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Showing posts from 2008

An Open letter to the one who makes my dreams

Dear, Thoughts are but a fragment of my dreams, sometimes broken in tiny little pieces that feel like sand between my fingers, rough yet teasing, but sometimes, like beautiful wild flowers carressing my cheek with soft petals and enticing my mind with sweet smelling perfume You are my thoughts, not a fragment of my imaginations, but real, thick skin, a sculpted chin, strong arms and the most alluring voice You make my thoughts,I smell you in the wafting scents while in my sleep i dream, a mix of musk and cinnamon, embodied in a bottle that could be named rouge, deep, loving and even heart breaking; dangerous. You are my dreams, sometimes broken, and sadness touches my brow, but sometimes,you are like the sweet humming bird mingling with my senses, and when i wake my mind wanders into what the day may hold, the sun rays stealing through my blinds, in my mind i sing a song that could be you; You make my dreams, dew drops of paradise wrapped in stories that only my imagination can tell, p

Little Red Riding Mood

Little Red Riding Mood....... I am anxious tonight, and in need of that feeling you only get in a good nairobi night club  The girl in the green dress and big hair walks up to the mic Her throaty laugh sends the crowd into that mood that i've been searching for One that says says this night has just began I sashay to the dance floor when she belts out that Afro centric  Jazz that lights up any night The karaoke tonight is especially dazzling.... And I see him, white shirt, searching. I follow his lead, and his eyes, they dont leave her The Red one... Young and beautiful, with laughter in her eyes And she walks up to the stage for an old time karaoke hit,  She could be a singer,perharps an actress and in Red, something between a Godess and a mermaid Him The Mister in white makes no move, she, in Red, catches his eye Red& White, White & Red A carafe of wine is placed on her table She lifts the glass of red wine to him he lifts his glass of white wine to her; Is this the begin

Loosing My Religion

Religion: Faith, belief, creed, conviction: Last friday, I had an overdose of Brufen and something else from the chemist downstairs in my office, deliberately, I had a tight day at work, and I had to be well, when i stopped by, Phillip, the chemist, said "hey, long time, how are you," and i replied "I have been well, until today" I had not slept well, a horrible toothache kept me up. Whatever he gave me, i took,  in doubles, and the day sailed smoothly on. Friday night i had a toothache from hell, I went from praying to cursing,and then a lot of cursing,  nothing worked. My daughter and nanny were away that night, and the pain felt worse, so i took off to the nearest chemist at midnight. I got that famous "touch and go", but even with lots of touching, the pain did not go. Every 15 minutes or so I had to be up standing, pacing around the house, then down every few minutes. Until 8.00am that morning, I was loosing my religion. For 11 hrs, I talked to

NO TEQUILA PLEASE, I AM A VIRGIN

This is an exerpt from something i am writing, i hope it is something you would like to read.....T.C It was a warm evening, the club was just filling up, and I sipped my Martini Bianco as I toyed with the olives in my mouth. Joe was back in country after a 2 year stint in Sudan as a pilot with the UN, we did not say goodbye when he left. A couple of weeks ago, I bumped into him at the Kenchic on Ngong road , on a Sunday Afternoon when the girls and I had nothing to do, after lots of gossip in a neighbourhood café, we decided for that nicely done chicken on our way to check out dudes at the Jamhuri car bazaar, and right there on the queue, I see him, Joe Kweku, tall dark, and as handsome as always. My heart skips a beat; I couldn’t believe it was him; we exchange pleasantries and contact details, again. The first time I saw Joe was outside the Phoenix Players’ theatre. I was there to watch the British farce, A private life, I got there too early and waited outside as the others arrived,

JOURNEY FROM THE SERENGETI

I had watched it on TV for eons, the millions of wildebeest crossing over to the Maasai Mara after depleting the magnificent Serengeti of all its green grass. The untouched pastures of the Maasai Mara lures the gnu’s into making the champagne colored plains in the heart of the African Bush one of the most spectacular wildlife locations in the world, this time of year, and I was one of the many who came from all over the world to witness this great migration, thanks to being the director for our tourism programme, Destination Kenya. The plane was scheduled to leave JKIA at 1100hrs, and we were uneasy, the airline had just received a big hit, a crush in Somalia, where Ali, an old friend of mine was co pilot also perished. So when we were told we had been placed into another plane, there was a collective sigh of relief. 1300hrs, we board the plane at Wilson Airport, the captains smooth voice tells us Keekorok will be the first stop, and in my mind I play out my scanty filming schedule, an

I HEAR GITHONGO IS BACK IN TOWN

I hear Githongo is in town. I do not celebrate; I wonder what he is here for. After ducking away into European warmth, there is only so much to do back home, the zoo is still the same, the monkeys, the very size and colour. Nothing has changed. 1500 hrs, at the Hilton hotel, I walk in and notice the amount of dreadlocks and tattoos that mark the presence of the civil society, and we joke about the irony of having this press conference at the grand Regency Hotel, I found it funny, some did not. For some strange reason I revisited JM Kariuki’s threadbare story and this being the last place he was seen alive, after a cup of coffee or so. Upstairs in the Tsavo room, the event was just about to begin, and Muthoni Wanyeki was calling the crowd to attention, a huge crowd here today, lots of TV and Radio crew, I hear some stations are going live, interesting, for a man whose last days here were pegged with death threats, back on the invitation of the Prime Minister. I must say that th

BECAUSE OF YESTERDAY I AM TODAY

First was the box of Godiva chocolate That turned my already tuned on self Into a sweet creamy dream You took me there, Yesterday. Then there were the flowers Lilies, orchids and those of the wild No roses, For you knew my tastes and colors Their soft petals caressed my senses Those that fired every time I saw you And I fell in love over and over again, Yesterday. I remember as if it just happened The way you tried to impress me with your cooking Fried ¼ liver and spaghetti sprinkled with cheap cheese And after dinner, laying on your raffia couch Catching up on season 4 of lost Cuddling, laughing and playing like little children Yesterday When you found me I loved, I knew love, I wanted love, and I gave love Wholesome, When you went to work very early, I woke up to kiss you goodbye, probably a little some some, Walked you to the door with a packed sandwich And remembered to dip the salami in Ketchup Even when I insisted on mayonnaise Yesterday Your phone was yours And I never bothered

TRUST ME I AM A JOURNALIST

Trust me I’m a Journalist At 9 o’clock every morning When the opening bell rings on the NSE I am there, to see the trading begin Bull Run, what’s the demand for the green back, Safaricom, is the share price up? Why? So I can tell you where to put your money I translate the indices, points up or down, when to buy, when to sell Then serve you with the simple arithmetic that tomorrow you can add peanut butter To your daily dry bread and black tea Trust me I am a journalist I may be the last one to leave the club every evening The one whose name everybody knows But I still take the matatu home after clubbing While you sashay into your Range Rover sport After Listening to my witty stories of dining with Raila, holding the chain for Ababu, Coaxing Kimunya, laughing with Kajwang and ducking from Martha After those wonderful nights, you leave, and I wait for daybreak Because taxi…not my style. My number 11 to south B will be here at around 4 am, till then I get the vibe from the waiters, and t

Five writers, One voice.

 1500 hrs: Jomo Kenyatta International Airport. It was one of those days when time just stood still, my SAA flight to Jo Burg was either running late, or I got to the airport too early, traffic on Mombasa road isn’t the sexiest place to get stuck in on a Friday Afternoon. So with extra hours to kill, I roamed the duty free shops inside the Jomo Kenyatta international Airport, wishing I had an Ipod, however much I hate the way those cords stick out of people ears. I had packed in a hurry, and forgot to pack a good book. So I look for a book store, passing by some Nigerians speaking rather loudly sitting on the floor, their plane must have been running late. Either that or they had been left, they were not happy, Nigerians are very loud people, that’s normal, but when they are angry, the voice meter hits red and stays there. " Oga? how you think am gon go home now, me I had a godam meetin in abuja tonight, now am still here, how many dollar you think i lose , are you gon pay me now

WHEN KWESI COMES TO TOWN

When Kwesi comes to town Everything comes to a stop Nothing matters, no one matters Not even the wild Nairobi Fridays, or the weekly doze Of DJ Leo at the black diamond which gives me the ultimate high or the mad parties at Wanja's favorite tequila pub When Kwesi is town, I lose my diary, my watch and my planner I find my heart, and it beats…hard, fast, "Hello Chebet" "Guess who is in town?" He says with his slight Accra accent that gives me a tingle Excitement is hard to hide Even after years of being female and trained in the art of faking When Kwesi is in town, Everything is different Mysterious, Kwesi has a twinkle in his eye But I can never call him mine He knows, he sees, he smiles As he teases me with his travel stories He laughs, and flirts with the waiters In an ever so attractive way As we listen to jazz at the intercontinetal He loves the music here tonight And flirts with me about taking me back with him to Accra I laugh li

Diamond in the rough....Over a mocha last week at Java, Mo* my friend for ages filled me on the man in her life, I try to re live her story

My phone beeps. J: Hi Mo: How are you doing man? J: good. J: so? (I do not respond) J: Tuesday? I pause, Tuesday? Let me first put you in the picture. My name is Maureen, All my friends call me Mo, and I work as a program manager for a local NGO. I am beautiful, and if the attention I get from men is anything to go by, then I am very attractive. I am high maintance type of girl. I earn a decent salary, live in a posh neighborhood, drive a good car, in short, I live good life, God has been good ( I regret to call His name sometimes, later you will understand why.) I am lonely, and often times, alone. When in my house at night, I wonder who to call, talk to, laugh with, joke with, and no, not my women friends, I have plenty of those, but someone, a man who will smile when he sees my number calling, who will want to be with me, laugh with me, fight with me, I want a lover, a friend, a man, my man. Don’t get me wrong, I am not desperate. I have one, him, J. But he is not entirely mine you

AFRICA IN LABOUR

Africa is in labour summon the village elders to make a prayer for the royal birth the brain child of heavenly matrimony as the fields turn golden ripe...with harvest let the celebrations begin, the ululations of the African woman, pour libation to the ancestors with pride for Africa is in labour The anxious mother writhes in pain her eyes shut as the memories of yester years fill her mind years of slavery, exploitation, poverty, the aftermath of racism and war burns like acid rain The beautiful pain of childbirth Africa's children lay scattered in the dust torn apart by untold calamities that rock the womb of black heritage she prepares her already full breasts for the coming child as tears stain her milky bosom Africa is in labour the naming ceremony is just about the royal cockerel is at the shrine it crows...several times if it crows 3 times, it is a girl,4 times, a boy 6 times it crows, a child..just a child Africa bursts into celebration A child is born A black child is born

BACK TO THE BASICS

Back to the basics; I have continued to battle with words that sound politically correct in recent days, including trying not to read between the lines in our daily newspapers, when indeed, the news is all between the lines. But in the same way that one loves with the heart and not with the mind, then, one can only be correct or wrong, disregard political, and it’s corrected-ness or lack of, that has found us a place with the pigs, even when our so called intellectual minds sit, sipping a chocolatey mocha, loving the nightly news or the bevy of beauties gracing the screens these days, the back and forth news of Premier today, no Premier tomorrow, sharing today, no sharing tomorrow. But, the pain that’s deeper in my heart, is that I have smelt burning, not flesh, but concrete, black smoke, money and hard work smoked up to the heavens that shot them back down for discoloring the pure white clouds above, on that day when traveling back to Nairobi from Kitale, my mind racing with

My Brain, My tribe

Just last week, a friend and I got a thirsty throat and our next stop was the inevitable Kengeles Koinange, right next to our office at Ambank House, and once the Rum and tusker malt started flowing, we got talking; on the men seated around us, to relationships, commitment, flowers, or lack of on valentines day, commercial properties of love, when is love really love, or what is the cost of love these days? It can be in the thousands…or better still millions so, when he, the one right across, whose attention I got while wrapping my fingers suggestively around my 100% human hair from the UK, tells me he runs a dairy farm, I ask him if it’s the family business. You see, if it’s not, its love in the thousands, and if it is the family business, and he is the adored son of the man who practically owns that town, centre of the great rift, it is love in the millions, with probability of growing, maturing, if with tender loving care, to love in the billions. Another double rum is placed on th

Intellect

Intellect? the faculty to reason objectively(oxford) To think, to see ahead, objectively, cleverly Such a little word Yet so ignored,and we think we are...intellectual. Intellect? Is that what will save Kenya from a sunken hole where some of our African Brothers and sisters have sunk into for many years? Afraid to come out even in starlight yet we seem to enjoy, the smooth slide into darkness we left intellect at home to sleep on the queen size oak Lamu bed in the mansion we live in when we are happy Intellect? is that what it's called when i talk about the FTSE as if I was born in the bourse? If I rise above the politics and settle with hoping that politics and economy can be oh so very different? Am I intellectual? Or am i just optimistic? and when I do not know my trivia, but I follow the resilience of the Kenyan markets after poll violence? is that intellect Or I am just being foolish? When I know, what's to buy, and what's to sell Stocks and shares that build the world

COURT ME

I am tired of having drinks, or a great time with your boys at the pub Laughing and poking at European football Talking boy stuff... On the high stools downing beers In brown and green bottles Looking at the display of legs and bossoms of girls in the bar while making inroads into the take away girl for your boys You see if you look at me very carefully I have got curves curved out across my body So, listen, I want you to court me; In the old fashioned style I heard from Aunty Jane I am tired of shots of tequila Then revert to a raunchy night In the blue moon on your balcony That's if we even make it to the balcony I would like a good morning Kiss, and to bring you breakfast in bed Probably a little dessert that you get to choose See, I have even been reading the karmasutra lately See, I want to be the girl your mother wants you to have To have to gorgeous babies with you A little boy and a little girl And go shopping for little pink and blue booties

Big Man, Little girl

I watched the big man raising his brow and smiling a'shy I looked as played with his eyes to entice the little girl The girl who touched his heart with fire I watched the big man so excited, he could'nt hide As he looked into her eyes searching, hoping to find what his eyes said so loud The big man hides behind a smile afraid, maybe the little one hasnt found it within So i watch the big man his eyes begging, asking, calling ...and the little one hides she knows, she feels; she likes the big man Terryanne Chebet

Growing up a lady

I grew up in the countryside And was raised just like any other child in the village I remember being woken up very early every morning, Even if we had nothing to do Children were not to be lazy So we had to find things to do Run in the dewy grasses; play with any of the farm animals that had now become pets Many times we went to the shamba boys hut He always lit a fire that we would gather around He had the sweetest stories ARNEST was his name…later I learnt in English it pronounced Ernest He was from Uganda He told us stories of the cannibals of Uganda He said never to eat meat in a Ugandan house And he swore he wasn’t one of them For these stories, I would pay be young again.. I have a little girl Nine months and her whole life ahead of her If I lived in a farm now Would I let her go for fireplace stories? In this country at this time I cannot answer that question How about hide and seek, up in the trees, and deep in the Napier grass Together with boys and girls her age I cannot ans