Tuesday, 10 October 2017

Lord Have Mercy!

She walked hurriedly, her pace increasing with each step. She was now at the hospital entrance, almost running, she walked. Without noticing, bounced at the guard who stood at the entrance. “Taratibu mama” he shouted as he staggered, “Unaenda wapi?” But she turned a deaf ear. The guard was already busy with another rushing body. She checked the doors quickly one by one trying to tell which one to enter. “Mama, I am just a good samaritan, he is at the regional hospital, there was a car accident maam.” This rough strong north accented voice kept ringing in her head.

The last she saw of him was when he came home rushing. After he called earlier, “pack my travelling bag, don’t forget the two jeans and those three T-shirts, i have an important meeting in the UK,my MD just fell sick and I am the next in command” Thanking God for all His blessings upon her husband at work, she neatly folded his clothes while listening and whistling to her favorite gospel jam “ ….ametenda maajabu siwezi kueleza…..”

 “God has been so faithful to us,” she will always tell her fellow church women at their scheduled women gatherings, or when they meet outside the church after a beautiful and vibrant Sunday service. Yes, He has been good to them, you could tell by the colorful vitenge and the high quality royal laces from the west of Africa she was always wrapped in and sometimes the striking suits and dresses from Europe and America with colorful, magnificent hats and sometimes dramatic head wraps to complement her church look. The other women could not help not to admire her new set of glittering 21 carat gold every now and then, with a precious stone hanging on her well rounded neck. “You are indeed blessed mama Baraka, after all you do everything the pastor says, pray, fast, pay your tithe and give to the church,” They will always comment. She counted her blessings each day as her husband kept on getting trips to overseas at work, as for lately with all the ‘’utumbuaji majipu’’ and “Kubana matumizi’’ it hasn’t been easy to score those.

 The pastor had always narrated in front of the whole church how his prayers have been with them all the time, and how he saw in his dreams of all the coming overseas trips during the last regime when they presented to him a brand new BMW. He will walk across the stage once he starts this story, his voice getting louder and shakier when narrating of how he saw this magnificent aircraft, he could not vividly tell what aircraft it was but it surely was either emirates or Turkish airlines, It couldn’t be any other, as the vision was clear, the man was getting in the plane, dressed in a finely pressed suit, Italian made to be precise, firmly holding a leather briefcase which must have surely costed him a fortune. And when he was trying to figure out who this was the man turned around to give him a victorious smile, and alas! it was her husband. Pa pa pa pa pa…. congregation will clap so loudly while the band will play that loud music and some will run forward, in bigger numbers heavy set women with heads wrapped in the finest of the cloth, some with their bundles of red notes, some waving their golden bangles covered hands holding cheques with a significant amount of zeros, and others requesting to grab the mic and pledge their worldly gifts to God, a plot in Mbweni, or a house at Mbezi beach, someone will even promise a bigger and better car for God. The pastor after a long prayer of thanksgiving will assure them that this was the part of the service that God will never forget, his people gratefulness and thankfulness. And as they walk out those women, with the latest of the less material dresses standing in small groups will share their testimonies.

 “Mama nilikuuliza Mapema unaenda wapi?” The guard asked her , startling her so much that she almost stepped on her own long maxi dress and fell. I...I... I... am looking for my husband, he was in an accident…i don’t know the ward number” The mlinzi scratched his head trying to remember, the only man he remember was the one who was brought half dead together with his wife. The good samaritan had even shared with him of how the new V8 was a write off and his wife was lifelessly thrown by the road side. “ Mama hapa kuna baba mmoja na mke wake tuu” He blatantly answered her, with some questions in his eyes. Take me to his ward please, she requested, after all he was supposed to be in the UK. “Kwa hiyo wewe ni mke wa pili?” he inquired with deep concern while ushering her into the corridor with a door at the end, probably looking for other piece of breaking news to share with his mates.

 The long corridor was like a long endless tunnel for her, which brought by a flood of thoughts and memories mixed with anger, rage, wonder and an endless darkness. As she walked in and saw him lying there helplessly she wondered if she will ever get answers He was lying there, lifeless, helpless, shameless and hopeless. The doctor has insisted that she wait outside, but she could not help but stand there staring at what is left of his body, two of his legs gone. At the next room the “wife” was resting, conscious now, and as she walked in their eyes locked. Anger,shame,awkwardness,regret...A surge of anger welled up inside her, she felt the need to jump at her, strangle her maybe but she didn’t. She was no stranger, a beautiful girl who always swung her hips gracefully while leading the church choir. More than once she had even told her how beautiful she sings and she would in turn admire her beautiful dress and bag and shoes and jewellery, things he was to buy for her. “May God judge you.” She stammered at her and left the room slamming the door behind her. Now dragging her feet she thought of it all. She was going numb at the thought of her incapacitated husband and young children .What now, where to go from here. She needed to pray, but she couldn’t. She just couldn't.

Sunday, 4 June 2017

My Speech

I prepared my speech
Walking down the village
Jumping up and down the hills
Singing like a little freed bird
Helping old women carry their loads off their shoulders

I scribbled it down
Waking up early every Monday
Have school work done by every Friday
Cleaning the church every Saturday
Singing in the choir every Sunday

My speech was coloured
With my morning long walks to school
Filled with doubt and wonder
When it rained and when it thundered
It was sealed by my commitment to read at the candlelight

I put every word together
When the moon came out and I sat there quietly
Counting the stars like I am one of them
And down the river each cold morning
When I soaked my body in the ice cold running water

I had it all figured out
As I climbed the steep hills to our little house
Singing while balancing my can of water for the day
When the sun came out to warm my skin
And the Kilimanjaro in its glory
Was left bare for me to see


My Speech was corrected
Every time my aunt scolded me for my work
Every minute I had to write an essay of apologies
Every time I fell down going up the hills
Every single minute I was told you can’t have it
Every moment grandma kind eyes said she can’t do much

I had it all pieced together
When mama said I was the brightest
When grandma assured I was the kindest
When dad affirmed I was the strongest
When my siblings looked at me with their hopes at best
When friends called me the fiercest
When I finally knew my place

I rewrote it
When I realised there are no deadlines
To what I had in mind
When I knew I was the one
To write my ending
When I came to realise
I dint have to be like everyone
When I came to terms
With the journey I will walk alone

I am my speech
It’s written all over me
The cheers of my friends on my smile
The scorns of my enemies at my back
The scars of the falls on my ankles
The sparkle of my victories in my eyes
The depth of my love and passions
Deeply felt by the people I have touched
The happiness in my baby’s laughter
The peace in me when I go to sleep

It’s all me and so much more
Ready to walk on
What a journey to behold
To find the left pieces
To fit them in the empty places
And complete my speech of a lifetime

It is not an acceptance speech
For the award I am to win
Or the appreciation I will be accorded
I know if I don’t win a thing
I will definitely be the best version of me





Tuesday, 9 May 2017

The Rain

I will not go out
The little pathway to my house is flooded
It has become a raging river carrying everything away
 if I dare go out I don’t know what next can happen
My little home and child might be carried away

I really want to go out
To earn my bread
Get something to cook for me and my girl
But my little stall  at  the roadside
Has been carried away

If I go out
I might not be able to come back
The little bridge to my house
Is about to be washed away
With the heavy rain it won’t last a day

My madam called today
Mad I haven’t been in today
The baby has been wailing
And her clothes are not washed
And there is the rain

She complains with this rain
She cannot sit at the garden
From her third storey bedroom
She can only peep through the curtains
And watch the heavy drops hit the ground


She could later take her four wheel drive
To go to the saloon she love
Or have some tea in bed
But I didn’t come to work
If I don’t go tomorrow she says
I should not bother to go again

But if I go to work
I might be stranded on the way
The busses to our homes
Are not going  all the way
They don’t come past the highway
Please someone stop this rain






Sunday, 7 May 2017

A moment of Silence

Beautiful souls
With dreams and hopes
Pride of their folks
Excited to learn
Off they went

With no clue off they took
What a beautiful group
But death ooh death
What an evil crook

He came with darkness
And a dark cloud of sadness
With his strike of coldness
He left them lifeless

As a nation we stand
In our numbness
Parents and friends
Mourning in silence

With hopes we hold hands
Tears in our eyes
May they be in  a  better place
A moment of silence





Thursday, 4 May 2017

Only Before!

I have known this kind of pain
I can make it through the rain
Unlike you
I can't wait in vain

I have been here before
with no hopes for tomorrow
Moving really slow
With every blow so low

When i couldn't take no more
I stood up, started really slow
To crawl
Slowly but running  here i go
I am not waiting for you to put up a show
I have been here before

Sunday, 9 April 2017

Empty Souls

Empty souls
With so much dryness
They try to fill their cup
With water from others wells
But they are never full
Never do they overflow

With shallowness
They try to dig holes
Into others wells
To dry them as well
But their souls remain
Empty spaces

With hollowness
They wonder around
Bitterness in their hearts
Venom filled tongues
Splitting evil into others
But empty they remain

With blindness
They fail to see
Clueless they move
Round and round
They stumble and fall
In their own wickedness


Their days
Are as dried up
As blown by the harmattan
Their souls
Are as lifeless
As the Atacama desert



Friday, 31 March 2017

She wept Silently!

She was taught of  silence
To be quiet and  listen
Not to ask
Have some pounded bitter herbs
Drink some warm water
And hush hush the pain

She was taught of endurance
This time each month
To keep on with her chores
While her body  in chaos
Her legs numb and heavy
Her price of womanhood

She was told to be a woman
How would you stand labour pain?
If you cannot take this little pain
How would she explain?
And if she tried to tell in vain
She will loose anyway

Now she is told it’s all her fault
She gave her womb to her witchcraft
And had too many abortions
She isn’t a woman enough
And still she lingers in her pain

She is now all grown
Have a mind of her own
Their hopes long gone
But she still holds on
To these dreams of her own
Once to hold her own