Night Terrors

My family, is huge,
There are so many husbands and even more wives.
My dad had to build us a whole neighborhood,
Because of his family’s size.
We kids, are too many to count, though we’ve tried.
But before we finish counting, more kids have been born,
more kids have died.

There are times, when a hand full of us would go out,
just to shop, or to school, and bullets ended their lives,
but for the most part, our terrors, are more likely a job from inside.
You see, our family is too big to get on. And our names too easily divide.
Those named on dads side, start with W, and those named after mums, have their own letters.
From my mum, the boys are O and the girls are A, So they call my mum Mama O
Then there’s Mama L, Mama S, Mama K, and Mama M.
A long time ago, before our Mamas were born, all the families fought in a war.
They fought together, but when it was over, Dads family got the most.
And so, out of inequalities, a feud was started,
between those who did, and didn’t share in the spoils.

Our night terrors are nasty. Once, Mama, my mama had twins, named from dads side,
And they went over to our cousins to spend the night. They were only five.
In the night, our cousins did unspeakable things to little Winnie, on the floor by her bed side.
Then burnt both Winnie and William, in their room. They said the room had no use after they had spent the night.
Nine years ago, was the worst, all our houses became smoke
and blood, until, we were all told not to speak of it.
But in the night, these memories haunt, lips sealed, we see each other different.

The other day, we found toy tires, burning in the hall way.
Yes, we managed to walk around them. But the smoke, did well to remind
that burning and bleeding, are things that run in our family.
We are much more in danger, from within.
Than outside.

Define And Conquer

To be Kenyan, is to smell the scent of the dust that’s jumping up,

to meet the rain, that’s coming.

To be Kenyan, is to celebrate the clouds,

knowing behind them, the sun is rising,

and, with their marriage comes the promise of milk, of honey.

Because, to be Kenyan, is not to survive.

To be Kenyan, is to surprise.


I’ll be honest, Art Cafe is not exactly, my cup of tea,

And I could never figure out, how so many cars wore red and white stickers…

Why market for free?

I guess I kind of scoffed at the security checks…

until militants attacked a playground.


Yes, we were shot.

Yes. We are wounded.

NO. We are not falling.

We can’t let on radical group, force a xenophobic  dawning.

We built the bullet glass barricades which held their for for several days!

If we start hating all outsiders, then they win, that regressive change.


Do not think that blind hate is not blind.

We must seek to define, what they try to divide.


To be Kenyan, is to see beauty in curves, which frame the colours around,

msemo za leso.

To be Kenyan, is to mourn out loud, to cry in ululations

as exclamation that the ones we lay to rest, have found the afterlife.

Because, to be Kenyan is not to survive,

To be Kenyan, is not to hide!

To be Kenyan is to be Pride.


Time makes its’ changes to faces, through phases, past places

within which all wounds try to be healed.

we used to know death is coming, when an owl is heard.

Now we read abuses in three languages, from Muhamed Kamau’s twitter bird.


We scream, hushed insults, at a government, that should have known,

an attack was pending!

But what we’re forgetting, is that it always was.

These cowards’ scare tactic is to keep on threatening.

What we can’t let them threaten, is our Unity,

Our Worth!


Trust me, I get it.

It’s difficult to define identity when your mixed


But that’s just it, our diversity is who We are!

And I know, we’re not quite arm in arm.

Nobody wants to be surprised by harm.

Racial and ethnic profiling is in our blood.

But we can’t let them take our hospitality!



In some places, our people were met with One Book, One God and spices.

In some place, our people were met with One Book, One God and riffles

All with slavery up their sleeves, perceived a human of a different breed,

with currencies of cowers beads, which used to glitter, like litter

Our beaches!

We, are rich, beyond riches!

To be Kenyan is to smile with every part of your being,

Forgetting the fact that your back is aching.

When your Kenyan, every tree has meaning.

Terere, Mchicha, fall like manna dropped by Gods winged messengers.

The coconut, the mango trees model our generosity.

The kasava, the guava, our children’s dreams,

tell tales of plenty, and harmony.

Because to be Kenyan, is not to survive!

To be Kenyan, is not just to live and abide!

To be Kenyan,

is to give something small, not to bribe.

To be Kenyan, is not to swallow lies!

To be Kenyan is to see the honey, through the hive!

To love, and give thanks for life!

To see fish, and DIVE!


To be Kenyan, is to Thrive!





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