RHINO CHARGE 2009

I will never forget the journey, the 4 x 4’s and the camping

By Eudiah Kamonjo

Off the top of my head, some of the happenings I recall (since I didn’t take any notes) and will never forget from the 2009 Rhino Charge event were;

1.       My heart racing (both for fear and excitement) as I watched an 80 year old participating Kalasinga topple over with his vehicle and landing on the side. Wondering whether his bones would be alright and how I stared in awe as he got back on track and got over the rocks and rough terrain, watching everyone cheering both from disbelief and relief.

2.       Ian Duncan, one of Kenya’s most successful rally drivers, passing through the same rocky terrain like he was on tarmacked road to heaven and not some extra rocky terrain. Wondering how he took 3 minutes where others took 10 minutes or one hour. Hearing comments like, “We want our money back, how can it be so easy for him?” Apparently, his car broke down last year, no wonder his vehicle this time, was a machine like no other I saw at the event; the extremely huge wheels  provided the ease needed for that kind of terrain.

3.       Watching the Adam team in orange t-shirts with the ‘Men First’ slogan and watching them manually try to balance their equally colourful vehicle. At least they made it through as well.

4.       The number of people at the event; races, tribes, sex, age, all these did not matter as they got together to just watch this off-road sport. Reminds me of the toy-car games we indulged in when we were younger.

5.       Smelling marijuana at the competition point (yet the police kept passing by after every one hour) and watching people at the highest peak getting down and hoping they wouldn’t fall because that water bottle on the left hand looked  like it had  some brandy or whiskey in it.

6.       The breathtaking view on the way to Marigat, the sound of the crickets, the numerous goats and tortoises on the way, the mouth watering ‘nyama choma’ at the Kikopey stop. The excitement of not knowing exactly where the venue was but using maps to find our way.

7.        Meeting people I know at the event; Sandra Bomett, Charlie Black, Wairimu Githuka, Tim Kamuzu  Banda, Nivi Mukherjee, whose brother was racing  and my gym instructor. And others I have only heard of like the Chairman, Magnate Ventures, Bishop of CocaCola and a Nigerian lady named Panna.

8.       Drama caused by one lady picked up by one of the guys; she almost got into a fight with some South African because of throwing to the ground  an empty plastic bottle.

9.       Dancing at the Capital FM tent in the night, like I would never dance in the wild again. And yea, it was even funnier just sitting to watch the young men from the area dancing to Capital Mixes and the ‘mzungus’ ever so interesting dancing.

10.   Sitting around the fire at the campsite with these bunch of guys ( I was the only lady) listening to their sex tales- I couldn’t even believe that guys check out each others ‘ sizes in the gents.

11.   Waking up to find two guys missing only for them to later turn up and admit that they got lost and just couldn’t find their way after drinking and dancing. They said they spend the night in someone’s pick-up.

12.   Hearing moaning cat-like sounds and tents moving after midnight and everyone telling everyone what they heard in the morning.

13.   Waking up to sausages, goat meat and soup, yet knowing that the three day holiday just might translate to an added kilo or two.

14.   Meeting Ruto, a six year old boy with interesting eyes. He had come to our campsite on day o ne. When we got to the Capital tent, he handed over the little money he had for safe-keeping (funny) to one of the guys and went over to the floor, he ended up dancing with every ‘mzungu’ lady on the floor and downing soda after soda. I bet he had the greatest time of his life, we never saw him again.

15.   I will never forget Kibet, who tended to us the entire time, watching out tent and cleaning up and our driver Peter sharing his experiences of the wild.

Its been a whole year-I too have known homelessness

Its been a year since I posted anything on this my blog here. Anyway, that one year has taught me (the hard way) what ‘real life’ is really all about. I have even known homelessness (both of the soul and the lack of a roof over my head).

I’m hoping i will get back into blogging. To begin with, I’d like to share this piece here by Jessica Powers, a Carmelite nun whose work i seem to be able to relate to (though i am so not close to her lifestyle). This is from her book ‘Poetry as prayer’

There is a homelessness

By Jessica Powers

There is a homelessness, never to be clearly defined 

It is more than having no place of one’s own

No bed or chair

It is more than walking in a waste of wind

Or gleaming the crumbs where someone else has dined

Or taking a coin for food or cloth to wear

The loan of things and the denial of things are possible to bear

 

It is more, more, than homelessness of heart

Of being always a stranger at love’s side

Of creeping up to a door only to start

At a shrill voice and to plunge back to the wide

Dark of one’s own obscurity and hide

 

It is the homelessness of the soul, in the body sown

It is the loneliness of mystery

Of seeing oneself a leaf, inexplicable and unknown

Cast from an unimaginable tree

Of knowing one’s life to be a brief wind blown

Down a fissure of time in the rock of eternity

The artist weeps to wrench this grief from stone

he pushes his hands through the tangled  vines of music

but he cannot set it free

 

It is the pain of the mystic suddenly thrown

back from the noon of God to the night of his own humanity

It is his grief, it is the grief of all those praying

Infinite words to an infinity

Whom, if they saw, they could not comprehend

Whom they cannot see

Poetry issues; When poetry becomes your lifestyle

WHEN POETRY BECOMES YOUR LIFESTYLE

Thomas Gray once said that ‘Poetry is thoughts that breathe and words that burn’.

I replay these words right now, then look at my life; everyday, a line or two of poetry MUST flow either through my thoughts or right through my veins to my note pad.

Sometimes, its not such a great feeling. Its like a burning need to release that which needs to be let out even when sometimes it doesn’t even make sense to you until much later. Its like you are a channel to some outside force; a human specifically put here for that purpose.

You try to fight it but the passion keeps coming back forcing itself on/in you even in the middle of the night. What has to be said; has to be said. No matter where you are or what time of day it is.

So how do you make poetry your lifestyle? You simply don’t-its just sort of happens. Its part of your everyday thing.

• You talk about it anytime the need arises; to whoever will listen.

• You surround yourself with poetry-at work, at school, at home. On your walls, on your desktop, stuck on your fridge, all over your shelves;-everywhere.

• The hardest part is when you have a partner who doesn’t have the same passion for poetry that you do.

  You will need to share whatever you have written or read with someone who understands the purpose of poetry-anytime;someone you can have a decent /productive discussion on that one line.

I started writing poetry when i was 11 years old and there is just no way i can live without this art.

A day or two without being in touch with it makes me feel like there is something missing in my life. I feel empty, needy…God, i love poetry!!!

Then there was David Diop’s words, ‘Poetry is the natural language of life, springs forth and renews itself through its contact with reality. It dies in corsets and under orders.’

Poetry is the natural language of life…..

Poetry is the breathe and finer spirit of all knowledge-William Wordsworth.

You can explain everything-including your entire life in a simple, pure piece of poetry.

GOD BLESS POETRY-FOREVER!!!!!!

From the source

Running from the source

Of everything fresh and full of light

Loosing the way at every turn

Too proud to take a few steps back

Yet too afraid to take a step forward

 

Bleeding with cravings of peace

And waterfalls of abundance

Flying with doves

Yet untouched by their divinity

Their compassion

Wallowing in the choice

Of dark curtains of doubt

And non-directions

 

Doors open then close again

Ramming and flattening my nose

To the ground again

Like a one-day old calf 

Yet to understand the ways of the world

 

I crave for the cup

I long to drink from the source

But i cannot ask

Lest i break the cup

From shattering voices and

Uncool words  

Living

Don’t part with your illusions

When they are gone

You may still exist

But you have ceased to live

-Mark Twain

My hottest poem

 

My Hottest Poem

By Eudiah Kamonjo

 

My hottest poem

came to me on a cloudy Tuesday afternoon

at the brink of noon

 

Unaware, i had invited what i sought not

And amidst computerized walls

And surrounded by guys and chics with

Yellow ties, pink shirts and green minis

I was immersed in the silence of speaking words

With guts and veins i knew not existed

 

Consumed by the wings in his voice

Swirling in the intensity of his eyes

I began to melt and i spoke

‘You are hot! Hot! Hot!’

Wewe nimsawa, aaaaiaiaaiaah!

The ultimate aphrodisiac

For dangerous ventures that snap and nap

With a hellish kind of zap

Like a mouse trap thats as old

As the clustered stars in your head

 

Now i am stripped of my time

Yet fulfilled of my need

For a poem thats in touch with its opposite gender

See, my poem is a hot sexy man

yet a hot sexy mama

And he loves it, lives it and shows it to me

 

Reverberating at the back of my memory

Is the embrace of the night when he

Engaged me in metaphors of pain and pleasure

Stripped of ignorance and

Looking like a cat that had seen

The goddess of everything dark yet true

I lay in fragments of

Similies and verbs and monologues with myself

Speechless and dead to myself

For a moment of two

 

 

My hottest poem

Is now causing lyrics of seduction

To osmosize right through my perked mammary glands

To the depths of my being

My eyelids loose focus

Threatening to become IDP’s within myself

 

Now i lie here

Looking down at this poem

Then looking at myself…

Embalmed, fashionated, bathed

By his exposure escapades

Clad in this oversized t-shirt

And pillowcases with hot sweat and perfumes of

Instinct and Hope

I hope….

 

 

 

 

Swahili poem

MACHUNGU YASIYOZOLEKA

By Eudiah Kamonjo

 

Rafiki?

Sikuelewa

Nakumbuka yeye kaja hivi

‘Nafaka natumaini

Wacha tuelewe

Utanifanyaje tajiri?’

 

Basi

Nikamsoro-o-o-o-o-o-ra

Juu chini

Kama kipepeo

Aliyemtamani

Kakaye chizi

Lakini roho ilikuwemo

Imechafuka

 

Naye akanitupia mikono

Maonyesho haswa

 

Sasa leo

Nakueleza hivi

Bwana huyu

Anijia

 

Aniinamia

Mie

Mie

Mie>>>> aliye

Onja na kutema

Kama vile

Maji machungu jangwani

 

Kaomba

Kaswali

Karamba hata

Yasiyomhusu

Ila siwezi

Siwezi kamwe

Kumsamehe 

Mazuri yamezimia

 

Acceptance Quote

All religions must be tolerated for every man must get to heaven in his own way

-Epictetus

DAMN!!! I GOT TAGGED

Rules: Link to the other person who tagged you. Post the rules on your blog.

Share 6 non-important things/habits/quirks about yourself. Tag 6 random people at the end of your post by linking to their blogs.

Let each random person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their website.

Larry, i tried to escape this ‘You got tagged’ stuff, but you caught me dead in my tracks!

1. My desk is always a mess
2. I apply the concept of cocktails everywhere n in everything
3. I forget to look at myself in the mirror
4. I hate polishing my shoes
5. I am ’shy’ in real life
6. I am a slave to my own words……

I’M TAGGING;

1. Viola Iris
2. Maisha Yetu
3. Cindy Ogana
4. Mtani
5. Kenyan Vixen
6. Kenyan Poet

Can’t wait…

My Wood Carving-From ‘Not in jeans collection’

My Wood Carving

By Eudiah Kamonjo

You’re my wood carving…….(*)

Carved by my hands and built to last

My African man is no wonder the greatest typhoon

That ever hit the depths

Of my heart, Of my soul

You’re my wood carving(*)

Chiselled with touches

Of purity and fresh inspiration

My African man

Graces the land of gods

Yet-he-bows-down-to-me

Just-like-i-bow-down-to-him

He’s my wood carving(*) 

The master piece of my essence(*)

Made from rare wood

And polished with ‘Muthonism’

Yea, i said

The master piece of my essence(*)

Your bow-legged sexiness

Full lips, toned-body and deep voice

Your roaring ruggedy

dark-strong features

they feed my African hunger

…..My wood carving

Dons the spirit of true art

Now rest on my left

Before i am frozen in the time

Of your action-packed gymnastics……