushing past

Dragging along dust from our pasts

Racing to the horizons

Hurling the pain and hurt

With might onto the bosom of oblivion

Setting us free, making us light

Lighter for the journey

Journey to the unknown

Unknown depths of life and love

Love so pure and so true

True as the rising of the sun

True as the promises of the father

Silhouettes and shadows so clear

Dreams and hopes so dear

The beginning of the end so near

Fear and fate so real

Thirst for love so intense

Intense as the night of the full moon

Cruel as the inside of a prison

Tonight we drown it all in the sea

Feeding it all to the fish

Giving it all in a leash

Sad is the moon

Bewildered is the wind

Enraged is the sea

In a wild rush

The dust of the earth is whirled

Nature is sad

On this night of the full moon

MY MYSTERY MAN

There's something enticing about mystery, that’s why abstracts are special artistry,

Something about his mastery, something that will go down in history,

As a big thing, that was in his story.  

He calls me Atis; he makes me feel at ease, He likes to play and tease, to joke, laugh and please,

He's my knight and shining armor, none can beat his sense of humor,

In his arms I feel so safe, or so I imagine I would.

The way he laughs, the way he smiles, we can talk and walk for miles.

His laughter, the highlight of his person, a thrill, a scorn, a question,

All in a quick succession, He's blessed with a heart of compassion.

When he's mad, all I wanna do is laugh,

That twitch he makes with his mouth, makes him look funny – all a bluff,

He has a baby face, and a laughter that’s never hampered,

A body so well built, a face so perfectly sculptured,

When we talk, I can hardly hear anything he says, 'cause I'm always stuck, staring at how his face plays.

There's something about those eyes,

They are bold, the kind of eyes that see through your lows and highs,

The kinda eyes that can burn you to ashes; leave you saying all ayes.

Eyes that can pierce through your heart; eyes that would make the moon shy,

Oh tell me, would you concentrate if he had such eyes trained on yours? YES? No you lie,

He's not your ordinary guy. He walks with the pride of a lion,

His head high like Zion. Just like a painter loves his caricature,

He loves to delve into literature, He crafts with the pen, that’s why I call him Ken.

He's proud of his den; you can bet he loves Heineken.

He's smart, he's handsome, and He’s not your weekend awesome.

Knowledgeability so priceless,

A sense of humor so matchless,

When I see him tonight, I'll let him know, I'll tell him everything,

I'll tell him how I can't think about Eurobond, not even tithing,

'cause I'm thinking about him, my mysterious thing,

I'll tell him how I wake up tired in the morning,

'cause when I sleep, he’s all over my mind strolling.

I'll tell him how I burnt my githeri,

'cause I was busy glaring at his photos; oh poor nyar gi Jerry,

I want to tell him everything, spill all like MS Moshene Terry,

But I'm afraid that when our eyes meet, there will be no merry,

‘Cause my eyes will bulge, his eyes will pierce through mine, my throat will run dry and words will disappear from my tongue. It will be all a tale fairy.

…………………. J ………………………………

BLACK OR WHITE

 Spread not sweet smelling roses on my face,

While splattering blood on my back

Choose one dear ally, blood or roses

Send not sweet messages

While smearing my life with dirt elsewhere

Choose one dear ally, sweet or dirty

Don’t call me darling while calling me foe

Elsewhere with a heart so cold,

Choose one dear ally, darling or foe

I look into your ever so deceiving eyes

All I see is fire and grey eyes

You’re so evil, you’re so spiteful

Your black heart so full of hatred

But you strive to paint it sacred

I know deception when I see it

From the alleys of my soul I can feel it

Your tongue is laced with poison

Spitting words of hate and corrosion

While pretending to be walking in consecration

Tomorrow you’ll say in sweet adoration

I love you without condition

When I know for sure, that you lie with precision

Choose one dear ally, friend or foe?

DEAR DAD

Dear dad,

Did I wake you from your sleep? Do you sleep wherever you are? 18 years is a long time, are you famished? Do you miss us? Do you work? Do you have hospitals there? How is your career? Did you get to put up that world class hospital you always dreamt of? It will interest you to know that I grew up with dreams of becoming a medical doctor. Something happened along the way though, I am not sure what it is but I can’t even stand the sight of blood anymore. Well we miss you; I particularly miss your special millet ugali…and your voice when you sung ‘Lord in the morning we lift our voices on high.’ That voice still resonates in my head once in a while. It has stuck with me all these years. Do you recall the hymn that we would all sing to during the morning prayers?

A lot has happened since you departed. The baby of the babies is in his third year of study and Bev no longer stuffs groundnuts into her side pockets. She’s all grown and have you heard? She graduated from university last year. Too soon, right? Well the government introduced into the education system an animal called double intake. I didn’t drop out of school, I graduated too; a year before she did. You know what? Some people think we're twins…we have the same body size, same body weight and almost the same height. She has taken so much after you though. Presumably the only difference between us is that Bev doesn't smile as often and as heartily as I do. Last week a good friend of mine made a rather weird comment about that smile. I have made so many friends by the way; and I have lost a few along the way too. So this particular friend asked me if I would still smile at the point of my death. Well you can guess what my response was; “oh yes I would.” Bev and I no longer quibble over bed space. She has her own bed and I have my own house. Talking of bed space fights, I am reminded of one night that mum beat me senseless for not being the bigger person. I didn’t know anything about being the bigger person then, but she did well. Dad, in this age and time parents don't spank their kids, they just ground them and deny them the opportunity to watch Nickelodeon or Jim jam or visit Facebook. Well, you probably have no idea of what that is. It’s something that looks like a gigantic hall full of people; people of all races, people of all colors, people of all shapes and sizes. Here everyone has an equal chance of speaking into the microphone and he who speaks the loudest gets famous. You can talk about absolutely anything; you can rant about your cheeky cat or tell the world that you got a new job. It’s just like twitter; oh I don’t think you know what twitter is either. You’ve been gone for so long papa. I’ll tell you about that some other day. Trust me dad, if you were here today, you would be very proud of your girls.

The boys have transformed into men; some of them have beautiful families and cute little versions of themselves. Have you seen Toi? He left us too and sooner or later, you two are going to meet and he'll narrate to you just how much you missed. He was the quiet one; he never said much, never did much. I would have shared his dreams with you but he never let anyone in on things so dear to his heart. For some awkward reason, he always told me that he hated popcorn. When you finally meet him, give him a fatherly hug, tell him things will be alright, make him believe in himself, talk to him like a father would to his son. He is dearly missed. Tim and Ric have a striking resemblance, except Ric is a little taller. Teddy is a man of very few words and he is as quiet as always. Did I mention there's a little man named after you? We call him "Doc". He is Baba Wesley’s son .He has an infectious smile and his teeth are perfectly arranged. He’s growing pretty fast and he thinks there's no other woman out there who is prettier than Aunty Lynn. He knows and he is convinced beyond reasonable doubt that Aunty Lynn is the standard measure of beauty. The last time we talked on phone he asked me to get him chocolate flavored ice cream and a racing car. Yes dad, in as much as things have changed, boys still love cars! Doc has two younger handsome brothers. How time moves fast!

Mum hasn’t changed much either. She is as resilient as ever, she’s still a fighter, still a warrior, still the same hardworking woman you married. She’s had to bear the burden of two and she is still fighting to give us the best. She still worries about all of us. She looks a little older than she did when you left but the gap between her beautiful teeth is still intact. She still looks lovely and her heart is as young as ever. She prays for us, however far away we are from her. She is still cooks perfectly and whenever we visit, she slaughters the fattest chicken she owns. She loves us and she is doing her best to keep the family together. People love her, her friends adore her and her house is always overflowing with guests. In another life, I would advise you to marry her...again.

I know how anxiously you've been waiting to read about me. There isn’t much to tell, just lessons and dreams. One thing is pretty obvious though; I don't look the same way I did in 1997.I wonder if you would recognize me at all. Well, some people still call me Mom, some call me Atis, a few others call me Lynn, and Doc calls me Alino while others call me Nyar Daktari. A lot has changed but my smile has stood the test of time. I look so much like grandma Nyogembo. My head looks rounder, although sometimes it feels shapeless. And this forehead dad, I'm still wondering where I inherited it from.it compliments my sometimes shapeless head so perfectly. Whenever I visit mum and leave home to go see a friend, mum grills me to know just how well i know this friend. God, I adore this woman. When I was younger it felt like she was being unfair, but now, I know it’s just how much mothers care for their children. Adolescence can turn your world upside down and have you looking at things from a weird perspective. You know that time of your life when everyone is wrong, except you. I have learnt a lot but most importantly I have discovered that life takes more than it gives.

Dad, I have met men; men from all walks of life; Tall men, short men.  In my journey of life I have seen men with bruised egos, men who are confident of themselves. Men who have it all figured out, men who are groping in darkness and still trying to find their way, men whose lives depend on soccer, men who would have wished to be women.I have met men like this one Dad I have met men who believe in working hard and those who would rather be kept and taken care of by women. I have met men who know God, and those who doubt His existence. I have met men who love with all their might and those who think love is a game of chess. I have brushed shoulders with hopeless men, others who are lost; Men who cook like professional experienced chefs and those who can only cook water. I have met men who have mastered the art of telling lies and men who live honestly. And not so long ago dad, I met a man. He is just a man. No, he's not just a man; he's a man you'd be pleased to meet. He possesses the agility of a hunter, and he has a firm handshake .I will definitely tell you more about him in my next letter, on father’s day.

BIRTHDAY SPECIAL

It was 12:01 A.M. when I was woken up by a phone call. “No one ever calls me this late,” I mumble to myself. I struggled to open my eyes only to see that it was a strange number. Well, it was days after the lion roamed the streets and you could never know who was cornered. I hesitated for a few seconds before I eventually decided to take the call. The caller on the other end sounded very sober; he had no sense of panic in his voice.
"Hi, Lynn."
"Hi"
"It's so and so"
"Oh hi, what's up? Long time."
"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Lynn, happy birthday to you "

I was still trying to piece everything together when the caller rudely but unknowingly interrupted my thoughts.
"Sorry to call you so late, and for waking you up. I just wanted to be the first to wish you a happy birthday " At this point I gathered everything that makes up Lynn to ask them if it was our birthday. No.
Our birthday was still months away.

If someone has ever wished you a happy birthday on a day that's not your birthday, then you'll agree with me that it's traumatizing. They didn't just send a text or a Facebook message, or a WhatsApp voice note. They actually called to wish you a happy birthday, no to sing you happy birthday. From their tone, you can actually tell it's from deep inside their heart it's genuine, and it's honest; well I'm not sure about this part. Nevertheless, it makes you feel special. Rewarding all this "sweetness " with a "no, it's not my birthday" statement is just rude or at least I think so.

So tell me, would you interrupt them and say it's not your birthday? Would you play along? Would you hang up? Back to our caller, after exchanging a few "catch up" pleasantries he finally wished me a good night and hung up. For close to two hours I couldn't get myself to sleep. I kept asking myself why someone would wish me a happy birthday on a day that's not my birthday. At some point, I even told myself that this is the day I say goodbye to this world. Shhhhh! Witchcraft is real. I finally "gathered " some sleep and I woke up at 6.30 to a sweet text message from our late night caller. It read;

"I'll have someone deliver something for you later in the day. Confirm if you'll be home. "
The urge to text back and tell our caller that it's not my birthday is getting stronger, but there's another little voice asking me to be a little considerate of other people's feelings. Ha! The little voice wins. People get mad when their friends forget their birthday, right? This one was sweet. I can't tell if he forgot or recalled.

Remember my Ray Ban sunglasses?

NEIGHBORLY WOES

Frank Morison ~Urban Mannaerism

Viviane did not come home last night. I know so because I waited up till 11 P.M. for that screeching sound that her door makes whenever she opens or closes it. I was seated there wondering what could have happened to my dear neighbor, you know with lions roaming the streets it’s not wise to take chances. I wouldn't wish to speculate, but I can't help it. Just like I said before, we are part of each other's lives, all thanks to the proximity of her balcony to my bedroom, or my bedroom window. Bedroom or bedroom window I guess it doesn't matter, the most important thing is that we know "some things" about each other.

First off, I know for sure that after that phone conversation, she went to town. So here's my hypothesis of how things might have gone down. Viviane must have met her informant to get the "hard copy” of the story. No doubt this informant is also a member of that circus of girlfriends. She must have told her every single detail of what happened and added a few lies here and there to make the "thief" look like a real villain. You know women of Viviane’s kind are always in a fluid emotional state. No doubt she wept gallons of tears. I'm glad that the informant was there to offer her a shoulder to lean on; literally offer her.

Viviane must have called her boyfriend to inform him that she was going to his place. Or perhaps, she didn't. You see, you don't date a woman like Viviane and not give her a spare key to your house. Considering that she was very mad at her boyfriend, calling him was out of the question. So, Viviane hurriedly boarded a matatu to Kayole. On the way, I'm sure she played it all out in her head on how she was going to make a dramatic entrance to the "stolen property's" bedsitter.

Fast forward to 6 P.M. My vibrant neighbor has alighted at stage Kona. She is still very mad and is visualizing how his boyfriend's "people" are going to ferry his very dead body to Funyula constituency for burial in a fortnight. She opens the door and voila! Candle lit dinner is served. Poor boy comes out of the kitchenette looking like a squirrel that has been rained on for hours. Remorse? He's smiling sheepishly at her. Is he holding a bouquet of carrots and a bar of chocolates? Oh, yes! All the anger in her blood is evaporated and condensed into a jelly like fluid and deposited in her knee joints. Her knees give way. What an anticlimax.

It's not easy for me to guess what happened between then and now, but I can imagine one or two things. Viviane ate all the food. She then had chocolate for dessert. Her boyfriend then told her a few sweet nothings; the things women like to be told; the things that keep humanity sane; the things that have the power to make or break, and she's probably waking up now to a sweet, lazy morning breakfast in bed. Wait a minute! Her boyfriend knew she was coming and that she was breathing fire, right? I'm headed to a Kamba funeral ceremony, but when I get back I'll knock on her door and exchange pleasantries then I will pretend to be complaining about KPLC and their untimely power outages. It is going to be the perfect opportunity for me to ask about yesterday. On second thoughts, though, I'm enjoying our mysterious relationship, so I won’t.

PROXIMITY WOES

It was a Saturday afternoon when I got home from church all psyched up to  watch the last episode of season one of "House of cards" then darn, power went out.
So, I decided to lie lazily on bed while figuring out what I was to do next. I was lying there, just minding my own business; peeping on Whatsapp, snooping on Facebook, liking this and that, commenting on this and that, profile stalking who and who.Yes,that is my business.

The Estate was very quiet, no one was playing music, just a few heavenly noises from kids running and playing around and of course my Oga brothers who will never learn to talk in low tones. They are about seven young men, probably in their late twenties or early thirties, all living in a two bed-roomed house. They are tall, very dark and their beards can make Prophet Owuor's chin bow down in shame. They like to shop on Friday, or so I think. I don't know where they source these slim, light skinned Kenyan babes, every weekend and when that is done, all neighbors get a treatment of the conventional thick Nigerian accent dose mingled with giggles. How I long for Monday!

Away from my brothers from the West, I have never seen my next door neighbor, but judging from her shoe size, I think she's short, plump, fluffy, and her African hair must be very black, long and shiny. Sometimes, I imagine Cesare Lombroso would be very proud of himself if he saw her. We will call her Viviane. You see, Viviane’s balcony is very close to my bedroom and whenever she steps out to make a phone call, I become part of it. So, literally I'm part of her life, which makes me wonder if she's part of mine courtesy of the bedroom-balcony proximity.

thirstyroots.com

So, that afternoon Viviane was terribly pissed off. She catapulted out of the house onto the balcony ranting like a mad woman. I was almost tempted to believe she had wedding plans slated for December and her Ten-year savings were stuck at Chase Bank. Nevertheless, I decided to listen on. Alas! Apparently, some member of her circus of girlfriends went out with her boyfriend the previous night without her knowledge or perhaps more importantly, her approval. Her throat must be going dry.

Thirty minutes down and Viviane was still spitting venom. She finally told the recipient on the other end that she was hiking a matatu to town. She was probably going to make human biryani out of her boyfriend and the alleged thief. I guess, Viviane’s informant was obligated to carry with herself a fire extinguisher. I didn't want to look out of the window, but I imagined her beautiful, kinky, tough African hair was smoking, almost going up in flames. It started raining and I wondered if she was going to make it to town. Well if she did, I would be in my bedroom at exactly 8 p.m. in time for her return....to listen.

BHANG FOREST

I do not know how many times I have ingested cannabis sativa without my consent. Though, there is this one time that I did beyond any reasonable doubt. It was on a fine Monday that was destined to be quite busy because I had several errands to run in town. I set out early; clad in a T shirt, an easy pair of chino pants, a simple pair of converse shoes and, of course, my pair of Ray Ban aviator sunglasses. The sunglasses have a long story too; let’s conserve that narrative for another day. I bet I looked expensive.

By around 2 P.M. I had accomplished half of my missions, but I still had to pick a few things from downtown and rush to another part of the busy city to pick a parcel. I did not have time to sit down and pamper my stomach. I had no idea of when the conventional "lunch time" passed. I was too busy to notice. At this point, though, hunger pangs could not let me traverse the streets in peace. I engaged in concise monologue and concluded to exit town before the rush-hour craziness begins and people start losing their minds. It was necessary that I was out of the streets before the city went into a "trance”. I was certain that I did not have time to sit in any joint for a proper meal. Despite my stomach's complaints, I encouraged myself to ‘keep walking’...no not that.

I then took a right-turn onto a very famous street and behold before me was a cute little cake shop. The cakes looked crisp, inviting, and very yummy. Good thing, black forest retails at seventy shillings around here. Well, if I fainted then rest assured the aroma from the black forest cake would have resuscitated me. That is just how much I love my black forest cake. The prices in this particular cake shop are awkwardly low, but I, nevertheless, decide to buy a piece to munch on my way as anticipated a well prepared homemade meal. The sales lady looked very vibrant, and after handing me my balance, she thanked me and crowned it all with a warm smile. How sweet!

Fast forward to 4 P.M when I was done for the day, and I was dragging my feet to board a matatu home. Meanwhile, the hunger pangs were biting harder and I could not stop thinking about the cake. A few minutes after settling in I reach out for it. The first bite tasted good. The second bite was even better. I must have been very hungry. The third bite...I could taste chilies, a funny smell, and the cake was so tough, as tough as some of those "ugali mandazis’ we used to buy and eat in lower primary. I am sorry if you missed that.

The fourth bite...I couldn’t take it anymore. I began to experience an acid influx and heartburn was closing in. The lady seated next to me started stealing glances at me and was probably imagining that I was having the time of my life. If only she knew! I am trying to keep a straight face because I would not want her to think otherwise. It is not easy for me to call it black forest at this point because honestly I didn’t know what became of it! I began to feel dizzy and nauseated. Remember, it was 4 P.M.; I had breakfast at around 7.30 A.M., I had been walking for hours and never had lunch, so I was telling myself that perhaps it was fatigue, perhaps.

The fifth bite...did I just taste salt?! At this point, I give up. I just folded back everything and stuffed it in that neat package. I so badly needed a hug. Usually, my house is about thirty minutes’ drive from town. On this particular day, though, I felt like I was travelling upcountry. Just so you know, while traveling upcountry, we have lunch stopovers. That is just how far from South Africa my hometown is. To cut the long story short, I got home safely, puked my intestines out...I still felt dizzy, though. Trust me; cheap can be expensive…sometimes. My box of ‘black forest cake’ was probably rotting itself to oblivion in some dump site in Machakos County. It will take Angel Gabriel himself, a host of other angels, and perhaps one or two miracles to convince me that half of that ‘thing’ was not laced with marijuana!