Posts Tagged ‘creative writing’

Women’s day poem

March 9, 2017

Inspired by the International Women’s Day, here’s the 2017 piece. #beboldforchange

eudiah kamonjo by Lusi Mbira

We see you, sisters

By Eudiah Kamonjo

 

We see you everyday mama

Juggling nanny jobs, hard-core chores and all kinds of biasharas

To put all of us through school-alone

Coz he walked out on you, walked out on all of us

And you refused to be inherited or to remarry or be number two

Talking in monologues and sprinkling paradoxes

You thought we’d never understand, but we did

And we salute you, mama!

Coz U R rock steady, steady rocking all life long

You did it mama, for us.

 

We used see you quite often Sister

Quiet sobs, black eye, bruised ego

Coz he’d come home drunk and irritable and rough-you up seriously

Silently you’d limp your way to the market;

Feigning accidents or juju to anyone who would dare ask

Until your art, squeezed out the truth about the abuse

And you bolded-up and packed-up your stuff, mtoto kwa mgongo

Waved goodbye to this fella, though you had no mulla

You knew you’d pick up the pieces, Sister!

You said: Hit the road Jerk, and don’t you come back no more no more no more no more.

 

 

We see you everyday Grandma

Back-bent dangerously, endlessly toiling in the unforgiving heat of this harsh African savanna

So your dear Grandkids can get at least that one ngwace, that one meal a day

One with the dawn to ensure they were ready and on time for the school

That you and yours (long gone by now)

Weren’t privileged to attend.

 

We saw you everynight, Dada

Talking those dark hideous streets by the horn, deep in the night

Flaunting, teasing, insulting, inviting with your moonlight-kissed, thousand-ways spanked thighs, scarred yet mellow breasts and luscious African bum ready to satisfy today’s Mafisi, these ridiculously entitled hyeanes

Just to get yourself through university

You could do better, but it’s the easiest way you knew how.

But you knew this won’t last forever, nothing ever does.

 

We see you every month Auntie

Mountain climbing, boxing, running

Then tossing and turning, wondering

How much more Zumba and Rhumba and Jaba-chewing

You’d have to do to get your body back to the way

It used to be before the babies

Just coz of all that crap you are reading online

Telling you that’s why he ain’t interested no more

But you know what Auntie, relax!

Your big booty in all its black glory is just FINE!

Love it and be confident in who you are

Coz wewe uko sawa, uko sawa

 

We see you brothers

Those concerned with the success of our African sisters

Those doing everything in their Alpha-giving, heart-stopping, women-loving power

To kill all of these madness skirting around our African Queens,

Our very own core.

 

We see you, all of humanity

Getting together in colour, shield and armour

Pen and paper, Music and Dance, Schools and Homes

Kitchens and Bedrooms, Offices and parties

Guiding our children, all of us

In thoughts, action , in words

To a world that’s fair for all

A world where we all stand a chance

At dignity, equality, honesty, joy and pleasure.

 

 

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Grim research

February 24, 2017

bomb

The morning after the bombings,

I realized that my bag held three books,

All on the lives of serial killers, grim research for a writing project.

Sure, but I admit I nearly laughed out loud thinking about rescuers who would find me,

How they’d look in my bag and think,’Whoa, maybe this one was for the best!’

-#WordWarrior Cristin O’Keefe in ‘All I’d leave behind’

a-writers-bag

Something new- an excerpt

April 23, 2015

This is from a novella I am currently working on. I last shared it with prose-lovers at the Sunday Salon in Kengeles-Lavington Green, Nairobi. Your feedback is most welcome.

Media house offices are always quiet and clean in the early morning. Only three of my fellow reporters had arrived; James Wairi, a tall, dark brown business reporter whose nick-name was Mrefu. Nelly, who was the Personal Assistant to my boss’ Janet. She was always here before everyone else. I recall the first time I ever spoke to her. I got to the office earlier than usual, finding her deep in prayer. I mean loud prayer. I think she had her imaginary assembly of church goers right there with her that morning.

Then there was Mikey. He was the in-house cartoonist. This guy looked so raggedy you would be forgiven for thinking he was a homeless guy brought in to tell his story. Maybe he was homeless. Or maybe his wife always kicked him out of the house before daylight. Maybe he never went home at night. He always looked haggard and hangover. No one really knew. Still, he did some amazing cartoons.

Mikey looked up from his Sketch Book. “Morning?” he waved.

“Morning Mikey!” How could he look like that on a whole Monday morning?

“Laid this weekend?” He winked.

Nelly and James looked at me questioningly.

“Laid out by the poolside,” I retorted, walking towards my desk.

James said something that sounded like ‘lucky ass!’-I didn’t really hear.

I was early today. Not because I wanted to. No! I was early because I had set my mind into discovering what I sensed would be my next big challenge. I went into the Daily Vibe archives to go through past newspaper editions with ‘juicy’ crime headlines.

The most recent I held read: ’30 women held naked in house of shame’. The one below that one read; ‘Keep off! Janet Atwal answers back estranged Nigerian husband who accused her last week of seizing Kshs. 200M worth of family property: It’s all my money, she says.’

A lot of catchy headlines were available for me to check out. I spent the next one hour in the archives, deeply engrossed in all that drama. The words taking me to places I thought only existed in the movies.

I looked at my watch, it was ten past nine. I needed to head back to my desk, and then see my boss Janet about my stories for the day.

She was on the phone when I walked into her office. She motioned me in. Janet was in a good mood today. First, unlike most Mondays’, she wasn’t wearing a red or pink shirt. Whenever she wore a red or pink shirt, we’d always know there was going to be trouble. Presently, she was wearing a dark blue trouser suit, light blue shirt and a stripped tie.

“Morning? Did you think about what I told you?” She posed, even before I had responded to her good morning greeting.

“Yes! I’ve been going through past editions and I …” She cut me off. She rose from her seat and walked over to the grey metal cabinet she always locked. Janet opened one of the shelves, searched through them and produced a small green file marked ‘MONKEYS‘.

She asked me to go through the documents in ten minutes then come back and see her.

“Listen, about Friday….”

“Tell me about Friday when you go through those articles.” She took her seat behind her desk.

I practically ran back to my desk. The first part of the file had articles about national crimes. The second part, separated by a luminous manila paper, held articles with her by-lines. Fifteen minutes later, I was back at her office.

“What do the articles have in common?” She asked. She did not even look up to face me.

“The inverted pyramid.” I tried. All news stories had this.

“What about the crimes?”

“Organized?,” I responded. Half question half answer.

“That’s the kind of stuff I want you to follow. Do you think you have the guts to follow the leads to the very end?” Janet was now looking at me straight in the eye.

I wanted to try something new and challenging, I just wasn’t sure this was it.

“Yes! I can”. Mama always said that I should never say the ‘I can’t’ words.

“Now tell me about Friday…” Her tone changed, more casual now.


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