Until that day comes

Many times when I reminisce about my past, the one common thread that seems to pop up is fear. For some reason, fear seems to have been the commonality that is pervasive in every sphere of my life. And as I age, I seem to find that that fear grows in leaps and bounds and can be terrifying, nay crippling at times, if not nipped in the bud.
I am slowing learning that in order to starve my fear; I have to feed my faith. But for some reason, my fear’s appetite is voracious to say the least, and I give in to binging one too may times, then wonder why I cant step up to the challenge when “big” opportunities present themselves. But it does help to remind myself that fear is actually the acronym f.e.a.r, false evidence appearing real.

So a couple of weeks ago, someone updated their Facebook status with the lyrics to Natasha Bedingfileld’s masterpiece “unwritten”. The song in a nutshell, basically reiterates the mantra that today is the first of the rest of your life, that this is where your book begins, the rest is still unwritten.
I started to ponder on those words, and slowly by slowly they became alive to me. I had sung that song myriad times, but had never really paid attention to it. I guess I was too pre-occupied with hitting those notes correctly that the message literally got lost in translation. Well that day, I had a wake up call, it’s as if I was destined to find these words again, and they have become a beacon of sorts to me, a lighthouse in the stormy seas of life raging.

I am learning what it means to yield to the now, appreciating that in as much as its fantastic and more so imperative that I take stock of my past mistakes and missteps, if I don’t take them as lessons learned as opposed to me burned, then I miss the whole point of a test being the fountain of the river aptly named testimony.
Appreciating everyday as it comes is no child’s play. This world seeks to cumber us with worries that make us pray for alleviation as opposed to bigger shoulders. But every test that comes, it comes to prepare us. And everyday is a silent reminder that we can be strong, hold on, breathe again. Yes, I just quoted one of my favorite male artistes, Kanji.

So today, and everyday, I wanna say when I wake up, that yesterday is gone, and tomorrow is unknown, but today, I shant be forlorn. Whatever is good, whatever is lovely, whatever is pure, I want to meditate on those things. I’m choosing to believe that what has bypassed my hands was not meant for me, and that whoever left, was not meant to stay. I am choosing to believe that greater things are yet to come, that the potential inside of me is gold that shall one day bring me before kings and great men.
Consequently, I am choosing not to dwell on the past, but to channel my energies into growth. I want to grow, I want to be the piece de resistance that once unveiled leaves all and sundry gazing at it’s beauty, dazzled. I have made a choice to better my “talents’, be they writing, singing, speaking. I have come to the realization that while I may pale in comparison to the talents of the greats of this world, there many others who can’t hold a candle to me.

And such is life; there are giants and ants, humans and mountains. While ants may cower at the sight of humans, their bite causes discomfort. And while giants strike terror into the hearts of men, mountains laugh in jest should giants challenge them to a duel. But the one that towers majestically above them all is the sky.
While my analogy may seem a little farfetched, it is laden with life lessons worth amassing. Do not compare yourself and become despondent, but let your “giants” be the barometers by which you measure your progress. You will in due time realize that you have enough skill and experience (tajriba) to slay these giants, that is the beauty of life.

Enough with waxing lyrical, I hope that this note makes your brave hearts rise to the occasion. Every battle is just that. Many battles may be lost but it’s the war that you must focus on. Collect your “ammunition”, get artillery, strengthen your cavalry. In essence what I’m saying is, embrace everyday, as a chance to know more, learn more, be more. Haba na haba hujaza kibaba, so goes the old adage. Be not afraid, your time will come. Though it tarries, it will surely come.

Kibali

Music has taught me

Music has taught me,
That a note might seem hard today,
But if you sing it daily,
It becomes easier with every tomorrow,
Music has taught me,
When you don’t know what to say,
Just sing it,
And you’ll release your joy or sorrow,

Music has taught me,
That though many people have this gift,
The difference is,
How we express it,
Music has taught me,
That just like in life I need to breathe,
If I wanna sing,
With ease

Music has taught me,
That I can be great
If I believe in myself,
And let my light shine,
Music has taught me
That for me to grow,
I have to ‘slay’ greater vocal giants constantly,
It’s the only way to be pro,

Music has taught me,
That to sing a song’s pitch perfectly,
I need to hear it,
And listen intently,
For every melody,
Has a distinct harmony,
That can be sang effortlessly,
When my mind listens closely,

Music still teaches me,
That a vessel so intangible,
Can carry so much emotion,
And change the world around me,
And I am learning,
To channel the impossible,
That a song is but a vision,
Greater than me.

Kibali

We mend again

Narrations and novels,
Paint an epic story so untrue,
The plot seems seamless,
Painting a picture perfect you,
The mistakes you make,
Make you a hero eventually,
And the hearts you break,
Yearn for you foolishly

Well welcome to reality,
We mend again after breaking,
We move on, then we hate you,
And we wish we were zain,
Then we wake up one morning,
And realize you ain’t worth it,
Then we erase every memory
That made you our reality,
We mend again
Stage plays and movies,
Make you seem invincible,
You are the angel and the demon,
That dwells in a crucible,
Yet your fire so burns us,
Leaving smouldering ashes that are miscible,
With the sick twisted love for you inside us,
That woulda left us so gullible,

Well welcome to reality,
We mend again after breaking,
We move on, then we hate you,
And we wish we were zain,
Then we wake up one morning,
And realize you ain’t worth it,
Then we erase every memory
That made you our reality,
We mend again

What the rain doesn’t wash away remains,
What the water doesn’t cleanse are stains,
What the soul feels as it gets over you are growing pains,
For eventually we mend again…We mend again

Kibali

Be-you-tiful

If you could turn back the hands of time, what would you un-do? If you could change something about you, what would you change? Do you unconditionally love, accept all of who you are warts and all?
These are questions that when asked without much pondering, people shoot from the hip answers galore without really considering the weight behind them.

Here’s the first disclaimer of the day, I would change tonnes! I have a long list of things that would undergo a snip here, a tuck there, till I’m at the periphery of perfection. And I would be happy, seemingly. But has anyone except me noticed that happiness is fleeting, fickle and ephemeral if we care to get down and dirty with the queen’ lingo?
It always needs a new high, a new fix, the old just won’t do. Be content with the clothes we have? Banish the thought! Not when Gucci, Prada or whichever other designer of repute still breathes oxygen and spews fabulosity we tell ourselves.

And we incessantly pick at and fault our outer shell, saying if this was there and that was no where, we’d be the epitome of perfection, the abode of contentment, the transcript of tranquility. But if you look closely, many of those who’ve achieved their dreams with the notion that once they get to them they’ll find happiness, end up being disillusioned.
So what pray tell are we to do to become content, happy, find the ever elusive feeling of serenity?
Be-you-tiful!

Huh? Yeah, be you, do you, rock you! So we’ve heard it ad-nauseam that should we start to be at peace with who we are, then peace shall come to us, that it’s become an old record that irks as much as it teaches!
But really, isn’t that the key? We try and unlock the secret to happiness; forgetting happiness is what we feel because of circumstances, whereas JOY is what we possess in spite of our circumstances.

Nobody says accepting all of who you are is the elixir to all your problems, there’s no magical cure here, all it does is pre-empt life’s ability to bring you down when emotions start their ebb and flow.
So again I ask you, what do you hate about yourself? What would you change? What past mistakes would you erase if you had the power to?
I’m learning to see experience as an account of lessons learned, from situations where I was burned. Because of what I know now, there are pitfalls I can avoid, and I’m better placed to handle bigger challenges, and fight more ferocious giants.

One of my favorite sayings states that the warrior is a child, nothing more. All he is, is an amalgamation of trainings, strengths, challenges he’s overcome, battles he’s both won and lost, scars, broken bones, feelings of inferiority, but most of all, a conquering spirit. So before you go on and jot down your list of flaws you’d want to erase, remember that knowledge begets knowledge, what you are now, is but a result of yesterday’s pain that you lived through. Go on, love yourself, smile at your reflections, love the sound of your voice, or the look of your scars though unsightly, at you are here to glow under the sun’s rays. Be-you-tiful.

Kibali

I'll be the song

You dismissed me,
Never envisioned what I could be,
You just saw the entity,
Were so oblivious to the possibility,
That inside this earth,
Lies treasures untold,
And when you finally realize my worth,
You’ll regret picking zinc over gold,
But until then,

I’ll stare at this computer screen
Till the words come pouring,
I’ll paint you a scene,
Of a dreamer that’s roaring,
I’ll use poetry,
And let you work out it’s meaning,
That someday I’ll be the song,
You’ll never stop singing

Right now all I am is ore,
Smelting never did take a day,
But what is in store,
Is the grass life has turned into hay,
In me there’s so much more,
But I’m glad that us asunder,
You tore,
This you’ll never plunder,
But until then

I’ll stare at this computer screen
Till the words come pouring,
I’ll paint you a scene,
Of a dreamer that’s roaring,
I’ll use poetry,
And let you work out it’s meaning,
That someday I’ll be the song,
You’ll never stop singing,

And I’ll be your lullaby,
I’ll be the melody that soothes you to sleep,
Yet when the morning sun kisses your eyes,
I’ll be the dream you can never keep… 

Kibali

Man-trum

It’s no secret I love Facebook, heck I’ve even written an article touting it’s benefits before. Against the grain seemingly, I stuck it out and swarm against the tirades when everyone in my office kept tearing it to shreds. I was the only one who saw it’s benefits, keeping friendships alive while reconnecting with old ones. For the unsocial ones like me, it helped me make new friends when I moved back to Mombasa after twelve years of being away.

Therefore it irks me when people come to my computer screen and all they see is Facebook, irrespective of the fact that I could be having four other tabs open. Sure, I chat when there’s someone online, but that’s because I really am great at multi-tasking.
I’m a weird blend of characteristics, I can be quite chatty when I feel like, or retreat to my “I don’t feel like talking” cocoon when my mood dips.
And so it’s only natural that when I’m sitted here minding my own bidness, that I’ll log in and should someone say hi, reply. 

But for some reason, it’s a gateway to offering unsolicited opinions and advices. Honestly, who asked you what you think of Facebook? If it’s of no benefit to you, why should you talk like your opinion is what counts most?
It baffles me that some even go to the extent of trashing this social networking phenomena terming it a total waste of time, yet they don’t seem to think tonnes of minutes spent on Yahoo messenger is an office no-no as well.

So today something similar happened, which reminded me of this question I get asked all the time, “Do you ever work?” The most ironic thing is; my boss has practically never complained to me that my output is wanting. Sure he did have reservations about my facebooking, but that was before he joined the bandwagon himself.
But no, some miss goody two shoes just won’t keep their nonsensical opinions to themselves. I no longer bother to explain my self.

So why pray tell am I ranting and raving like a raging lunatic you ask? Because I can. That’s the most honest answer I can give.
You see for me, thanks to Serah Moko tagging me in her note by poet extraordinaire Maya Angelou, I discovered you could write notes and post them! No biggie you say? Well for me, it was like Christopher Columbus discovering The New World.
Facebook has given me a platform to share my writings with my friends, as well the drive to keep writing. If it wasn’t for that one application (Serah I shall forever be grateful), I’d have probably given up on this so called gift after my two attempts at professional writing failed miserably.

Through Facebook, I have forged strong alliances, but most of all, established relationships with family members too far away to drop by and say hi to, some of whom I’m yet to meet. Damn what the haters might say, Facebook to me is a gift I cherish, because I’m not outgoing and thus for those of us who are socially challenged, opening up to total strangers can be a matter of epic proportions.
My point is, before you patronize or invalidate someone else'S perpective, walk a mile in their shoes. While you’re at it, find out the shoe’s designer, the cobbler who repaired it, heck, find out the wearer’s outlook on life. I guarantee you you’ll be amazed at how much you overlook when you judge a book by it’s cover and forget that the content inside is a fusion of experiences, creative writing and editorial genius. Just a thought.

Kibali

Why are we running?

Why do we bother to dream,

When eventually we have to embrace reality,

Why do we think we can fly,

When we are subject to gravity,

We mourn the loss of steam,

When it’s swallowed by disparity,

When we tumble down from the sky,

Then our dreams become vanity,

Oh why are we running,

When this race seems so futile,

Sweating and panting,

Chasing the wind when it ain’t worth while,

Oh why oh why we running,

Towards a future bleak with every mile,

When hope drains into the sea,

Though it began mighty like the Nile

We live for tomorrow,

When we should be rejoicing in today,

Walking in the straight and narrow,

Wearing optimism like an array,

Yet because all we know,

Is while the sun shines make hay,

Older we grow,

Our eclipsed lives giving in to disarray

Oh why are we running,

When this race seems so futile,

Sweating and panting,

Chasing the wind when it ain’t worth while,

Oh why oh why we running,

Towards a future bleak with every mile,

When hope drains into the sea,

Though it began mighty like the Nile,

We forgot to live,

We forgot how to make precious memories,

We forgot to give,

To our selves; became our own worst enemies,

We forgot to grieve

For our lost boundaries,

Forgot to sieve;

Rid our selves of unrealities…

why are we running....why are we running....WHY are we ruNnIng

Kibali

Journey to being plain (2)

I’ve always been asked what tribe I am, mainly because I don’t possess what would normally be called tribal attributes. I speak differently, look nothing like people from my ‘community’, heck, I don’t even speak the language. People have a field day trying to guess, and I don’t blame them; you see Kenyans are bred to find identity in their tribal affiliations that’s why even politicians squander public coffers and when accused retreat back to their tribal cocoons saying its they that are being persecuted.

A famous saying goes that “mwacha mila ni mtumwa, na mkosa mila ni mfungwa”, and this I have been reminded ad nauseum. I actually never realized I didn’t speak my mother tongue till I went to boarding school and heard children my age speaking it so effortlessly. I was puzzled! Weren’t adults the only ones who had mastered this? I wondered. It didn’t help much that all of my grandparents died when I was really young so we never really went upcountry…that coupled with the fact that we were born and raised in Mombasa didn’t help matters much.

And so the taunting began…but atleast there were kids from Nairobi who were just as clueless as I was…and coming from Mombasa…I got away by regaling them with tales of the Indian Ocean vast and vicious, telling them how at night beautiful women would rise from the sea to ensnare men and take them away never to be seen or heard of again.

Ironically, although I went to boarding school in the highlands of central province, it was a CRIME to utter even one word of Kikuyu lest you “spoil” your accent!

And so whoever would dare mention an innocuous word like “Ngai” as an expression of shock would have to wear a stinky bone christened “Monto”. Consequently, you had to pass it on to anyone else who thought the no-mother-tongue-rule was a laughing matter. Names would be scribbled and those who wore it twice in one day would be made an example to the rest of us…let’s just day the caning was enough to drive the fear of God into all and sundry.

Come high school and the guessing game began. “Are you sure you’re kikuyu? You look and sound coastal when you speak Swahili (though by then I had adopted the skill of mixing sheng with English slang so as to mask the Swahili accent). And oh this went on and on till I cleared high school. To date I’ve been called Nigerian, Luhya, Somali and a whole gamut of tribes I have no recollection of. Well, it didn’t bother me much till the post election violence when suddenly I got a new tag…vote stealer

Then it finally sank in that like many kids born and bred in urban areas, I only spoke two languages well. Nairobi being cosmopolitan, I knew of friends who didn’t even speak Swahili and had the option of taking it as a language in high school along side French, German or Spanish. It didn’t matter though, as long as you had one name that showed your parents or grandparents hailed from a certain section where mist and a snow capped mountain were it’s main features…you were just a vote stealer like the rest of “your people.”

What struck a chord though, was that for the first time, I started to look at my friends along tribal lines. I’d have those “Oh my gosh, so and so’s second name is …which means they are….but geez, they sure look nothing like people of his/her community” moments. Kenya was now polarized along tribal lines and depending on what name you possessed, you were termed an enemy of democracy.

Then the weirdness gained momentum, even my own cousins who grew up upcountry started to put their two sense in the whole debate. My siblings and I were seen as “traitors” somewhat because we didn’t possess the collective tribal identity. We, together with a couple of other way older cousins who were also born and brought up here and didn’t speak a word of kikuyu as well, were now labeled “waswahili.”

Funny how one of them now has a daughter who is a “Swahili” just like us.

Moral of this rather dull story is, only the wearer knows where the shoe pinches. We constantly criticize (me included) thinking we are better, or could have handled the situation better had we been the ones facing it. We take the moral high ground, using religion and unfounded bias to justify our stance when it suits us. We condemn adulterers yet we fornicate, we point fingers at those we perceive to be morally deficient as if we are both judge and jury. We forget only God can judge because He alone is infallible and beyond prejudice.

What goes around comes around it is said, sooner or later you’ll look back and say, “I wish I didn’t say anything…here I am caught up in the same maze.

Kibali

Journey to being plain (1)

   Yesterday a classmate asked me if the “K” I abbreviate when writing my names stands for Kibali, and was rather surprised when I said no.When people ask me what my name is, I tell them I’m Mwangi, and they look at me in shock. They act like they don’t know what hit them and I honest to goodness love the expression on their faces. You see, many people rarely believe I’m Kikuyu, better yet some even get offended when I insist on being called Mwangi and not Ken, my English name. Yes, shocking as it may be, I actually do possess one, and no I don’t hate it, I just consider it unnecessary. Why? Hmm, how about the fact that I think it was just a formality for me to be given that name, as if God would love me any less if I wasn’t just Mwangi.

Kenneth according to my research means handsome in Irish, or Gaelic, I’m yet to know the difference. Handsome, is a particularly great trait. Most days I wake up and say tomorrow, I shall manifest that. It’s shortened version is Ken, which means to know, and those that regularly interact with me can attest to the fact that I’m such a know it all.

It’s an annoying trait I blame on the countless hours I spend in front of a computer, voraciously reading anything and everything that I consider conversation-worthy. Good thing is, I’m never short of answers when it comes to arguments, or question answering in my communications classes!

However, Kenneth is still Irish, and I…I’m black. It’s one of those things I can’t quite wrap my head around, and even more confounding is that some people act all offended when I insist that I will be called by my native name…Mwangi. That is my name, it’s what I have been called since birth, it’s what I refer to myself as when I’m having an internal dialogue, and trust me, I love talking to myself.

It’s what my family calls me; Infact my mother refers to me as Mwangi wa Munene, because Munene is my “Mbari” or clan, Munene having been my great grandfather’s name. Those two names mean something to me, they reflect my lineage, my connection to a past I know very little about, but nonetheless treasure.

Do I detest my first name? Not any more. Did I have issues with it? Yes? For the longest time, I was never Mwangi outside of my family enclave, and neighbourhood. It was appalling somewhat, it made me feel insecure, the same way some women just won’t leave their houses without makeup. Just like they can’t bare it all for the world to see, so was I, forlorn without my supposed shield, my Irish name.

That was the same battle I had with writing and singing, my giftings were never good enough so much so, that none of my friends or neighbours except the ones that had seen me on stage, or had accidentally found me yelling in the bathroom knew of that part of me.

But one day, a journey slow began to unfold in my mind. I began to question who I was, what I had gone through in life, and what those experiences had birthed in me. I began to accept me as I was, imperfect at best, pitiful at worst, and it no longer mattered. This was who I was.

I looked at myself in the mirror, face covered by acne and epidermal scars and I smiled at the reflection. It was my, as Oprah calls it, my AH moment, and I owned it, I was no movie star and that was fine, I was Mwangi.

From then onwards, the paradigm shift became evident. I told myself I would no longer apologize for being myself, whoever felt I didn’t live up to their expectations could go roast in the Sahara. I began to piece my life back together, erasing every hurt that had been emblazoned din my mind, coming to terms with every rejection that had broken my previously fragile heart. I became a warrior inside, telling myself I'm better than they give me credit for, able to achieve more than they could fathom. That was who I was, not the inevitable failure I had been painted to be, destined for the dungeon, doomed from the start. No, I was a success waiting in the wings, and I was meant for something.

Today I live up to the name Ken; I call myself handsome even when most days I don’t feel that way. But if God can call those things that be not as though they were, who am I not to right?

So why won’t I use it? Because I’m from the school of thought that doesn’t consider it neccesary to be referred to by an English name. Why be who everyone expects me to be when I can comfortable with plain name? Sure there are many Mwangis, but you’d never know unless you were to take a peek at their identification cards.

You all must think I’m conceited, even vain for subjecting you to this kind of crap, but bare with me, I’m getting to my point, if I haven’t made it already.

Whichever name you go by, atleast know it’s meaning. Secondly; just because you don’t find an aspect of someone appealing or cool, that doesn’t give you the prerogative to make them feel like they are less than.

I’m Mwangi, and that’s enough, if it wasn’t for the mentality back then that one had to have a certain name to ascertain the God or deity you allude your allegiance to, I’d have been called Munene, big, great, strong, but hey I lost out on that one and I blame them missionaries!

Maybe this whole piece was pointless, who cares, it was important that I write it, so I lay this debate to rest. This is not aimed at anyone in particular, it’s just a reply to a question that has been coming up for many years now.

People have many hang-ups about the Agikuyu, and the stereotypes don’t help either. But whether or not I look, act, speak, or act like one, I still am, and I don’t consider it a handicap, I consider it being part of the diverse cultural fabric of  the Adam family.

I don’t fit in very well, and that is no longer an issue, what is most important is that I esteem myself and try everyday to see me through the eyes of the Potter, not the clay. So until I issue a new memo, wonder no more why I prefer a name doesn’t stand out, that is considered shady.

 I love it because it reflects who I am now, plain; at peace with all of me, and no longer needy of the spotlight, or glitter.  

kIbALi

Jangwa

You watch me stumble,

You watch me fall,

Just like you let me learn to crawl

Before I walked,

You keep me humble,

When open doors stall,

Watching my inner brawl,

When I’m desolate and yoked,

Oh you let me cry out,

In the Jangwa of my loneliness,

Let me get worn out,

Till my light is snuffed out by the darkness,

Then you tell me,

This is just a test,

To birth my testimony,

To bring out my best

You watch the storm clouds gather,

You watch the winds blow,

Even though You are my father,

You don’t stop the river’s overflow,

You let the thunders roar,

And let my foundations shake,

And though You can make me soar,

You let me endure the earthquake,

Oh you let me cry out,

In the Jangwa of my loneliness,

Let me get worn out,

Till my light is snuffed out by the darkness,

Then you tell me,

This is just a test,

To birth my testimony,

To bring out my best,

..I don’t wanna the poster child of victory,

Let someone else do the job,

I just wanna be happy,

Please release the door knob,

I know my mess,

Is meant to be my message,

But I’m tired of the endless,

Rites of passage…

 Kibali

My silent streams (one with my tears)

If you could tear my heart open,

You’d see a thousand and one tears,

Broken dreams, laid to rest,

Darkness and fears,

It beats because it must,

And I wonder if God hears,

The silent murmurs of this broken heart,

From my lips, to God’s ears

Oh how life sears,

Oh how life sears,

Oh how life has made me,

One with my tears,

My silent streams,

My tarnished waterfalls,

Adulterated,

Uninhibited,

From broken dreams,

And muffled calls,

Sadness unabated…

A soul defeated

And if you taste the bitterness,

That embellishes my song,

You’d quit wondering,

Why I sing like I belong,

On a stage somewhere,

It’s just the outpouring of my soul,

That has grown weary with many a care,

That has forgotten to be whole,

Oh how life sears,

Oh how life sears,

Oh how life has made me,

One with my tears,

I have learned...that a hurricane is sometimes the only way to wash away the pain, 

and i have learned, that sometimes a scar is a necessary stain, 

to remind you that you stood strong through the rain, 

that you are resilient enough...that every lesson learned is wisdom you gain

My silent streams,

My tarnished waterfalls,

Adulterated,

Uninhibited,

From broken dreams,

And muffled calls,

Sadness unabated…

A soul defeated.

Kibali

Four fingers

            "one finger pointed at me; when four are pointing back at you..."

On my way to work this morning, I happened to sit next to this lady carrying a child. Late, groggy and with earphones blaring music to drown the world and my thoughts in one fell swoop, I was just fixated on getting to my workplace.

But lo and behold, I was drawn to the conversation that began immediately I sat down, between the lady beside me and the two people behind.

Apparently, unbeknownst to me, they were complaining that I was “uncomfortably sitted”. Yeah really. “This is interesting” I mused; and only when the lady beside me asked how she was expected to carry two kids, did it hit me that there was one other kid sitted next to her, shielded. 

I wondered to myself what the hullabaloo was all about but I didn’t recall saying anything or acting in a manner that betrayed disclosure.

But the two people behind just would not let it go! They kept nagging her until she finally asked me if I was ok with the sitting arrangement; I nodded and smiled to dispel any fears that she may have had. In fact, I nodded so strongly to send a silent albeit strong message to the back benchers that they needed to leave this woman alone. To me it was a simple case of mind over matter, I didn’t mind and thus it didn’t matter

Fifteen or so minutes to out journey, the lady “tapped” the “matatu” to signal she wanted to alight, and off she went with her two lovely girls.

But here I was, confounded by this saga of sorts. I found it rather bewildering that an elderly woman would berate a younger one for a simple matter as this, instead of offering a solution. If she was not willing to pay for a seat for those kids to sit on, and wasn’t willing to help her carry one of the daughters, what business did she have complaining?

I placed myself in her shoes; she probably couldn’t afford to pay for two seats, or she was just being frugal. Naive old me; maybe she was just being selfish but even I choose to see the glass as half full some days.

Second, it would have been outrageous in the least for her to ask me to carry one of those kids. Many people me included tend to trust people that look friendly, its human nature, and that, validated by statistics has proved time and again to be the bane our existence. If people get robbed, taken advantage and even raped by people they trust, how much more strangers?

I’m not saying I’m a paedophile, but you get my drift. I was just being empathetic, it didn’t seem necessary to cause a “scene” when there was no reason to; pointless drama is so titanic era!

It’s saddening that everyday, people are quick to judge others, point out their faults, and march them with pitchforks to the stake to burn without placing themselves in these people’s shoes. We criticize, antagonize,mock, as if we are any better, when in fact we are more scum for acting all sanctimonious.

She went her merry way, and my day was not affected in the least bit, actually I was in own little world, salving the guilt that was swirling inside of me.

I hope the next time I try to point fingers when it’s not in my place to play God, that I’’ remember this occurrence, and stop myself in my tracks. People just really need to mind their own business; the world would be that much more hospitable if they did.

Real talk

Kibali

I fought for the silence

I have waited all this time,
To have a modicum of sanity,
Battled with emotion,
Dragged myself from the throes of vanity,
I’ve even learned to mime,
What words and a sigh miserably,
Could not utter out of desperation,
When pain lacked reason or rhyme
I have fought for the silence
I have walked miles to gain it
I have danced in the rain
I’ve braved the storm to play in it
I have bought my freedom
Paid the price to chain it
Now I’m immersed in confusion
I lost my self in it,

I'll bleed myself dry,
Save me from myself,
I feel like I’m facing Goliath
And I’m David, just an elf,
I know the rain will wash me away,
But in it I can dance and shed tears,
This is my cry,
I don’t wanna drown in my fears,

Who am I
What am I
How did I get to the point of no return,
I cry, I cry,
For I am past the point of no return,

funny how I fought for the silence
I walked miles to gain it
I even danced in the rain
I’ve braved the storm to play'in it
I bought my freedom
Paid the price to chain it
got immersed in confusion
I lost my self in it,
I lost myself

Kibali

I see you

She looked at me,
Past my outer shell,
Past what was visible,
Into the invisible,
She saw I wasn’t free,
Saw what no one else could tell,
Gentle and affable,
She saw the unmistakable,

But she simply said,
I know what you’re going through,
I know you’re not happy,
I see this is affecting you,
Take my advice,
Do what I do,
I’ve paid that same price,
I see you.

No one else understood,
Until that point I was knocking on wood,
Hoping someone would see
The hurting inside of me,
But she did what no one else could,
Like only a mother only would,
She saw past the layers of confidence,
Saw my pain and its very essence,,

She simply said,
I know what you’re going through,
I know you’re not happy,
I see this is affecting you,
Take my advice,
Do what I do,
I’ve paid that same price,
So I see you.

I’ve met her once before,
I still don’t know her name,
Overlooked my aft and fore,
She saw my hurt and shame
She gave me my avatar moment,
Saw what I was guarding fiercely,
My stranger; God sent,
That’s how she touched me.

And truth is..

My heart should be palpitating,
but all i hear is a silent murmur,
My head should be dizzy,
Maybe this is the lull before the storm,
My blood should be boiling,
like in the heat of a sweltering summer,
but peace has made it easy,
Thus to fear i won't conform,

And truth is, I'm a fool for walking away,
Truth is, maybe I'll be unhappy when from my slumber i AWAKE,
Truth is, every fiber of my being screams"mayday mayday",
for possibly sinking a ship with risks i shouldn't take
Nothing makes sense when chasing mirth,
eVERY PART OF THE JOURNEY IS HAZY,
But every step towards a rebirth,
is laden with a heaviness so crazy,
maybe I'm chasing the wind of the earth,
Maybe I'm a fool for rewriting the script,
but for once i just want to revel in self worth,
Purchased by following my heart's drift...

And truth is, I'm a fool for walking away,
Truth is, maybe I'll be unhappy when from my slumber i AWAKE,
Truth is, every fibre of my being screams"mayday mayday",
for possibly sinking a ship with risks i shouldn't take,

yes I'm afraid,
of drowning now that this vessel has sailed...
but when all is said and done but let it be said,
that atleast i tried and failed....

Kibali

Just a shadow

You don’t know

The alphabet of my history,

The cost of my smile,

Why this laughter I carry,

You don’t know,

And I’m not sorry,

That you have bile,

Cuz you ain’t a chapter in my story,

wHAT do you know,

You're just a shadow,

There when I Glow,

Vanishing when there's dark till the dawn of tomorrow,

I don't mind your show,

Keep making me grow,

I'm an eagle you're just a crow,

You'll never hunt me...

Got an armour for your every arrow....

You don’t know

But you think you do,

Telling people what was told to you,

Sadly I’m done with that; I’m through,

Keep going till you overflow,

Drama is something I’ll never woo,

You hate then you bill and coo,

When around me but I’m on to you,

wHAT do you know,

You're just a shadow,

There when i Glow,

Vanishing when there's dark till the dawn of tomorrow,

I don't mind your show,

Keep making me grow,

I'm an eagle you're just a crow,

You'll never hunt me....

but keep hitting my armour with your every arrow....

Oh I’ve grown stronger with every mile,

Pain has made me ductile,

You can keep compiling that file,

Publicize me; Im no longer fragile,

This rainbow you see has many colours,

You couldn’t separate one with a million dollars,

I’m more than what you’ve heard,

What you think you know is just a façade,

  

 Kibali

Jadi nilipokupenda,
wakti lolote ningetenda,
ahadi ulipanda,
nkatarajia kuvuna,
hisia na huba,
farha si haba,
kumbe haba na haba,
haujazi kibaba bin riba, loh!

Longo longo,
jicho la moyo nalo chongo, 
sikujua ni hongo, 
penzi ulonipa, 
heri ngetia usongo,
nsipumbazwe na udongo, 
umenifunza hata kwa matongo, 
samaki humjua papa!!

Dalili ulinipa,
ila macho nilifumba,
ulinifunga kwa kamba,
nami maskio nkatia pamba,
kama damu kwa mshipa,
nilikuthamini mahabuba,
sikujua wetu usuhuba,
ni mazigazi ya jangwa, loh!

Longo longo,
jicho la moyo nalo chongo, 
sikujua ni hongo, 
penzi ulonipa, 
heri ngetia usongo, 
nsipumbazwe na udongo, 
umenifunza hata kwa matongo, 
samaki humjua papa!

Ulinihadaa, nami nilikaa,
kijipa tumaini, ukanikeketa maini,
ulinikalfisha, ila mda wako umekwisha,
mbio za sakafuni, huishia ukingoni, 

Kibali

Enchanting

What have you done to me,

that is compelling me to change, 

every hard stance I'd taken, 

rethink every decision I've made, 

what are you doing to me,

its so darn strange, 

the feelings you awaken, in me,

refuse to fade, 

oh Your beauty disarms,

your simplicity charms, 

you've set off all my alarms, 

you're enchanting 

What is this my heart feels, 

whose alphabet I can't spell, 

its like my desert heart stumbled, 

upon an underground well, 

because somehow, 

silent streams 

of tender memories, 

have come to quench the thirst of my lonely hell! 

Oh your beauty charms, 

your simplicity disarms, 

you've set off all my alarms, 

you're enchanting 

Yes My mind is afraid, 

but my heart is ready, 

this journey I delayed, 

because my footsteps weren't steady, 

now all I wanna do,

is learn the melody of you,

so I can sing every note you strum,

and harmonise your every hum, 

oh what is this my heart feels, whose alphabet I can't spell, 

its like my desert heart has stumbled, upon an underground well, 

you're enchanting, you're enchanting, you're so enchanting

Kibali

whatever became ash

Some kind of darkness I'm in,

always stumbling yet managing to forge ahead,

groping, hoping for the visions within,

To guide me to my daily bread,

and yet somehow when the hope inside,

begins to die and fade away,

how You bring me to your side,

ensuring despondency does not lead me astray,

and now i know i am tethered,

to a purpose greater than my continuous falling,

because for every storm i have weathered,

it has brought me to a deeper understanding,

And now my mind has made an u-turn

in learning to trust You and not be frustrated,

that after the fires came to burn,

whatever became ash will be compensated...

Some kinda darkness I'm in,

the kind that engulfs,

the kind that tells me,

the dawn will never open its eyelids

and every battle i have failed to win,

has snuffed out the flames within,

yet amazingly,

i find You even as my heart bleeds...

and now i know i am tethered,

to a purpose greater than my continuous falling,

because for every storm i have weathered,

it has brought me to a deeper understanding,

And now my mind has made an u-turn

in learning to trust you and not be afraid,

that after the fires came to burn,

compensation will be paid...

sever not this chord,

it is the only thing that ties me to life,

i can no longer afford,

to wallow in the after-math of life's every strife...

I just wanna embrace,

whatever it s You have set out as my journey,

though I'm out of breath and slow is my pace,

walk with me towards my destiny...

For  now i know i am tethered,

to a purpose greater than my continuous falling,

because for every storm i have weathered,

it has brought me to a deeper understanding,

And now my mind has made an u-turn

in learning to trust you and not be frustrated,

that after the fires came to burn,

whatever became ash will be compensated...

Kibali

Valour

I'm summoning the courage,

to be the giant i am inside,

it's time i wage,

war against this defeatist tide,

i need to turn the page,

and i'm ready with arms open wide,

to stand on the marriage stage,

and make my dreams my bride,

On that day I’ll stand,

And let my light shine away,

Spread out like grains of sand,

In my cocoon no longer stay,

I won’t need a magic wand,

Because fear will no longer be my array,

Valour will strengthen my hand,

and I will no longer fray

False evidence appearing real,

that is what fear is,

no more waiting for the ideal,

I'm ridding me of this disease,

because i've chosen to appeal,

this life sentence that's brought me to my knees,

I'm tapping into reservoirs of zeal,

to chase this until i bring my mind ease...

On that day I’ll stand,

And let my light shine away,

Spread out like grains of sand,

In my cocoon no longer stay,

I won’t need a magic wand,

Because fear will no longer be my array,

Valour will strengthen my hand,

and I will no longer fray

my f.e.a.r will always

be here,

but it's time for forays,

into the places my heart holds dear,

Kibali

unspoken words :)

Everyday, I wonder if I’ll ever stumble upon an opportunity that’s tailored made for me. I constantly wonder if I’ll ever get a job, and have the wherewithal to chase after my dreams no matter how lofty they seem.  And I wonder why people who can, nay should help me wont lend a helping hand, only offering me advice as if that pays the bills.

Sadly, when you’re my age, the dissatisfactions you vocalize concerning the trajectory of your life sound like complaints. For some reason, nobody looks at the underlying factors that lead you to say what it is you state. So days like these, the old adage of walking a mile in someone’s shoes becomes so alive!

When you’re my age, every decision is grand, has consequences, and is regrettable if it doesn’t produce the results intended.  Every word you speak is laden with meaning, and only someone who understands you very well can decipher what it is you are trying to say.

When you’re my age, or (is it just me), you constantly wonder, nay ponder about the meaning of life, its purpose, it’s current state, and the future. You wonder if things will ever change, for the better. More so, you wonder if by the time they do change, if you’ll look the way you do, feel the way you feel, and have the drive.

Let’s talk about the future, isn’t it scary that we worry about something we actually have very little control over? I mean, who has the assurance that they’ll even be there? I’m not trying to sound all be negative but we have to accept the uncertainty that is our life. Mustaqabali, the Swahili call it, and oh the future can give you sleepless nights, hot flushes (I sound so andropausal right now), bouts of sadness, and a desire to just give up. How nice!

But seriously, when you’re my age, everybody asks you what you do. If you’re not gainfully employed, or at least mullah’d enough to throw wards of cash at them to blind their “prying” eyes, then everything you say comes off as an excuse. You’re constantly asked why you don’t work, what you intend to do, given unsolicited advice about what you should do, and oh, analyzed like a biology specimen. You’re constantly quizzed on when you cleared school, so the mental calculations can begin. Numbers are crunched in a split second impulse before sympathetic glances are exchanged. “You should be so far ahead; have achieved so much….married even! Yep I’ve been told that, people don’t mince their words when you’re my age. Makes me feel like a Methuselah re-incarnate

Oh by this time you’re either laughing with me, at me, or totally wondering just low I can go. Very low, there’s no shame when you have a ton of things to say and nobody to talk to, then venting though writing becomes the only means of escape because these words are my own from….oh wait that’s a Natasha Bedingfield song! What I meant was, it’s important to externalize before these words become magma that bubbles like an undercurrent, and like a volcano with no warning erupts! The damage will be grave, hearts will broken, things will be said that can never be undone. (My little brain wonders at this point if I got the sentence order correctly.)

I love to digress! When you’re age, oh trust me, even your fashion sense is judged! Good thing is, I’m too grown it’s silly *insert Kelly Rowland’s grown ass woman as the soundtrack this very instant.* I could care less, seeing as I’ve grown into myself and know what makes me tick and what ticks me off. Everything I do is for my own pleasure egocentric as that may sound. Narcissism becomes a way of life, a mantra to be chanted constantly, there is no room for more than my mind can handle.

But seriously, when you’re my age, you think about the decisions you made in the past, constantly doing a cost benefit analysis, and discarding things that add no value. In that list add people who make you feel like you add no value to this solar system, they are no longer tolerated. Sadly some relationships that you wish wouldn’t end do, but hey cest la vie the French said. Every mess has potential for a message and every time you get burned is a lesson learned.

Finally, when you’re my age, family means so much more than it did when you were a teenager. Thus decisions made concerning life, and their consequences weigh more heavily on your mind. That means you constantly have to salve your conscience, and purge emotions that remind you of opportunities you let fly by, or of decisions that you know could break the family chord if it wasn’t for God’s grace lol.

Not many people know what true listening is, so it’s hard for them to get the nuances and dissect my words to get what it is I’m really trying to convey. As I was telling my friend sometime back, I’m constantly happy, but I’m not content. 

I want my life to have a different tangent and when it does then ill be truly happy. I know people say that happiness is not pegged upon the way your life is, but let’s face it, everyone who says that is not at the same quagmire I’m in. Until the day I’m satisfied that I have made progress, and that I’ve made up for lost time, I shall continue being grumpy, it’s my right yeah? Don’t judge me, sometimes you got to say what is eating you up, with a tinge of salt and a dash of that.

Kibali.

If i could be

If I could be just one thing,

Then id be a singer,

Because my heart longs to sing,

Like hungry children wait for the bell-ringer,

To ring the bell,

So they can dash to have lunch,

Oh music permeates my every cell,

It makes my heart beat like a boxer’s punch

Even when my mouth speaks not a word,

In my mind there’s a melody,

My heart sings like the morning bird,

It’s the only way I know to be free,

But when I feel I have no choice,

I finally let out my voice,

Sing out.

And I revel and rejoice…