Her back is failing her. She won’t say it but she’s getting closer to the ground more and more each day. Ironically, she still goes for swimming. Her eyes are slowly dimming, she says glasses and eye contacts are for those who haven’t seen the world yet. Trust her, at a hundred and twenty, what has’nt she seen. Her skin is betraying her “youth”, she laughs it off by saying she’ll always be younger than Methuselah. Her legs are giving way to gravity, get this, she asked if she looks fat because she feels heavier. Her hair, well, she has no hair left. Last month she told me bald is the new bold. Her heart has been skipping beats, for her it feels like falling in love all over again. Her memory is also on and off at times, today she knows who you are, tommorow she doesn’t. Her hands have birthed a new hobby; she knitts. Ohhh so docile a hobby for the rally driver she used to be. Her spirit is blooming these days, talk about late bloomers. She’s sensitive about everything. She is happier than i have ever seen her. Just yesterday i saw her play with her great great great grandson. The boy is only two years old. His great great great granny would tease him and each time he would end up crying while she’d burst out laughing. I told her to stop her torturing the poor baby, she said its about time the boy got an honest education. The world is a hysterical tease. Age to her is a constant , she says she was born the other day, just yesterday. We are gifted with time, lets make the most of it never forgetting to be irrational about how old we really are, atleast for the spice it’ll add to bland life.

A love lost.

A cold sun in the sky, A dark night in the sunshine. Only the might can bring back the light for no seer can see. A blind leads the blind, for one thing they all long. None seems to fathom the answer, only the idea of what they want. If only everyone would see it in their eyes, then maybe, just maybe. Maybe they would remember the days, when they called each other kin as they ate from the same plate and they’d say they were each other’s Valentinered roses and boxes full of chocolate. How amazing and beautiful life was, if they could only love once more, savouring the warmth and comfort that comes with being loved. But life has made it difficult, or so they’ll tell you. If only are the words always on their lips. All they have left is the warmth of the cold kisses in their minds and hearts full of throbs soon to be chaotic echoes. Love means charity, charity to everyone. Lets spread the love.

Beautiful isn’t word enough

I met her when she was pregnant, seven months gone. I can recall pretty well because it was quite the mammoth of pregnancies. She looked too heavy, too uncordinated and unbalanced when carrying those babies. What moved me however was not the pregnancy, it was her laughter. She laughed like she wouldn’t still be laughing the next minute. Which she would obviously given her aloofness when it came to jokes and giggles. Her name was Wanjiku. How i never got that name is still unclear to me. I’d call her Wairimu and at times Wanjiru but she would still answer, ofcos with a giggle. I went home only to come back after a month and find her nursing three babies. She had birthed triplets. The doctoe had originally told her she was going to have twins. I had never seen her that happy. The babies were the tinniest i had ever seen. The first born, Promise weighed 1.9 kilos, the second born Brian weighed 2kilos and the last born Precious weighed 1.8 kilo. They were Beautiful and yet so fragile. Sometimes i would shiver at the thought of changing them their diapers, I thought i would break their small limbs. The first born was always either asleep or hungry while the other two simply cried most of the time. They were quite the handfull for their twenty year old mother amazingly she never had any help. I have seen them grow since that day to today, see they just turned two. Wanjiku still has the most beautifull babies in the world according to me ofcos. Just yesterday i vistited them and truth be told i have not laughed that much in a whyl. The children spent most of the time running after each other laughing at absolutely nothing. They have a coded language they speak to one another and then burst out laughing. The apple never falls far away from the tree. Promise is very independent while precious is quite the diva. Brian on the other hand is Mamas boy. He is always on her lap. The children are apparently very naughty. Last week they poured twenty litres of water in their room from a water tank outside their room and started rolling in it. They then went to the kitchen and took some flour and tea leaves and made tea and pastry on the floor. Well, according to them thats what they made. Get this, they work together all the time. The three pushed the water tank into their room!! I still don’t understand that. Whenever they want to be cheeky they actually call out for their mum or dad to make sure no one is around and if their is no reply they go ahead with their mission. The funny thing is that they dont know the words mum or dad, instead they call their mum “sweetie” and their dad “honey”. Atleast thats what they hear their parents call each other. Beautifull, right?


I am starting to dream again, beautiful dreams filled with hope and desire. Desire to fly and mingle with the birds. It is rough on the edges and a little bit sketchy, but it feels wonderful. My mind is opening up to the idea of more than life has offered, more dreams in vigor and reaching for the galaxies. I mostly dream about art, hazy wonderful art. Art that is as inspiring as the milky way up above. Art that is as breathe taking as watching a babies first step. Art that is as magical as water splashing on your visage from the Zambezi falls… as i get back to the dreaming, i also get back to drawing. Hazy beautiful sketches with each stroke telling a story of new hope and life. A story about murals, abstractness and simplicity. Stories about me, you and us.


Writing has always been a love affair for me. Most times i am not faithful because i find it hard to decide on what should be put out there and what should be kept under wraps. I am not saying i am lazy… do not get me wrong… i am not lazy and even if  the odds are always in favor of  lazy people. They have a way of finding the best ways to solve problems. Actually the most intelligent ways. So today after so many months of lazing around i finally have something to put down. Actually this i wrote long ago back when pen and paper was my bread and butter. Here it goes,

Imagine peace, the warmth of the soft dying embers of the sun caressing your skin with such gentleness that a lovers palm felt too rough,

Imagine love, that only death could do you part… am just saying, that’s some really good staff,

Imagine hope,  a dying tree would suddenly start growing all over again…at-least that’s true in Kung Fu Panda,

Imagine faith, a five year old can bow and pray for his drunkard papa to stop making mama cry,

Imagine charity, that starving he may be but he still has to share his only meal of the day with his dog,

Imagine kindness, simply because your white and am black whats yours is still mine…we are one,

Imagine courage, that a nine year old would single handedly raise the next big thing all alone,

Imagine cowardice, that a man would deny his own flesh and blood simply because for him its a game,

Imagine humility, that the master could wash the servants feet,

Imagine hypocrisy, her mother told her to have an abortion yet she had her at the same age,

Imagine inhumanity, the doctor just had to rape her  before her abortion,

Imagine boldness, she(he) knows she is ENERGY..

She cannot be destroyed, cannot be changed, cannot be made… like her maker SHE IS WHO SHE IS.


Tears make her feel weak…

Happiness she believes is for the happy…

Anger she knows nothing of it… desire, well… she doesnt fathom the meaning of the word…

Beauty is her second name trust me she’d make Cleopatra look like a fake…

At heart she’s an angel only u’d never believe it at first…

On the outside from her icy eyes she looks like a demon of sorts…

Sadness is a cost she can’t incur everyone knows “pauper” is her middle name…

She wonders how in weakness we are strong???? How we should fight to our last breathe… wouldn’t we be dead by the end of it all????

How is it when you feel like giving up that’s when you shouldnt…???

shes indiffrent to all and yet diffrent from non… besides, she is human after all…

Her ambience is “being” and she confidently lives up to its meaning

Being alive… alone or not… rich or poor her ambience still remains

She’s never mellow or blue…

That’s for children she’d tell you with no emotion on her face

But strength is her third name… shes one with it and its one with her…

They’ve been husband and wife since her memory can date

It’s not the “strength of a woman type”… that she’d go defending trees righs to stay alive by stripping her clothes… trust me, she would not do that

Its her stregnth … her will to persist and live on… her strength is her partner in crime

She has no morals but instead parades her virtues all over town

That what society thinks of her shall never be greater than what she knows is rigt and wrong

She would not exchange her peace for any comfort … peace lets you sleep at night… comfort is a luxury… whats a comfortable water bed if you can’t find any sleep while laying in it?????

She knows that history has a way of repeating itself … everything is all the same as yester only diffrence is the date on the calender

Her heart is warm as mothers milk yet seems as cold as ice

She doesnt smile unless she has to… doesn’t laugh unless its funny and doesn’t cry at all… besides crying is a fools game … she’s no fool

She is typical to none and true only to self…

Call her a paradox and she will smile at you

“Finally u’ve got it… you will never understand me… you are not as foolish as you sought to be”

She is HER.