No matter how many times we fought
No matter how many quarrels we had
No matter how much we harboured hate
No matter how much we disagreed
We had a wonderful time together
Now that you are going away my love
Now that you won't be here my dear
Now that you leave me behind dear heart
Now that at night we shall no longer hold
In my heart you shall be missed but tightly held
Memories your homecoming shall bring
Memories of a father no longer there
Memories of a son turned dear hubby
Memories of a brother now darling daddy
But memories filled with gratitude
To the father above I pray dear Sweetheart
To the father above I commit you my Love
To the father above I look upon
To the father above this is what I say
"Lord give to them the strength to soldier on"
Until that time my darling
Until that day that I knoweth not
Until that moment we shall hold
Until that minute comes my Sweery
Patiently shall I wait, for those slices of sweetness.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Friday, November 21, 2008
my name is...
desperate for in-laws
we left armenia
only to trample on laws
in our new homw
god-sent saviours we were
and to your land we came
lending money to them
them who sold us out
like televivon series we were
gave the soaps a break
took up the centre stage
all entertained for no pay
you all did brand me
and my brother too
you believed me not
so pure lies i told
i told you my name
but what did you say?
i used that for fame
that name was russian
at the coast i hear
i am mariakani
and my brother they tell me
you call sarakasi
still want our names
well...my name is...
ask the commission of inquiry
yes...that commisison of inquiry
we left armenia
only to trample on laws
in our new homw
god-sent saviours we were
and to your land we came
lending money to them
them who sold us out
like televivon series we were
gave the soaps a break
took up the centre stage
all entertained for no pay
you all did brand me
and my brother too
you believed me not
so pure lies i told
i told you my name
but what did you say?
i used that for fame
that name was russian
at the coast i hear
i am mariakani
and my brother they tell me
you call sarakasi
still want our names
well...my name is...
ask the commission of inquiry
yes...that commisison of inquiry
Thursday, November 20, 2008
mrs. malaprop
today i met her
our lady of 'isms'
noticed her by far
before she to me spoke
from confession she said she came
but sweets and cakes she had
it was the confectionery she meant
oh! lady malaprop.
seats she saw by the roadside
beautiful sofas they make
of velvex she told me
oops! of velvet my lady.
a large crowd stood by
arguing and bargaining
looked like a religious congratulation
but a congregation it seemed.
to me mrs malaprop spoke
of politicians diverting
from parties one after another
yes, defecting she meant
thought the pick-up in her mouth
was the actual problem
did i say pick-up?
oh! our lady calls the toothpick.
i call it as they called it; malapropism
what our lady does
with words to words
our 'learned' lady, mrs malaprop.
our lady of 'isms'
noticed her by far
before she to me spoke
from confession she said she came
but sweets and cakes she had
it was the confectionery she meant
oh! lady malaprop.
seats she saw by the roadside
beautiful sofas they make
of velvex she told me
oops! of velvet my lady.
a large crowd stood by
arguing and bargaining
looked like a religious congratulation
but a congregation it seemed.
to me mrs malaprop spoke
of politicians diverting
from parties one after another
yes, defecting she meant
thought the pick-up in her mouth
was the actual problem
did i say pick-up?
oh! our lady calls the toothpick.
i call it as they called it; malapropism
what our lady does
with words to words
our 'learned' lady, mrs malaprop.
Monday, November 10, 2008
Thula Thula Mama Africa...Sleep Well Miriam Makeba
I am sure this is a nightmare. Someone please wake me up.
Miriam Makeba. Your voice is so clear in my head right now. Last night for some reason, I couldnt resist listening to the unison of your voice with that of Harry Belafonte! What else could soothe the heart thus?
How beautifully you made those Xhosa clicks, mum. For some reason I wished i was Xhosa...even for a day.
You are dead.
How often you sang, "Thula, thula mama thula thula mama thula thula mama thula"! Oh how often I wanted to sing "Qongqothwane" but couldnt! Even if I did, it wouldnt be the same thing that you so rhythmically did, mama.
I admired you in Sarafina.The strength, the optimism, the resilience...everything that you have always been.
But that must have been a beautiful death mama. Wasn't it? On stage? Wow...many ways of dying, indeed.
A good looking corpse that must be.
Fare thee well the hero of Africa. Sleep, thula...lala salama as your voice goes on...malaika nakupenda malaika...nami nifanyaje kijana mwenzio nashindwa na mali sina weee.....
Miriam Makeba. Your voice is so clear in my head right now. Last night for some reason, I couldnt resist listening to the unison of your voice with that of Harry Belafonte! What else could soothe the heart thus?
How beautifully you made those Xhosa clicks, mum. For some reason I wished i was Xhosa...even for a day.
You are dead.
How often you sang, "Thula, thula mama thula thula mama thula thula mama thula"! Oh how often I wanted to sing "Qongqothwane" but couldnt! Even if I did, it wouldnt be the same thing that you so rhythmically did, mama.
I admired you in Sarafina.The strength, the optimism, the resilience...everything that you have always been.
But that must have been a beautiful death mama. Wasn't it? On stage? Wow...many ways of dying, indeed.
A good looking corpse that must be.
Fare thee well the hero of Africa. Sleep, thula...lala salama as your voice goes on...malaika nakupenda malaika...nami nifanyaje kijana mwenzio nashindwa na mali sina weee.....
Friday, November 7, 2008
Please Claim Your Piece of Obama Before He is Finished!
Obama may be an American citizen but we all seem to be making claims on a piece of him. In fact, i just realized that Obama's cousin's brother-in-law once lived in the city council house that my mother's first cousin's friend's step sister-in-law once lived. So, what on earth would stop me from being Obama's relative in addition to my added advantage of being Kenyan? By the way, I am changing the name of my blog to something closer to Obama, no matter how remote!
I found an article in the East African Standard interesting.
I am posting it here albeit with no permission but I know they can't sue me because the Obama fever is something that me and them share!
Enjoy and please claim your piece of this 'new global cake'.
Global Obama inspires the world
Updated 11 hr(s) 56 min(s) ago
By Joseph Murimi and Reuters
Brazilians of mixed descent say he looks like them and called him Mulato.
Japanese have a city called Obama and for that they rallied behind him although his win may not benefit them directly.
Americans own him because his mother, Ann Dunhum, was a white American from Kansas.
His maternal lineage has been traced to Great Britain, specifically Scotland, making Europeans also stake a claim on US President-elect Barack Obama.
A genealogist disclosed, last year, that Obama was a descendant of the monarch who ruled Scotland from 1165 to 1214.
Muslims claim he is one of them, but Obama maintains he is a Christian.
A leading television channel in the Middle East kept announcing that Obama’s grandmother and most of his family members in Kenya were Muslims.
His late maternal grandmother and half sister live in Hawaii.
Biggest claim
However, it is Kenyans who have laid the biggest and most elaborate claim to the first black US President.
His father Barack Obama Snr was born in Kogelo, Siaya District, Nyanza Province.
His late father’s community say Obama is a Luo by blood and therefore, their son.
For that they broke into wild celebrations when he was declared President-elect of the most powerful nation.
Holiday
President Kibaki declared yesterday a public holiday to allow Kenyans celebrate the historic achievements of their "son".
He addressed the nation live on national television exalting the virtues of Obama and not forgetting to say he had "Kenyan roots’’.
Early this year, Prime Minister Raila Odinga claimed Obama ‘was’ his cousin, according to Luo traditions.
From Africa, Asia, America to Europe to the Muslims and Christians, everybody claims a piece of Obama.
The US President-elect connects with the whole world and can be referred to as the global President.
Like Americans are wont to say, everybody wanted a piece of the Obama pie.
Led in polls
Every opinion poll from the leading pollsters Gallup to Cable News Network, indicated Obama was leading his Republican rival John McCain.
And when the final results began trickling in showing Obama in the lead, the world broke into celebrations.
With a global appeal, cutting across religious and racial biases, Obama was tipped for a landslide win.
Meanwhile, Japan’s opposition hopes it can emulate US President-elect Barack Obama’s victory with his promise of change.
Many Japanese voters, however, doubt their politicians have what it takes. Polls show many are weary of the conservative Liberal Democratic Party, in power for the past 53 years.
Huge task
But the opposition Democrats, who share a name with Obama’s party, face an uphill battle to prove they can do a better job.
"Japan doesn’t have young and charismatic politicians like Obama who are calling for reform," said 38-year-old Keishi Matsuoka.
Flagging support for Prime Minister Taro Aso and the LDP have not translated into a boost for the Democrats.
"If we had an election, I think most Japanese would be in a quandary," Matsuoka said.
I found an article in the East African Standard interesting.
I am posting it here albeit with no permission but I know they can't sue me because the Obama fever is something that me and them share!
Enjoy and please claim your piece of this 'new global cake'.
Global Obama inspires the world
Updated 11 hr(s) 56 min(s) ago
By Joseph Murimi and Reuters
Brazilians of mixed descent say he looks like them and called him Mulato.
Japanese have a city called Obama and for that they rallied behind him although his win may not benefit them directly.
Americans own him because his mother, Ann Dunhum, was a white American from Kansas.
His maternal lineage has been traced to Great Britain, specifically Scotland, making Europeans also stake a claim on US President-elect Barack Obama.
A genealogist disclosed, last year, that Obama was a descendant of the monarch who ruled Scotland from 1165 to 1214.
Muslims claim he is one of them, but Obama maintains he is a Christian.
A leading television channel in the Middle East kept announcing that Obama’s grandmother and most of his family members in Kenya were Muslims.
His late maternal grandmother and half sister live in Hawaii.
Biggest claim
However, it is Kenyans who have laid the biggest and most elaborate claim to the first black US President.
His father Barack Obama Snr was born in Kogelo, Siaya District, Nyanza Province.
His late father’s community say Obama is a Luo by blood and therefore, their son.
For that they broke into wild celebrations when he was declared President-elect of the most powerful nation.
Holiday
President Kibaki declared yesterday a public holiday to allow Kenyans celebrate the historic achievements of their "son".
He addressed the nation live on national television exalting the virtues of Obama and not forgetting to say he had "Kenyan roots’’.
Early this year, Prime Minister Raila Odinga claimed Obama ‘was’ his cousin, according to Luo traditions.
From Africa, Asia, America to Europe to the Muslims and Christians, everybody claims a piece of Obama.
The US President-elect connects with the whole world and can be referred to as the global President.
Like Americans are wont to say, everybody wanted a piece of the Obama pie.
Led in polls
Every opinion poll from the leading pollsters Gallup to Cable News Network, indicated Obama was leading his Republican rival John McCain.
And when the final results began trickling in showing Obama in the lead, the world broke into celebrations.
With a global appeal, cutting across religious and racial biases, Obama was tipped for a landslide win.
Meanwhile, Japan’s opposition hopes it can emulate US President-elect Barack Obama’s victory with his promise of change.
Many Japanese voters, however, doubt their politicians have what it takes. Polls show many are weary of the conservative Liberal Democratic Party, in power for the past 53 years.
Huge task
But the opposition Democrats, who share a name with Obama’s party, face an uphill battle to prove they can do a better job.
"Japan doesn’t have young and charismatic politicians like Obama who are calling for reform," said 38-year-old Keishi Matsuoka.
Flagging support for Prime Minister Taro Aso and the LDP have not translated into a boost for the Democrats.
"If we had an election, I think most Japanese would be in a quandary," Matsuoka said.
Saturday, November 1, 2008
I Tire of Crying Whenever Obama Speaks
Perhaps in my later life I might consider being a professional mourner!
For some reason, I love funerals. Not death but funerals. I love the performance and the ritual that defines these ordinary yet so extra ordinary dramas. Sometime back I was in my small village somewhere in Mwingi (one of those places in Kenya where there exists only a single season throughout the year; summer or dry season if you like). I was in this village some time in the later half of the 1990s or thereabouts. My aunt had recently come from Canada and she was into this business of catching up with the hard life of Ukambaniland. For some reason I was always excited whenever I had to accompany her as we got into the deepest of the deep village zones.
Ja, I was talking about the ecstasy of attending funerals. I am being sadistic again, right? Hey, hold up...I don't rejoice in death just the burying part.
So, I attended this funeral in the village which sent my auntie and I cracking. Well, it was one of those 'celebration of life' funerals because the deceased was a rather old woman. Life is a crazy journey if you ask me. It is amazing how much the human species takes to routine."We Inyaa Nzangi ai susu nukwiie nanduia we?"...Well, those who don't come from the land of the Akambodia, a woman from the crowd got up at this old woman's funeral and said "Nzangi's mum you know granny is dead and you aint crying?". When 'Nzangi's mum' heard this she got up from the midst of the crowd and sent a defeaning scream.
This was the beginning of my admiration for professional mourners. This is what I think I should be... A professional mourner for hire especially when the 'not so good people' die and no one is willing to mourn them...good riddance after all.
I have been following the US presidential election campaigns quite closely. I have been watching in a rather biased way though. I have been watching more of Obama than McCain (I am thinking of stopping eating that McCain vegetable brand).
You see, I am not American (by now you know). In fact, I have never gone to the US. I know American states because I read novels and watch Hollywood movies. I only know the US from the weather man. What I don't understand is why this US White House has suddenly become a personal experience for me. I am so tense about the election yet I will still eat my ugali and kachumbari whether its McCain or Obama in the White House. I am getting annoyed with myself for getting emotional about this whole purely American thingy. Why do I cry when I watch Obama promise tax reduction for Americans? Obama is not worried about the fact that R 200 at Pick n Pay cant feed me for two days yet I feel like he is talking about me anytime he talks about Americans trying to make ends meet. What is so wrong with me to put my hope in Obama.
I tire of crying whenever Obama speaks.
I cried in 2003 when Kibaki became a reality to Kenya. I think I just have this habit of crying whenever joy grips my ego. I cry when I see how far my granny has gone with living her bonus years. I cry to think of how much my mum has sacrificed for my sister and I. I cry many times in a day.
Atleast these many times I cry, I understand why. I know I cried when Kibaki won the 2002 elections because I was stupid enough to imagine he would be far much better than Moi. I cry whenever I talk about my granny because she has been my mum, dad, sister and brother in my life. I cry when my mum says 'I love you' because she understands how disappointing men can be.
But why do I cry when Obama speaks?
Hold on...It's got nothing to do with my misguided 'other' who thinks Obama is Kenyan just because of his Dholuo name or because a sperm from Kogelo happened to be present in his making. No.
I tire of crying whenever Obama speaks and that's why I am considering being a professional mourner since I can cry for virtually anything. Call on me for professional services.
Still this Obama thing beats me!
For some reason, I love funerals. Not death but funerals. I love the performance and the ritual that defines these ordinary yet so extra ordinary dramas. Sometime back I was in my small village somewhere in Mwingi (one of those places in Kenya where there exists only a single season throughout the year; summer or dry season if you like). I was in this village some time in the later half of the 1990s or thereabouts. My aunt had recently come from Canada and she was into this business of catching up with the hard life of Ukambaniland. For some reason I was always excited whenever I had to accompany her as we got into the deepest of the deep village zones.
Ja, I was talking about the ecstasy of attending funerals. I am being sadistic again, right? Hey, hold up...I don't rejoice in death just the burying part.
So, I attended this funeral in the village which sent my auntie and I cracking. Well, it was one of those 'celebration of life' funerals because the deceased was a rather old woman. Life is a crazy journey if you ask me. It is amazing how much the human species takes to routine."We Inyaa Nzangi ai susu nukwiie nanduia we?"...Well, those who don't come from the land of the Akambodia, a woman from the crowd got up at this old woman's funeral and said "Nzangi's mum you know granny is dead and you aint crying?". When 'Nzangi's mum' heard this she got up from the midst of the crowd and sent a defeaning scream.
This was the beginning of my admiration for professional mourners. This is what I think I should be... A professional mourner for hire especially when the 'not so good people' die and no one is willing to mourn them...good riddance after all.
I have been following the US presidential election campaigns quite closely. I have been watching in a rather biased way though. I have been watching more of Obama than McCain (I am thinking of stopping eating that McCain vegetable brand).
You see, I am not American (by now you know). In fact, I have never gone to the US. I know American states because I read novels and watch Hollywood movies. I only know the US from the weather man. What I don't understand is why this US White House has suddenly become a personal experience for me. I am so tense about the election yet I will still eat my ugali and kachumbari whether its McCain or Obama in the White House. I am getting annoyed with myself for getting emotional about this whole purely American thingy. Why do I cry when I watch Obama promise tax reduction for Americans? Obama is not worried about the fact that R 200 at Pick n Pay cant feed me for two days yet I feel like he is talking about me anytime he talks about Americans trying to make ends meet. What is so wrong with me to put my hope in Obama.
I tire of crying whenever Obama speaks.
I cried in 2003 when Kibaki became a reality to Kenya. I think I just have this habit of crying whenever joy grips my ego. I cry when I see how far my granny has gone with living her bonus years. I cry to think of how much my mum has sacrificed for my sister and I. I cry many times in a day.
Atleast these many times I cry, I understand why. I know I cried when Kibaki won the 2002 elections because I was stupid enough to imagine he would be far much better than Moi. I cry whenever I talk about my granny because she has been my mum, dad, sister and brother in my life. I cry when my mum says 'I love you' because she understands how disappointing men can be.
But why do I cry when Obama speaks?
Hold on...It's got nothing to do with my misguided 'other' who thinks Obama is Kenyan just because of his Dholuo name or because a sperm from Kogelo happened to be present in his making. No.
I tire of crying whenever Obama speaks and that's why I am considering being a professional mourner since I can cry for virtually anything. Call on me for professional services.
Still this Obama thing beats me!
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Declaration
Dear God,
I, the undersigned, declare today the 30th day of October, 2008 that I will no longer hold you responsible for miseries of my own making. I promise you that I will let me and I fight until they either sign an MOU to form a government of national unity or until one succumbs to be the other's alter ego.
Help me, O God.
Your faithful but disloyal subject
I, the undersigned, declare today the 30th day of October, 2008 that I will no longer hold you responsible for miseries of my own making. I promise you that I will let me and I fight until they either sign an MOU to form a government of national unity or until one succumbs to be the other's alter ego.
Help me, O God.
Your faithful but disloyal subject
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Giving God a piece of my mind on what I think of him
For a few weeks now, I have been thinking of the whole religion bullshit. Then you know what God does in all this mayhem? He messes me up like crazy.
I have reminded God in the past that whether he thinks i am being blasphemous or not; he owes me an apology for pains I have gone through in the past.
This time he blew me up.
You know sometimes I want to be a good christian and say although Christianity was not really anything divine, the colonial missionaries got away with disrupting the African subconscious and reversing our cosmology. why the hell couldnt the motherfuckers leave us alone and do whatever it was they came to do without having to bring us a God who does not understand any African language?
I dont know what the fuck my grandmother was thinking getting all of us into this ass licking of a God who doesnt give a damn about us. Poor woman, like Okwonkwo's father, Unoka she succumbed to the pressures of pale skin. Thank God she wouldnt see this post last she dies bitter.
You know what God? You have let me down so badly; I hate thinking of it.
Perhaps if I was white I would understand when you say you will never abandon us. Perhaps if I understood your language I would ask you a few questions. But what reason would you have to listen to me if you have ignored me before?
Tell me dude, where are you everytime I get hurt?
Please dont tell me you are with me because I know you are not.
God, I think sometimes you are so selfish. You keep telling me how much you love me but dont you say that to everyone else? Perhaps you are busy with other people and you have put me on hold and forgotten. If you are so powerful God, why dont you make me my own smallanyana God to attend to me. Make him black if you want because may be a black God would understand when I get hurt in my language. May be a black God wouldnt mind showing his face to me because we are family!
In the meantine, it will take forever for you to change my mind on what I think about you. Anyway, I know you wouldnt even know my thoughts because you dont give a damn about me.
I have reminded God in the past that whether he thinks i am being blasphemous or not; he owes me an apology for pains I have gone through in the past.
This time he blew me up.
You know sometimes I want to be a good christian and say although Christianity was not really anything divine, the colonial missionaries got away with disrupting the African subconscious and reversing our cosmology. why the hell couldnt the motherfuckers leave us alone and do whatever it was they came to do without having to bring us a God who does not understand any African language?
I dont know what the fuck my grandmother was thinking getting all of us into this ass licking of a God who doesnt give a damn about us. Poor woman, like Okwonkwo's father, Unoka she succumbed to the pressures of pale skin. Thank God she wouldnt see this post last she dies bitter.
You know what God? You have let me down so badly; I hate thinking of it.
Perhaps if I was white I would understand when you say you will never abandon us. Perhaps if I understood your language I would ask you a few questions. But what reason would you have to listen to me if you have ignored me before?
Tell me dude, where are you everytime I get hurt?
Please dont tell me you are with me because I know you are not.
God, I think sometimes you are so selfish. You keep telling me how much you love me but dont you say that to everyone else? Perhaps you are busy with other people and you have put me on hold and forgotten. If you are so powerful God, why dont you make me my own smallanyana God to attend to me. Make him black if you want because may be a black God would understand when I get hurt in my language. May be a black God wouldnt mind showing his face to me because we are family!
In the meantine, it will take forever for you to change my mind on what I think about you. Anyway, I know you wouldnt even know my thoughts because you dont give a damn about me.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
amos kwito
you sing
beautiful songs of course
but timing
wrong timing amos
beautiful songs
to the ear of course
but amos
must it be so close to my ears?
i like that noise you make
it is so musical; so rhythmic
but amos
not when i need my sleep
i love you amos
your music too love i
but i hate it amos
your irritating sting
this guy called amos
this son of kwito
could be better
without the sting
oh! his music at the right time too
amos kwito
beautiful songs of course
but timing
wrong timing amos
beautiful songs
to the ear of course
but amos
must it be so close to my ears?
i like that noise you make
it is so musical; so rhythmic
but amos
not when i need my sleep
i love you amos
your music too love i
but i hate it amos
your irritating sting
this guy called amos
this son of kwito
could be better
without the sting
oh! his music at the right time too
amos kwito
Friday, October 10, 2008
eyescream
I saw this i scream tub
and you know what eye do when eye do
eye did what eye do
you no icecream and say
"icecream four my love of eye scream"
and you know what eye do when eye do
eye did what eye do
you no icecream and say
"icecream four my love of eye scream"
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Desmond Tutu Vows not to Vote:Reflections on Kenya
this is highly personal...I am one of those many people that only think (and actually believe) that news can only be bad news. We have a reason to watch news when mbeki gets recalled from the presidency, when Zuma is set to appear at the Pietermaritzburg (the spelling here always gives me trouble) court or even when we have to watch one of those natural calamities so fond of China and India. Lately, i have not been reading/watching Kenyan news because apparently there is no news. There are no more news about women and children getting burnt in a church, graphic videos of landslides in Meru, Lucy Kibaki slapping Cliffords and so on. Today, I saw Kibaki on SABC international and as usual he stammered through a speech that I could not follow on electricity so I had a reason to check the Kenyan papers just to know what it was about. Well, I checked the papers but never read the story...It was boring...I love real news...Call me a sadist if you will. I have lately opted for the OdD nEwS part of the Standard News as a result because of its black humour.
Well, there are disturbing pieces of information that I find scattered in the papers about currently sitting MPs preparing for 2012 general elections. I just cant believe it! There is nothing wrong with campaigning but really after the 2007 drama, it's still too early to start pulling our pub(l)ic hair. Hearing the Nobel laurate (another one of those problematic words) winner Emeritus Tutu publicly declare that he is not going to vote in SA's 2009 elections scares me. Tutu has seen nothing yet in South Africa...just a little acrobatics in the ANC, which Gwede Montashe tells us, will soon end (By the way, dont you find these chaps daring to want to ask Mbeki to campaign for the ANC?). Well, my problem is suppose Kenyans said, like Tutu, that they will not vote in 2012? At least South African votes are still powerful but kenya...Lol!!! We are all carrying spoiled votes!
I will continue with this later because...
Well, there are disturbing pieces of information that I find scattered in the papers about currently sitting MPs preparing for 2012 general elections. I just cant believe it! There is nothing wrong with campaigning but really after the 2007 drama, it's still too early to start pulling our pub(l)ic hair. Hearing the Nobel laurate (another one of those problematic words) winner Emeritus Tutu publicly declare that he is not going to vote in SA's 2009 elections scares me. Tutu has seen nothing yet in South Africa...just a little acrobatics in the ANC, which Gwede Montashe tells us, will soon end (By the way, dont you find these chaps daring to want to ask Mbeki to campaign for the ANC?). Well, my problem is suppose Kenyans said, like Tutu, that they will not vote in 2012? At least South African votes are still powerful but kenya...Lol!!! We are all carrying spoiled votes!
I will continue with this later because...
the girl i met
yesterday i met a girl
a slender gentle girl
who looked happy; not very happy
no she looked sad; not quite sad
i met a girl yesterday
that i do not want to meet today
yesterday i met this girl
this girl with a tale to tell
but kept it hard at heart
stared at me like i knew it
but had pretended i did not
i do not want to meet this girl today
this girl that i met
had a complaining face
blamed me for her fate
but was too late
for me to understand that
for the girl i met will never meet
yesterday i met a girl
that i hear is no more
that i now want to meet
to help her stand on her feet
to be blamed no more
for the girl i met hunger has taken
this girl that i met
i will never forget
how sad she looked
how much she suffered
how appreciated my help would have been
the help i never gave
to this girl that i met yesterday
yesterday i met a girl
who is now gone
who i didnt want to meet today
but many more i met today
and sure tomorrow will
meet girls, girls with the same look
you too met this girl
who blankly stared at you
but you never looked back
just walked, walked away
will you still walk away today?
DON'T
Please walk away not
for that girl, that gentle slender girl
needs you just to live a little longer
a slender gentle girl
who looked happy; not very happy
no she looked sad; not quite sad
i met a girl yesterday
that i do not want to meet today
yesterday i met this girl
this girl with a tale to tell
but kept it hard at heart
stared at me like i knew it
but had pretended i did not
i do not want to meet this girl today
this girl that i met
had a complaining face
blamed me for her fate
but was too late
for me to understand that
for the girl i met will never meet
yesterday i met a girl
that i hear is no more
that i now want to meet
to help her stand on her feet
to be blamed no more
for the girl i met hunger has taken
this girl that i met
i will never forget
how sad she looked
how much she suffered
how appreciated my help would have been
the help i never gave
to this girl that i met yesterday
yesterday i met a girl
who is now gone
who i didnt want to meet today
but many more i met today
and sure tomorrow will
meet girls, girls with the same look
you too met this girl
who blankly stared at you
but you never looked back
just walked, walked away
will you still walk away today?
DON'T
Please walk away not
for that girl, that gentle slender girl
needs you just to live a little longer
Thursday, September 25, 2008
she hates the man she loves
all night i sat and watched
as she stared, spat and sneered
squeezing her increasingly swelling belly
wishing he was there
not wishing that he did a thing
just being there; but he wasn't
she crawled, wailed and wallowed in pain
and all i did was sit and watch
wishing i could press her sore tummy
but i could not; i just couldn't
for she said he should
he is the man that she loves
the father of the child
the child swelling in her belly
the child whose father she loves
but really feels she hates
yes, my other me is in love
in love witha man she hates
as she stared, spat and sneered
squeezing her increasingly swelling belly
wishing he was there
not wishing that he did a thing
just being there; but he wasn't
she crawled, wailed and wallowed in pain
and all i did was sit and watch
wishing i could press her sore tummy
but i could not; i just couldn't
for she said he should
he is the man that she loves
the father of the child
the child swelling in her belly
the child whose father she loves
but really feels she hates
yes, my other me is in love
in love witha man she hates
Monday, September 22, 2008
South Africa After Thabo Mbeki: A Lesson for Africa
I was reading an essay question set for third year students in the Discipline of International Relations a few days ago and I was amazed at how much I couldn't fit in the question in "U.S Foreign Policy" for which it was meant (by one Larry Benjamin) without thinking of Africa.I am certain that in a series of events in global politics, Barrack Obama, Joe Biden, the Clintons, John McCain, Sarah Palin and whoever else has been in the platform of U.S politics have taken the interest of the world (represented by the (melo)drama of the media). In several months, today the world gives US politic(ian)s a break and we can now all turn our eyes towards the South of Africa. This is South Africa; a country in which the discourses of politics have been changing drastically (and scaringly so) since Polokwane. I lost it I guess; you see that is why I prefer writing poetry and chopped prose because I have a fragmented mind. Ooops ! This post was not about me but do you really think anyone would employ me as a journalist if this is how I wrote? By the way, IF( I aint sure I will ever do at the rate at which idiocy is catching up with me)I grow up I still insist I wanna be a journalist.
Sorry, I am sure I lost you but please dont stop reading because i just remembered what the US Foreign Policy question I wanted to talk about was (that was long before I became self-indulgent-though I am sure you are not surprised): "Do great leaders cause great crises or do great crises call for great leaders?". I know, like me, you are possibly thinking of your own president (and the lucky(?) ones like Swazis and our bothers and sisters from Lesotho your kings)instead of thinking of US presidents like William 'Bill' Clinton, Reagan, the two BUSHES and others. It is understandable...This is Africa. It is amazing how introspective we become in the wake of unusual events in the world of politics.
Last night, the President (is it still correct to use the title?) of Africa's America; the Republic of South Africa made a public announcement on the State owned media corporation, SABC on his resignation. You know, I am not a sweetheart of Mbeki (that doesnt make me his critic, or does it?) but I cried. I can see you asking What I have to lose anyway whether South Africa is ruled by the ANC hawks or doves (did u watch Vuyo and Gwede on SABC2 Morning Live today?). Look here, I aint sure you wanna know what was going on in my mind as I watched Mbeki tell the world (and I quote):
"I have been a loyal member of the African National Congress for 52 years. I remain a member of the ANC and therefore respect its decisions. It is for this reason that I've taken the decision to resign as president of the republic,".
Where else in Africa has this ever happened? Where else in Africa is the president answerable to anyone? You see, no matter what Mbeki has done to South Africa, JZ, ANC and whoever else, the statememnt above, redeemed him. What a dignified man!! Speaking of how introspective we become in times like these, I couldnt help thinking of African political giants forcing themselves down people's throats! Mwai Kibaki, Uncle Bob Mugabe (by the way I admire his wits and black humour), Girma Woldegiorgis and others yet they are not fireable despite the fact that they have not achieved a quarter of what Comrade Mbeki has in 9 years!!
Personally I do not know how to react to Mbeki's exit. All I have are questions about the state of democracy in this Southern African country and the whole of Africa by extension. Could it be 'true' (matters of truth are so scary sometimes)that perhaps the ANC's NEC's firing of Mbeki was not done with the interest of South Africans at heart but the settling of internal party wraggles...At least this is what the president of Independent Democrats one Patricia de Lille thinks. Is it that Mbeki was a great leader who was only unfortunate to rule in a time of great crises or did he cause the great crises? So, without Mbeki who will be blamed on the fact that my water taps were dry this morning? Could it be that South Africa expected too much from Mbeki? Perhaps, the ANC is just going through mid-life crisis and it is high time it stopped being a movement and became a political party! Who will be blamed on ESCOM, AIDS, poverty, Crime and all the challenges that South Africans have always blamed on Mbeki? Where else shall we vent our angst, anger and frustration once Mbeki is gone? What else will eTv's Justice Malala analyse?
Fare thee well, ntate Mbeki but one thing that bothers me right now is how much the political party structures in the rest of Africa would save the continent if they were strong and had as much power as the ANC! Nkosi sikelel'iAfrica
By the way, this was meant to be a poem!! Lol!!!
Sorry, I am sure I lost you but please dont stop reading because i just remembered what the US Foreign Policy question I wanted to talk about was (that was long before I became self-indulgent-though I am sure you are not surprised): "Do great leaders cause great crises or do great crises call for great leaders?". I know, like me, you are possibly thinking of your own president (and the lucky(?) ones like Swazis and our bothers and sisters from Lesotho your kings)instead of thinking of US presidents like William 'Bill' Clinton, Reagan, the two BUSHES and others. It is understandable...This is Africa. It is amazing how introspective we become in the wake of unusual events in the world of politics.
Last night, the President (is it still correct to use the title?) of Africa's America; the Republic of South Africa made a public announcement on the State owned media corporation, SABC on his resignation. You know, I am not a sweetheart of Mbeki (that doesnt make me his critic, or does it?) but I cried. I can see you asking What I have to lose anyway whether South Africa is ruled by the ANC hawks or doves (did u watch Vuyo and Gwede on SABC2 Morning Live today?). Look here, I aint sure you wanna know what was going on in my mind as I watched Mbeki tell the world (and I quote):
"I have been a loyal member of the African National Congress for 52 years. I remain a member of the ANC and therefore respect its decisions. It is for this reason that I've taken the decision to resign as president of the republic,".
Where else in Africa has this ever happened? Where else in Africa is the president answerable to anyone? You see, no matter what Mbeki has done to South Africa, JZ, ANC and whoever else, the statememnt above, redeemed him. What a dignified man!! Speaking of how introspective we become in times like these, I couldnt help thinking of African political giants forcing themselves down people's throats! Mwai Kibaki, Uncle Bob Mugabe (by the way I admire his wits and black humour), Girma Woldegiorgis and others yet they are not fireable despite the fact that they have not achieved a quarter of what Comrade Mbeki has in 9 years!!
Personally I do not know how to react to Mbeki's exit. All I have are questions about the state of democracy in this Southern African country and the whole of Africa by extension. Could it be 'true' (matters of truth are so scary sometimes)that perhaps the ANC's NEC's firing of Mbeki was not done with the interest of South Africans at heart but the settling of internal party wraggles...At least this is what the president of Independent Democrats one Patricia de Lille thinks. Is it that Mbeki was a great leader who was only unfortunate to rule in a time of great crises or did he cause the great crises? So, without Mbeki who will be blamed on the fact that my water taps were dry this morning? Could it be that South Africa expected too much from Mbeki? Perhaps, the ANC is just going through mid-life crisis and it is high time it stopped being a movement and became a political party! Who will be blamed on ESCOM, AIDS, poverty, Crime and all the challenges that South Africans have always blamed on Mbeki? Where else shall we vent our angst, anger and frustration once Mbeki is gone? What else will eTv's Justice Malala analyse?
Fare thee well, ntate Mbeki but one thing that bothers me right now is how much the political party structures in the rest of Africa would save the continent if they were strong and had as much power as the ANC! Nkosi sikelel'iAfrica
By the way, this was meant to be a poem!! Lol!!!
Thursday, September 18, 2008
the guilt of innocence
once upon a time
a father was just that
a brother was a brother
an uncle; an idol
yes, a shamba boy; a playmate
but now? monsters; ogres
those eyes
those little blank eyes
that only knew care
that only knew trust
that only knew love
all these' no longer know
those eyes
those little blank eyes
now know fear
now know mistrust
only know hate
yes, the new ways of the world
those eyes
those lttle blank eyes
those eyes of innocence
those eyes that knew guilt
robbed of their innocence
robbed of their blankness
those eyes
eyes once blank
eyes once innocent now see everything
now know guilt
those little blank eyes
i am tired
yes, very tired
tired of singing
tired of crying
tired of speaking
of those little blank eyes
i am tired
yes, very tired
but just can't cease
i can't just stop
singing, crying and speaking
of those little blank eyes
let us return
let us return to the olden days
yes, once upon a time
then shall we rejoice
then shall we sing
of joy, peace and innocence
of those eyes
those little blank eyes
that once knew nothing
a father was just that
a brother was a brother
an uncle; an idol
yes, a shamba boy; a playmate
but now? monsters; ogres
those eyes
those little blank eyes
that only knew care
that only knew trust
that only knew love
all these' no longer know
those eyes
those little blank eyes
now know fear
now know mistrust
only know hate
yes, the new ways of the world
those eyes
those lttle blank eyes
those eyes of innocence
those eyes that knew guilt
robbed of their innocence
robbed of their blankness
those eyes
eyes once blank
eyes once innocent now see everything
now know guilt
those little blank eyes
i am tired
yes, very tired
tired of singing
tired of crying
tired of speaking
of those little blank eyes
i am tired
yes, very tired
but just can't cease
i can't just stop
singing, crying and speaking
of those little blank eyes
let us return
let us return to the olden days
yes, once upon a time
then shall we rejoice
then shall we sing
of joy, peace and innocence
of those eyes
those little blank eyes
that once knew nothing
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
i am a part-time white
suppose you were treated as kindly?
suppose you never felt out of place?
tell me how you would feel
tell me how you would feel
if people greeted you with a smile
how would you feel deep within you
if children wanted to touch you
how would you feel tell me
if anytime you talked someone mimicked your accent
how would you feel i wanna know
if robbers and muggers gave you special-client-treatment
tell me you wouldn't feel white
and there goes a liar
sometimes i just feel the way you do
this white woman trapped in a black body
it is the pain that i feel that scares me
for you so hate me for being black
it is the fear of pain that i fear
and a part time white i have become
though my skin betrays my insides
suppose you never felt out of place?
tell me how you would feel
tell me how you would feel
if people greeted you with a smile
how would you feel deep within you
if children wanted to touch you
how would you feel tell me
if anytime you talked someone mimicked your accent
how would you feel i wanna know
if robbers and muggers gave you special-client-treatment
tell me you wouldn't feel white
and there goes a liar
sometimes i just feel the way you do
this white woman trapped in a black body
it is the pain that i feel that scares me
for you so hate me for being black
it is the fear of pain that i fear
and a part time white i have become
though my skin betrays my insides
Friday, September 5, 2008
neighbourliness
the best of my mother's teachings
is all about good neighbourliness
she taught me how to be a good neighbour
if my neighbour does not have salt
and i have some my mother said i should give it to him
if my neighbour does not have money
and i have some i should lend it to him
if my neighbour borrows my car
and i am not using it i should give it to him
if my neighbour goes for a long journey
and leaves behind his family i should take care of them
my mother taught me to love my neighbour
to love him
to love his wife
to love his children
and to love his animals
so if my neighbour is out of town
and his wife is in need of something
something she surely has not
and that i readiy have
i should give it to her
because i love my neighbour's wife
because that is good neighbourliness
this one time she comes
in need, real need of help
she asks me for a night
should i refuse?
but i am a good neighbour
i give her a good night
because
that is good neighbourliness
and i promised to be a good neighbour
good neighbourliness has no bounds
unless my mother forgot that bit
i love jesus
for my mother loves him and i love my mother
i must be a good neighbour
i should love my neighbour
i did my share
of being a good neighbour
i helped his wife
because i love her
so, if his daughters come to me
i shall help them too
because i love them
and if his househelp comes to me
i shall help her too
because i love her
i love my neighbour
i love his wife
i love his maid
for that is good neighbourliness
is all about good neighbourliness
she taught me how to be a good neighbour
if my neighbour does not have salt
and i have some my mother said i should give it to him
if my neighbour does not have money
and i have some i should lend it to him
if my neighbour borrows my car
and i am not using it i should give it to him
if my neighbour goes for a long journey
and leaves behind his family i should take care of them
my mother taught me to love my neighbour
to love him
to love his wife
to love his children
and to love his animals
so if my neighbour is out of town
and his wife is in need of something
something she surely has not
and that i readiy have
i should give it to her
because i love my neighbour's wife
because that is good neighbourliness
this one time she comes
in need, real need of help
she asks me for a night
should i refuse?
but i am a good neighbour
i give her a good night
because
that is good neighbourliness
and i promised to be a good neighbour
good neighbourliness has no bounds
unless my mother forgot that bit
i love jesus
for my mother loves him and i love my mother
i must be a good neighbour
i should love my neighbour
i did my share
of being a good neighbour
i helped his wife
because i love her
so, if his daughters come to me
i shall help them too
because i love them
and if his househelp comes to me
i shall help her too
because i love her
i love my neighbour
i love his wife
i love his maid
for that is good neighbourliness
Thursday, September 4, 2008
should i write a poem?
should i write you a poem?
no no i wont write any poem
for i know not one
or even what it should be
for only poets write poems
and i aint a poet.
no no i wont write any poem
for i know not one
or even what it should be
for only poets write poems
and i aint a poet.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Rita Rudner
Men don't feel the urge to get married as quickly as women do because their clothes all button and zip in the front. Women's dresses usually button and zip in the back. We need men emotionally and sexually, but we also need men to help us get dressed.
Friday, August 22, 2008
strange stranger
i am very strange
or so they think
for i never ask
though i know not
and i am never sad
even when they are bad
yes, i never cry
but always try
to be that which i am
a strange stranger
or so they think
for i never ask
though i know not
and i am never sad
even when they are bad
yes, i never cry
but always try
to be that which i am
a strange stranger
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
finally...levi mwanawasa
they told us you were dead months ago
mbeki observed a moment of silence in your honour levi
then they told us that that defined media lies
we had started mourning you properly, i swear we had
but they were not telling us the truth
those of us who loved you so much
those of us for whom you spoke
today they came out clean
told us that you were gone
told us that they have a successor
but how do we mourn you levi
when the media broke the news again?
we want to mourn you honourably levi but we are scared
fare thee well baba...
mbeki observed a moment of silence in your honour levi
then they told us that that defined media lies
we had started mourning you properly, i swear we had
but they were not telling us the truth
those of us who loved you so much
those of us for whom you spoke
today they came out clean
told us that you were gone
told us that they have a successor
but how do we mourn you levi
when the media broke the news again?
we want to mourn you honourably levi but we are scared
fare thee well baba...
the other woman
you hate me for my coloured teeth
coloured by calcium in the water i drink
you hate me for my dark skin
darkened by the hot sun in the fields
you hate me for my rough palms
roughened by the work of my hands
you do not like my skin colour
the colour of death at funerals
the colour of drug addicts in hollywood films
the colour of satan in pictures
the colour of africa in literature
the colour of inferiority in europe
you say i am not beautiful
because i have a funny fat flat nose
and a pair of full stuffed lips
and a highway sized gap between my teeth
and baobab legs with anthills on the calves
and a big fluid bottom that looks unattached
you think i am barbaric
because i cannot wear those clothes
clothes that i say are for men
clothes that show my big tummy
clothes that look like an artist's painting on my body
clothes that i must use soap to put on
you think i have no manners
because i eat ugali in the morning
because i do not throw away left overs
because i sing as i work while you sleep
because i cannot sleep with my father-in-law
because i refused to face the knife
you prefer her to me so you say
to drink her saliva as you kiss
to see her face that looks like an art gallery
to touch her bleached pink pale skin
to hear her bones creak in friction
to admire her dressed in a dress the size of your handkerchief
go and tell her to go away
i want her out of my way
tell her to pack and may be pray
before the break of the day
because of her i have fallen prey
to your comparisons everyday
but wait a while I have something to tell you
go and tell her to go away
coloured by calcium in the water i drink
you hate me for my dark skin
darkened by the hot sun in the fields
you hate me for my rough palms
roughened by the work of my hands
you do not like my skin colour
the colour of death at funerals
the colour of drug addicts in hollywood films
the colour of satan in pictures
the colour of africa in literature
the colour of inferiority in europe
you say i am not beautiful
because i have a funny fat flat nose
and a pair of full stuffed lips
and a highway sized gap between my teeth
and baobab legs with anthills on the calves
and a big fluid bottom that looks unattached
you think i am barbaric
because i cannot wear those clothes
clothes that i say are for men
clothes that show my big tummy
clothes that look like an artist's painting on my body
clothes that i must use soap to put on
you think i have no manners
because i eat ugali in the morning
because i do not throw away left overs
because i sing as i work while you sleep
because i cannot sleep with my father-in-law
because i refused to face the knife
you prefer her to me so you say
to drink her saliva as you kiss
to see her face that looks like an art gallery
to touch her bleached pink pale skin
to hear her bones creak in friction
to admire her dressed in a dress the size of your handkerchief
go and tell her to go away
i want her out of my way
tell her to pack and may be pray
before the break of the day
because of her i have fallen prey
to your comparisons everyday
but wait a while I have something to tell you
go and tell her to go away
Friday, August 15, 2008
coffin voices
listen to this...immortal man
can you see me?
why am i so pale?
am i not stiff?
what happened to me?
i cannot hear my voice
why am i here?
how did i get here?
you say i am dead?
but why?
tell me how
you immortal man
did he run over me?
was it murder?
oh...the suicide mission
did you say i was sick?
o...the fire at night
but you say no
listen to me immortal man
speak to this multitude
but tell them no lie
on my life or death
am i dead?
why am i hearing you?
cry not for me you liars
for sooner or later
i shall send you a letter
if i find the place better
but no...stop a moment
where am i going to?
can you see me?
why am i so pale?
am i not stiff?
what happened to me?
i cannot hear my voice
why am i here?
how did i get here?
you say i am dead?
but why?
tell me how
you immortal man
did he run over me?
was it murder?
oh...the suicide mission
did you say i was sick?
o...the fire at night
but you say no
listen to me immortal man
speak to this multitude
but tell them no lie
on my life or death
am i dead?
why am i hearing you?
cry not for me you liars
for sooner or later
i shall send you a letter
if i find the place better
but no...stop a moment
where am i going to?
Thursday, August 14, 2008
where thou art?
when theses are dedicated
it is more to the mothers than the fathers
when lives are celebrated
it is more of the mothers than the fathers
when special mentions are made
it is more of the mothers than the fathers
i aint complaining about it
i aint questioning your conscience
i aint interrogating the 'order of things'
[and i know Foucault would applause]
i aint sympathising with anyone
i aint attacking anyone
but...
where art thou fathers?
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Monday, August 11, 2008
imagining
i am looking at this dot
this dot that looks so small
this dot that means so much
this dot that carries so much sense
what is it about this dot
this dot called a fullstop
this dot called a decimal point
this dot called ...ooops!
Friday, August 8, 2008
yes, you are a man and so what?
because you are a man
some fluid substance in your head tells you that you are better
because you are a man
an echo rings in your ears that you should and are privileged
because you a man
something in you keeps on saying that you deserve the best
because you are a man
you convince yourself that any woman will sit and suffocate under your buttocks
because you are a man
that is why i am talking to you about your manliness or manhood
because you are a man
i want you to know that a man is only a dick
because you are a man
i want to be very clear that your manliness is only defined by a sticky thing called a penis
lest you forget
that stick does not make you a better person
lest you forget
that stick does not improve the fool that you are
lest you forget
having a hole called a vagina does not make me your subject
lest you forget
allowing you to put your penis into my vagina is not a favour that i dont deserve
lest you forget
i am writing this poem because you seem to have forgotten yourself
boy, the whole of you is just a drop of semen from an older penis
some fluid substance in your head tells you that you are better
because you are a man
an echo rings in your ears that you should and are privileged
because you a man
something in you keeps on saying that you deserve the best
because you are a man
you convince yourself that any woman will sit and suffocate under your buttocks
because you are a man
that is why i am talking to you about your manliness or manhood
because you are a man
i want you to know that a man is only a dick
because you are a man
i want to be very clear that your manliness is only defined by a sticky thing called a penis
lest you forget
that stick does not make you a better person
lest you forget
that stick does not improve the fool that you are
lest you forget
having a hole called a vagina does not make me your subject
lest you forget
allowing you to put your penis into my vagina is not a favour that i dont deserve
lest you forget
i am writing this poem because you seem to have forgotten yourself
boy, the whole of you is just a drop of semen from an older penis
Friday, August 1, 2008
whispers
shhh
you hear them whisper
in their razzle dazzle
in hustle and bustle
will never settle
even after a battle
know very little
or even nothing
but are the painters
to paint your image
with their brushes
will paint your image
to turnish and furnish names
are the gurus
know the rules
on streets they pose
to get the daily dose
for no penny for pay
let them paint
and tint
and pile files of lies
you hear them whisper
in their razzle dazzle
in hustle and bustle
will never settle
even after a battle
know very little
or even nothing
but are the painters
to paint your image
with their brushes
will paint your image
to turnish and furnish names
are the gurus
know the rules
on streets they pose
to get the daily dose
for no penny for pay
let them paint
and tint
and pile files of lies
Monday, July 28, 2008
forgotten clay
is it that you do not care
or just that you cannot dare
to meet your child
to give love however mild?
is it that you did not sire
or just that you are a liar
to be that silent
to have love that latent?
is it that you do not feel
or just that you have no deal
to be responsible
to do the impossible?
is it that it was not planned
or just that it happened
to doom your life
to put you off?
is it that she is too secretive
or just that it will be abortive
to tell me the truth
to clear this myth?
is it that you changed your attitude
or just that you see no magnitude
of having some passion
of respecting this creation?
i hear you are my father
but left me desperate
my mother’s husband you are
but her daughter’s father not
like god’s forgotten clay
you fetched me from the river
but left me unmolded
MOULD ME, MR. POTTER
or just that you cannot dare
to meet your child
to give love however mild?
is it that you did not sire
or just that you are a liar
to be that silent
to have love that latent?
is it that you do not feel
or just that you have no deal
to be responsible
to do the impossible?
is it that it was not planned
or just that it happened
to doom your life
to put you off?
is it that she is too secretive
or just that it will be abortive
to tell me the truth
to clear this myth?
is it that you changed your attitude
or just that you see no magnitude
of having some passion
of respecting this creation?
i hear you are my father
but left me desperate
my mother’s husband you are
but her daughter’s father not
like god’s forgotten clay
you fetched me from the river
but left me unmolded
MOULD ME, MR. POTTER
Friday, July 25, 2008
whatever happened to them days?
gone are the days or so you say
when children belonged to society
when all men did was love their wives
when women could only be wives
and we all thought the world loved good
gone are the days or so you say
days of borrowing salt next door
days of crossing paths with borrowed hot charcoal
days of hosting nagging in-laws for months
and getting scorn and scoff in return
gone are the days or so you say
and i am glad that they are gone
and from me it's good riddance
and i admit i miss them not
for surely we now know better
when children belonged to society
when all men did was love their wives
when women could only be wives
and we all thought the world loved good
gone are the days or so you say
days of borrowing salt next door
days of crossing paths with borrowed hot charcoal
days of hosting nagging in-laws for months
and getting scorn and scoff in return
gone are the days or so you say
and i am glad that they are gone
and from me it's good riddance
and i admit i miss them not
for surely we now know better
Thursday, July 24, 2008
LOUD...RASTRESS!!
she never ceases to inspire me
this young woman harbouring big ideas
her intelligence, her guts and wits
that speak of a 'female' spirit
you can never be more wrong than think
its because of her tinted long locks
or her black framed glasses
both of which i have that i like her
i do not see myself in her
i do not see you in her
but it is the her in her that i see
the definition of real brains
i do not wish i were you sweetheart
a prof, a poet, a storyteller, an achiever
and all you are but i wanna be me feeling like you do
pumla gqola...oh the loudrastress... you rock girlfriend
this young woman harbouring big ideas
her intelligence, her guts and wits
that speak of a 'female' spirit
you can never be more wrong than think
its because of her tinted long locks
or her black framed glasses
both of which i have that i like her
i do not see myself in her
i do not see you in her
but it is the her in her that i see
the definition of real brains
i do not wish i were you sweetheart
a prof, a poet, a storyteller, an achiever
and all you are but i wanna be me feeling like you do
pumla gqola...oh the loudrastress... you rock girlfriend
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
xeno what?
right now i am going through what i think most of you would erroneously call xenophobia. i refuse to call it "fear of the alien" for i know it's not fear but hate. it is the feeling of rejection that most of us go through for just not being home (whatever home means). my friend tells me that home is a place where you jump into bed with all the dust on your feet. yea, this rejection that i feel reminds me of what has commonly been referred to as may 11th in south africa; this hate, this repel of the 'outsider'.
today i feel the need to repost this article on what many made you believe was xenophobia...
THE SKIN-SAVING WORD THAT VERY FEW KNEW
One Mr. K told me that there are certain sounds that most of us in Sub Saharan Africa cannot pronounce because they are inexistent in our languages. I could not really make out why a sober university lecturer could say that to students of one-hell-of-a-course called Phonetics and Phonology. For those of us who have never seen the inside of a linguistics class, Phonetics and Phonology is a course that requires that every student opens his or her mouth at least twenty times (depending on the length of the paper) in the exam room. All the exam questions have to be read aloud for the student to get the answers right. Yes, I was talking about those inexistent sounds that Mr. K taught us about. He said they were called clicks. There were other words that Mr. K used (velar plosives, pharyngeal fricatives, and so on depending on the place and manner of articulation) but I did not bother to understand because after all I could not use such sounds. These clicks, Mr. K told us, were represented by the phonemes; /c/, /x/ and /q/ and other consonant clusters which still look awkward (is this an offensive word?) to me. If you have watched the film, The God’s must be Crazy, then you know what I am talking about. How many East and West Africans could pronounce N!xau? Yes, those are some of the sounds that Mr. K said, as an East African, I needn’t trouble my tongue with because that small piece of flesh called the tongue could bitterly revolt in protest.
Wondering where this phonetics lecture is leading to? Give me a minute…One thing that Mr. K did not tell me is that if I was planning to come down South, I should have been more attentive in those lectures than the rest of my course mates. Mr. K did not tell me that I would desperately (I am deliberately using the term) need the clicks and consonant clusters. Now I know. But when did I know that I so badly needed to practise these sounds in the discomfort of my bed? This one word, XENOPHOBIA and by the way, my dear student, the /x/ here is not a click. Over the past 11 days South Africa has been in the news for not only the wrong reasons, but for a rare reason. It is amazing how people sometimes manifest their self-hatred by hating that which tends to look like them. For several Europeans whose first encounter with Africa was through Jamie Uys’ portrayal of an African through N!xau, all Africans ought to be a homogenous species of bush men with a small loin cloth (that barely covers the essentials), running aimlessly and wearing a sheepish smile. Without delving too much into the racist discourses around such a misrepresentation of the African peoples, I want to keep it simple. Allow me to presuppose that holding all other factors constant, ceteris paribus, Africans are a group of people with more similarities than they have differences. But then, when do we start to hate each other because we are unhappy about our likeness? That is a discussion for another day.
A few South Africans have taken it upon themselves to pledge their loyalty to their dear country by ridding it of ‘unwanted parasites’. The whole idea is not funny regardless of how patriotic (do we still have patriotic citizens?) these people feel; what is funny is the strategy. I am talking of language as a strategy for elimination. This takes us back to Mr. K’s Phonetics and Phonology class. I am sure by now those of you who could not pronounce N!xau, can now pronounce gqugquza, uqoqo, ngcuka among others…Well done. But perhaps there is a word that, if you were at one Johannesburg Taxi rank over the weekend, would have put you in trouble. As a way of separating ‘them’ from ‘us’, people were ordered to queue for taxis [matatus] but could only get into any taxi on one seemingly simple condition: a one-word answer to the question, “What do you call the elbow in Zulu?” Perhaps I am simplifying the matter too much. The question was asked in a way that I can only afford to laugh at now. The ‘patriotic citizen’ would raise his elbow and showing it to you ask, in Zulu, “What is this?” Regardless of how many click sounds one knew, here was a single word, with no click, that could save a life but which many did not know. You must be thinking of what it is in your language…I do not know either but certainly the present times have forced me to research on the isiZulu equivalent of an elbow. By the way next time someone greets me in isiZulu, I might as well say, indololwanwe because my mind is set on the seemingly ‘right word’ to say as a foreigner in South Africa today. Indololwanwe is what they call the elbow in this ‘land of milk and honey’; the land of the Zulu; the Republic of South Africa.
Moral of the story?
Learn all the body parts in the eleven official languages of South Africa if you want to save your skin…you may not know what other body part they may ask you to name and in what language. Remember we sometimes laugh when it hurts so much for us to cry. Stay safe my fellow Kwerekweres and to my dear South African sisters and brothers here is some food for thought; “YOU are because WE are” (Desmond Tutu). Peace.
today i feel the need to repost this article on what many made you believe was xenophobia...
THE SKIN-SAVING WORD THAT VERY FEW KNEW
One Mr. K told me that there are certain sounds that most of us in Sub Saharan Africa cannot pronounce because they are inexistent in our languages. I could not really make out why a sober university lecturer could say that to students of one-hell-of-a-course called Phonetics and Phonology. For those of us who have never seen the inside of a linguistics class, Phonetics and Phonology is a course that requires that every student opens his or her mouth at least twenty times (depending on the length of the paper) in the exam room. All the exam questions have to be read aloud for the student to get the answers right. Yes, I was talking about those inexistent sounds that Mr. K taught us about. He said they were called clicks. There were other words that Mr. K used (velar plosives, pharyngeal fricatives, and so on depending on the place and manner of articulation) but I did not bother to understand because after all I could not use such sounds. These clicks, Mr. K told us, were represented by the phonemes; /c/, /x/ and /q/ and other consonant clusters which still look awkward (is this an offensive word?) to me. If you have watched the film, The God’s must be Crazy, then you know what I am talking about. How many East and West Africans could pronounce N!xau? Yes, those are some of the sounds that Mr. K said, as an East African, I needn’t trouble my tongue with because that small piece of flesh called the tongue could bitterly revolt in protest.
Wondering where this phonetics lecture is leading to? Give me a minute…One thing that Mr. K did not tell me is that if I was planning to come down South, I should have been more attentive in those lectures than the rest of my course mates. Mr. K did not tell me that I would desperately (I am deliberately using the term) need the clicks and consonant clusters. Now I know. But when did I know that I so badly needed to practise these sounds in the discomfort of my bed? This one word, XENOPHOBIA and by the way, my dear student, the /x/ here is not a click. Over the past 11 days South Africa has been in the news for not only the wrong reasons, but for a rare reason. It is amazing how people sometimes manifest their self-hatred by hating that which tends to look like them. For several Europeans whose first encounter with Africa was through Jamie Uys’ portrayal of an African through N!xau, all Africans ought to be a homogenous species of bush men with a small loin cloth (that barely covers the essentials), running aimlessly and wearing a sheepish smile. Without delving too much into the racist discourses around such a misrepresentation of the African peoples, I want to keep it simple. Allow me to presuppose that holding all other factors constant, ceteris paribus, Africans are a group of people with more similarities than they have differences. But then, when do we start to hate each other because we are unhappy about our likeness? That is a discussion for another day.
A few South Africans have taken it upon themselves to pledge their loyalty to their dear country by ridding it of ‘unwanted parasites’. The whole idea is not funny regardless of how patriotic (do we still have patriotic citizens?) these people feel; what is funny is the strategy. I am talking of language as a strategy for elimination. This takes us back to Mr. K’s Phonetics and Phonology class. I am sure by now those of you who could not pronounce N!xau, can now pronounce gqugquza, uqoqo, ngcuka among others…Well done. But perhaps there is a word that, if you were at one Johannesburg Taxi rank over the weekend, would have put you in trouble. As a way of separating ‘them’ from ‘us’, people were ordered to queue for taxis [matatus] but could only get into any taxi on one seemingly simple condition: a one-word answer to the question, “What do you call the elbow in Zulu?” Perhaps I am simplifying the matter too much. The question was asked in a way that I can only afford to laugh at now. The ‘patriotic citizen’ would raise his elbow and showing it to you ask, in Zulu, “What is this?” Regardless of how many click sounds one knew, here was a single word, with no click, that could save a life but which many did not know. You must be thinking of what it is in your language…I do not know either but certainly the present times have forced me to research on the isiZulu equivalent of an elbow. By the way next time someone greets me in isiZulu, I might as well say, indololwanwe because my mind is set on the seemingly ‘right word’ to say as a foreigner in South Africa today. Indololwanwe is what they call the elbow in this ‘land of milk and honey’; the land of the Zulu; the Republic of South Africa.
Moral of the story?
Learn all the body parts in the eleven official languages of South Africa if you want to save your skin…you may not know what other body part they may ask you to name and in what language. Remember we sometimes laugh when it hurts so much for us to cry. Stay safe my fellow Kwerekweres and to my dear South African sisters and brothers here is some food for thought; “YOU are because WE are” (Desmond Tutu). Peace.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
welcome Amos
the real world this is
where real Kenyans live
the public sphere we call it
outside gava offices Amos
here we get no deals
with either the budget
or libyan tycoons
for we aint in office Amos
here no MP heckles us
over taxing his allowances
or rising food prices
for we read no budget Amos
here things are tough
but we like it here
for we sit and watch
people like you Mr. Amos
but Mr. Kimunya, Sir
we know you aint one of us
at least not yet
for Emilio knows your name Amos
a little advice for you though
for you are the latest newcomer
into the public sphere
here we 'behave' Amos
where real Kenyans live
the public sphere we call it
outside gava offices Amos
here we get no deals
with either the budget
or libyan tycoons
for we aint in office Amos
here no MP heckles us
over taxing his allowances
or rising food prices
for we read no budget Amos
here things are tough
but we like it here
for we sit and watch
people like you Mr. Amos
but Mr. Kimunya, Sir
we know you aint one of us
at least not yet
for Emilio knows your name Amos
a little advice for you though
for you are the latest newcomer
into the public sphere
here we 'behave' Amos
Thursday, July 3, 2008
posthumously
how popular my works now are!
it is celebration time
but hey, what is it that you celebrate?
on a friday afternoon
in the plenary hall k.i.c.c
you sit; old and young
celebrating 'our fallen poet'
from the streets of lagos
the yoruba and the igbo come
quoting me even in greetings
carrying works of a great poet
a great poet only in death
great sales for the publishers
i lived among you once
shoulders and breasts brushing
[may be you couldn't feel me!]
i cried of my agony
but what did the labyrinther say?
"woman, care not for applause"
yes, i cared not then
and i care not now
leave my spirit in peace
to alone cross styx
and my works behind me
the manuscripts unpublished
it is celebration time
but hey, what is it that you celebrate?
on a friday afternoon
in the plenary hall k.i.c.c
you sit; old and young
celebrating 'our fallen poet'
from the streets of lagos
the yoruba and the igbo come
quoting me even in greetings
carrying works of a great poet
a great poet only in death
great sales for the publishers
i lived among you once
shoulders and breasts brushing
[may be you couldn't feel me!]
i cried of my agony
but what did the labyrinther say?
"woman, care not for applause"
yes, i cared not then
and i care not now
leave my spirit in peace
to alone cross styx
and my works behind me
the manuscripts unpublished
death of a poet
too soon i thought
today death came to me
by the bedside she stood
stared, stealthily, slowly crept in
and touched my breast
i opened my mouth
i could not speak
i stretched my arm just to stop her
to let me finish this one poem
oh! sir Destiny!
so gentle she was to me
softly, smoothly touched my eyes
slowly closed my lids
darkness covered me
i am gone
my poem unfinished
carried no phone
son, have my poem finished
today death came to me
by the bedside she stood
stared, stealthily, slowly crept in
and touched my breast
i opened my mouth
i could not speak
i stretched my arm just to stop her
to let me finish this one poem
oh! sir Destiny!
so gentle she was to me
softly, smoothly touched my eyes
slowly closed my lids
darkness covered me
i am gone
my poem unfinished
carried no phone
son, have my poem finished
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
he owes me an apology
blasphemy or no blasphemy
god owes me an apology
if he punishes not
these devils who push, push and push
others into susceptibility, gullibility and inaudibility
god owes me an apology
if he punishes not
these devils who push, push and push
others into susceptibility, gullibility and inaudibility
Monday, June 23, 2008
a country called zimbabwe
Today, I deviate from my usual style of raving and ranting to literally cry. In the same spirit, I deliberately break my own rule on the use of capital letters as I mourn for a country once called Zimbabwe! Yesterday, the leader of the Movement for Democratic Change (MDC) one Morgan Tsvangirai withdrew from the June 27 th'08 election run-off. Although this was long overdue, Tsvangirai did the right thing. Perhaps, I am writing like every other voyeur in the West or elsewhere in the world...Perhaps I do not know the inside story of Zimbabwe but trust me I can feel it so close to my heart, soul and mind; it tears my heart, it breaks my soul and saturates my mind. I really didnt know that a politician could touch my otherwise 'political-sediment-proof' heart until I listened to Tendai Biti, the MDC Secretary General on the 22nd of May, 2008. By the way, speaking of Biti, he is facing treason charges upon which if charged, he faces the death sentence!! Comrade Biti was arrested the following day after his public lecture to which I happened to be a part of the audience. Yes, I was speaking of his address at a South African university on the 22nd. After the usual greetings what Biti said, immediately after, still rings in my mind. I did not write it somewhere, no. It forced itself into my heart and it is permanently recorded there. I will retrieve it today just to see whether I will be relieved:
"Yesterday, the body of Tonderai Ndira was found with his tongue cut, his skull smashed..."
I do not know who Tonderai Ndira was besides what Biti had to say of him and what my Zimbabwean friends have told me about him. Yes, he was a man of integrity, a political activist and was known as 'Zimbabwe's Steve Biko' after the legendary South African black consciousness liberation icon. Like most other 'men of integrity' the world (including me) can only know and praise him posthumously. That is how this life is and that is one of the advantages with which death comes; showers of praise on how great thou art once you can no longer hear us. What perhaps I did not know on the 22nd was that many more of such introductions and scenarios would follow in the weeks after. May be to most people Biti's introduction would have qualified for a stage direction in some high school drama but nay.
To MDC critics and some political analysts, perhaps Biti used such a scenario to gain the sympathy of the listener but hey look here, these things are happening. If Biti's intention was actually to interpellate the reader, then I plead guilty and I owe no one an apology (as usual I am still very anapolojetik) for that. Why am I telling you all this while you may even have been there? If you were there, the better for me, what have we done since we heard of the killings in Zimbabwe? What can we possibly do? What are the Zimbabweans themselves doing? What would they want me, you, you and you to do? I am so confused right now!! My heart is sore with grief and pain for this Souther African country which has been held at ransom by an 84-year old militia leader and his shopaholic masquerading as a wife.
"Yesterday, the body of Tonderai Ndira was found with his tongue cut, his skull smashed..."
I do not know who Tonderai Ndira was besides what Biti had to say of him and what my Zimbabwean friends have told me about him. Yes, he was a man of integrity, a political activist and was known as 'Zimbabwe's Steve Biko' after the legendary South African black consciousness liberation icon. Like most other 'men of integrity' the world (including me) can only know and praise him posthumously. That is how this life is and that is one of the advantages with which death comes; showers of praise on how great thou art once you can no longer hear us. What perhaps I did not know on the 22nd was that many more of such introductions and scenarios would follow in the weeks after. May be to most people Biti's introduction would have qualified for a stage direction in some high school drama but nay.
To MDC critics and some political analysts, perhaps Biti used such a scenario to gain the sympathy of the listener but hey look here, these things are happening. If Biti's intention was actually to interpellate the reader, then I plead guilty and I owe no one an apology (as usual I am still very anapolojetik) for that. Why am I telling you all this while you may even have been there? If you were there, the better for me, what have we done since we heard of the killings in Zimbabwe? What can we possibly do? What are the Zimbabweans themselves doing? What would they want me, you, you and you to do? I am so confused right now!! My heart is sore with grief and pain for this Souther African country which has been held at ransom by an 84-year old militia leader and his shopaholic masquerading as a wife.
Friday, June 20, 2008
untitled
last night
i spent a sleepless night
my tiny room dimly lit
my bedding soaked wet
my mind all alert
he could not help
last night
i patted his shoulders
i thought he’d do wonders
i, like a baby had shudders
he was fast asleep
he could not help
last night
he drank himself silly
he took the thing fully
he couldn’t come back wholly
he could not help
last night
the warm bed was wet
the good wife was awful
the worst night I had
he could not help
i spent a sleepless night
my tiny room dimly lit
my bedding soaked wet
my mind all alert
he could not help
last night
i patted his shoulders
i thought he’d do wonders
i, like a baby had shudders
he was fast asleep
he could not help
last night
he drank himself silly
he took the thing fully
he couldn’t come back wholly
he could not help
last night
the warm bed was wet
the good wife was awful
the worst night I had
he could not help
Thursday, June 19, 2008
this thing between my ears
this thing between my ears
my teacher said was called a brain
a mixture of mucus and water
just keeps going on
just going on, on and on
about this damn poetry
shut up mr.brain
for i tire of saying it
i-aint-no-fucking-poet
my teacher said was called a brain
a mixture of mucus and water
just keeps going on
just going on, on and on
about this damn poetry
shut up mr.brain
for i tire of saying it
i-aint-no-fucking-poet
that's me
yes, that's me
i am what I am
that which goes tee-tee-tee
a harlot, a tart and a slut
and i owe you no apology.
i am what I am
that which goes tee-tee-tee
a harlot, a tart and a slut
and i owe you no apology.
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