My childhood

Today I am a very happy child
Am full of joy and excitement
Am smiling and grinning
I know today playing with mud is out of order
My playmates will know
What swag and style is
Because I am stylish
My lovely mother
Has brought me today
New shoes and stylish clothes

Out in the field I look up the sky
I see an aeroplane and with delight I cry
My father’s aeroplane
My father’s, my father’s
Like birds in the sky
My father flies
My father’s airplane passes by

Ayoo ayoo (mama)
Ayoo ayoo (mama)
Mama lifts me up
Cleans my nose and puts me down
Gives me sweets to share with sweethearts
I run to my friends
And they sense my pride
They surround me
We share according to the level of friendship
Those who are mean when their mother is from the market
Only get but a bit with a promise
To be more generous

When the day ends
Am dirty and happy
I run home
Tired and hungry
I am bathed and fed
And am lulled to sleep.

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The Girl I don’t know

This is about a girl that I don’t know.

This girl that I don’t know is 4 feet tall.. or probably 3 and a half,
I mean who knows, I don’t know!

The girl I don’t know, doesn’t have a phone to keep a playlist on,
but she plays at least with her hair.
Her brother is heir to everything they own…
her body might be hers to wash, but you should see her parents hand it over like a bag,
to an old man.
They must be so proud,
a broken old man,
broke her virginity without breaking her.

In school, teachers will always tell you to fight for your dreams
but how does a young girl fight for her dreams when an old man is busy fulfilling his dreams of having 10 children by lying on top of her,
by making war on a body that is too young to ask for any other thing than peace.
The girls I know want to be married at 26, at 27, at 31,
the girls I know want to be fashion designers, pilots, business owners…
but at 12years old,
the girl I don’t know becomes what she is told to become…
an idea of a mother but really just a child in reality.
She can act like a mother but her body can’t fake the muscles that took years to make our mothers,
our mothers.

12 year old wombs have raised sons who went ahead to become doctors, soldiers,
then came back home to make use of another 12 year old womb, they call it tradition. I call it violence.

There’s something about the Taliban man who shoots a girl for going to school.
There’s something about beautiful weddings that end with rape at night.
There’s something about being 17 with three children and a heart full of holes.
There’s something about men’s interpretation of the Bible and Koran that doesn’t come against miserable treatment of women.
There’s something about a 14 year old girl contemplating divorce.
There’s something about men, about male police officers in Uganda stripping women-but then again the gun in their hand was not handed to them to protect human dignity.
There’s something about dignity, about a police officer at the report desk coming back to ask, ‘huyo wa rape ako wapi?’
There’s something about history that ignores heroes for being women.
There’s something about Mau Mau’s history that chooses to forget the role of women.
There’s something about history, about men, about the history of men…
like when a law was passed in Yemen, raising the minimum marriage age of girls to 17,
it was met with so much opposition, it was repelled.
There’s something about repelling, old men are not supposed to be attracted to 9 year old girls, especially not in the mind of a father.

There’s something a little girl learns by watching a male leader slapping a woman on national TV, and he gets to keep the right to be called a leader.

Love an allusion

She sulked in the garden,

Unwilling to face him,

Her pursed mouth couldn’t utter a word,

Pain flashing through her.

 

Still shell-shocked,

Their sweet love subverted,

Her eyes soaked in tears,

Memories crossed her mind.

 

The last ray of hope gone,

From “yes I do” to “yes I did,”

She felt empty like a ghost,

The pain felt like she bled red.

 

Thought not to be a quitter,

But I give up that quicker,

“Cause I have been treated like litter,”

And slowly she walked away.

Moyale Massacre

 I am deeply saddened by the immense loss and cascading suffering of The Oromo people in Ethiopia.
And I am deeply disappointed by all those who have, year after year, by action or inaction, by design or indifference, allowed this to happen.
My grief and frustration are compounded by all I know of the Oromo People.
During my childhood, I saw the remarkable hospitality of the Oromo people in hosting millions of neighboring countries refugees – not in camps, but in their communities across the country.
Oromia was a place where refugees could live in security, trying to rebuild their lives and raise their families.
Today so many of those generous Oromos who shared so much have themselves been forced from their homes, becoming refugees or internally displaced.
In neighboring countries – whose enormous hospitality I witnessed but are burdened by overwhelming needs – the vast majority of Oromo refugees live below the poverty line.
Many of those Oromos who journeyed even farther from home in search of safety found the doors they once opened to others in need shut in their face in Somalia, Kenya, Djibouti, Eritrea, Sudan, Egypt, Yemen and Saudi etc…
I condemn the massacre of innocent people and call on the ethnic apartheid regime to immediately stop the killing the people.
My deepest sympathy for the loss of these precious lives to those families, friends and communities who are grieving their deaths.
I express concern for those who have been wounded and for countless others, who are now living under great stress and hardship as they have fled their homes to find safety from the violence and conflict.
It is critically important to stop killing the people and seek lasting solutions before the tensions and violence escálate further; something that will cause more deaths, injuries, loss of livelihoods, greater destruction, the destabilization of the regions or even the violence to spread to other parts of the country.
A country known for its ancient civilization and a people known for their richness of diversity have been betrayed.
Oromia is bleeding inside and out.
There should be only one agenda for all of us: to end the suffering of the Oromo people and find a political solution to the conflict in Ethiopia, and END the mass #massacre.

Embrace Me

After you are hurt and wounded
When the rain beat you hard
And make you dripping wet
And the ground is slippery
That emotions sweep your feet
I will slide in the mud
To come for you
And lick your wounds
That I eat your sorrows away

When you feel uncomfortable under
And your legs become weak
With an imaginable emptiness between
I shall squeeze sometime
And come to fill the void
And perfectly fit the hollow

When you are surrounded by loneliness
Inside
And you are overwhelmed by situations
And you cannot handle it anymore
I will come on top
To push and pump
Your agony away
And give you calmness and serenity

If you find yourself alone
Thinking of how hard things are
That you get worked up by circumstances
I will startle you from behind
And heal your sores
To energize you more
So that you know my coming
Was all for your satisfaction.

I Leave

Do not provoke the bruised bosom of a disgusted lover
Foe to herself enemy to man
Who will burn able bodied men
In avenged rage of sadism
Seductive as she may be
Green she may seem
Naive
Remote
Evil
I wonder why in the world
Such a being was made
Loose.

It really hurt when I saw you with your current victim
Not for me but for him
That he will suffer the same fate.
Young a soul for your evil ways
Why, why, why?
Are you so loose
I feel total contempt
Towards you
A person who seeks attention
And when accorded
Dipells it.
Hold on! Hold on!
This is not for you
No no no
This is for the rest
The foolish that reel in fantasy loving
You are lost
If the most impressive thing that you do
Is create enemies along the way
Yes I know
To increase stimulation
Delay gratification
But yours
Are you a monkey?
Jumping from one tree to another
you leave with surprise not regrets
I wonder why?
I ask how?
When?
What?
Became of morals!!
for I might be taken as a warmonger
A dumped lover
I leave.
With a humble bow
To say no more
Of morality
Of love
Of trust and frienship
Comradeship and partnership
I cut the communication
And abandon the relation.

Literature our Mirror

Bertolt Bretch “The Caucasian Chalk Circle” DOCTOR vs INVALID, BLACKMAILER and LIMPING MAN – the INVALID accuse the DOCTOR for causing him to get a stroke by treating the patients for free.

BLACKMAILER on the other hand informs the court that, he only wanted to know if the farmer whose name he hides had raped his niece but instead he was given money to pay for his uncle’s studies.

The LIMPING Man accuses the DOCTOR for operating on the wrong foot. The Doctor’s case presented before judge Azdak manifested at our very own Kenyatta National Hospital the Limping man had his right leg operated instead of the left leg. Azdak considered it as a professional negligence. Kenyatta Hospital had it worst, a wrong patient had brain surgery. This should be considered attempted murder.

VERDICT: INVALID was sentenced to a fine of 1000 piasters
The LIMPING MAN as compensation he would receive a bottle of rubbing alcohol. Poor Limping man.
The BLACKMAILER was sentenced to give half of the proceeds to the court so to keep the name of the landowner secret.

Corruption is prevalent in Grusinia. The peasants, on Easter Sunday accuse the Water Inspector for taking bribes, Azdak in the monk trial accuse the Princes for having won the by pilfering the war coffers, Azdak as a judge, accepts bribes openly showing how much the society had sunk into the dirt.

When war breaks out in Nuka, the Singer says, “When the house of a great man collapses, many small folks will be crushed under the ruins.” Therefore the death of Governor Georgi Abashwili leads to suffering of many. His servants would be rendered jobless, the prices of food shoots above the roof- Grusha pays 2 piasters for a pitcher of milk among other issues.

We also notice the difference between the poor and the rich, Grusha pays 2 piasters for a pitcher of milk but the Grand Duke is willing to pay Azdak 10,000 piasters for lodging in his house. This is the adage of capitalist regimes. Whilst the poor live under a dollar, the rich eat in luxurious hotels. They do not have problem with money.

The Caucasian chalk Circle is clear portrayal of Kenya.

Literature is indeed a mirror.

I Think of You no More

Now that I think of you no more
And, that burning desire to be with you has worn out
When I held your esteem high and might
When I placed you in a pedestal and loved you.

That love to which is beyond flattery
To which I could easily have made my conquest I loved you with indifference of forgetting
A promise of constancy a seal of fidelity.

And the smoothness of loyalty
That in all the ladies about
I had never made such
But only to you my intended.

Now that it ended
I think of what could have been
To play and joke with you
To be happy together and be sad in moments
Together!

With the madness of passions
And the youthful energy
I would entangle you
And suck with all industry.

The hatred and mistrust
That you along the quest for love acquired
And make you speechless and breathless
And you be mine to hold dearly.

But that ended
That innocent rosy face
Those big round eyes
That voluptuous curvy body
Which tempted and left me captive.

That voice that captivated my primal feelings
To which I hunted vanity
Your calmness and cheekiness
Your frisky behavior that dangerously annoyed me.

Your boldness
That I find no more interesting
I think of you no more Or see you as a passing torrent of passions.

To which only fools succumb
To desires of the flesh
Which leaves one tactless and defenseless
Your beauty left me breathless.

And I stared to enjoy without enjoment
To which I lost my lion heart
When you cruelly cut off
The strings that webbed my heart
I wept! For I was atlast free
Of my heart.

And long liberated from my vain thinking
In it I came to know
You never possessed a heart That feels and desires
But you have a head
That was bent on humiliating and degrading me I think of you no more.

Mother(Ayyo)

Oh mother
How I feel for you
No words can reveal
I will never forget you
Nor forsake you
And I will strive
To be worthy of
Your goodness
For ever and ever.

I miss you mum

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