Category Archives: Born Tao

Musings of a city dweller!

Lipstick stains on my mug

Sipping carefully
The tea is hot,
It may transfer,
and leave lipstick stains on my mug

Selfie upon selfie,
She knows the look is right
Moisturizer, liner, blot, lipstick, blot…
So leave lipstick stains on my mug.

Will they notice and compliment her,
Will they think it looks good, and remain silent,
Or think it looks bad, and remain silent,
about the lipstick stains on my mug.

For trying too hard for too little,
For worrying too much about everyone else
When she is gone; the lip will stay,
stamped by the lipstick stains on my mug

Amarepoeta

The Mutura experience

A Standard Operating Procedure writ on the consummate Mutura experience and or etiquette
1.Kama hio mutura hijakuwa marinated by vumbi, giza, exhaust za gari na nduthi, hio si mutura!
2.Kama kisu ya muturabae haijaisha hadi ikapiga kona ya ndani, hio si mutura!
3.Kama koti ya muturabae ni safi bila stains, huyo ni impostor. Ulizia Muturabae!
4.Kama mikono ya muturabae haina manicure ya uchafu ya black, hio mutura si tamu!
5.Kama hakushikii pesa kama konda akikutafutia change akigeuza mutura, pambana na hali yako!
6.Kama mbao ya kukata matura haijachange color juu ya mafuta na joto, aise, Hio si mutura!
7. Kama hujaserviwa mutura yako, kila mtu kwa kona yake ya hio mbao alafu shumbi na firifiri ichokozwe hapo katikati, my dear learned friend… umegongwo!
8.Kama hakuna bar/wines and spirits na carwash hapo karibu na muturabae, hio mutura ni suspect!
9.Kama hujawahi fantasize escort ya mutura ukishamada section yako, tafadhali achana na mutura!
10.Kama muturabae hajatokea magidha na hujafeel ni kama umedumpiwa… fill in the blanks _____________ (5mks)
Kwa hayo machache, nikute ile base ya #mutura! #ifyouknowyouknow #conversationszaofisi

Amarepoeta

Mama Kavumbi

Sijui jina yake,

Tumcall Mama Kavumbi.

Hapo kona ya kuenda mtaani,

Anauzanga tunjugu na mahindi choma.

I think nishaona ma pk hapo but siko sure.

Ye hukaa karibu na post ya stima.

Kabla hujamfikia kuna wamama wengine wawili,

But kuna vile Mama Kavumbi ako na kitu flani mysterious.
Sidhani ni mnormal.

Na si ati amechizi…

But ni kama alishagraduate hii maisha.

Mi huimagine ye si mhuman,

Amefikia kuwa being.

So kazi yake ni kuteremka huku…

Na kutuobserve.
Sioni ka hizo kavumbi ziuleta faida,

Ni kidogo kidogo tu.

Actually mi huona anaeza amua kula hio stock bila kushiba!

Akishawashanga kajiko pale na akasimamisha carton,

Apange stock, Akalie steni na atulie.
FYI napendaga mahindi choma,

Zake ziukaa zimeiva poa,

Ako na achari na ndimu haijachapa.

Shida ni moja… nimeshindwa kumwongelesha,

In fact naona ni madharau ata kujaribu.

Mtu kawaida kama mimi,

Nilete pang’ang’a za kavumbi… Siwesmek!

Hapa ni kazi na kukula kwa macho.

By the way hakuangi na wateja wengi,

So ni rare kupata mtu anaongea na yeye.
Kitu imenimess kichwa hapa,

Juzi Mtu wangu apite na gari.

Tumekaa ndani tukienda mrao,

Kuna mjengo hapo next so baro imejaa mawe,

Hii mtu iteremshe dirisha,

Iite Mama kavumbi amtolee mawe mbele,

Mama kavumbi aamke na atoe mawe,

Arudi atulie.

Mimi hapo nimetense,

Kwa nini anasumbua Mama Kavumbi?

Furthermore, haoni consciousness yake?

Hawako ligi koja na yeye!

Wacha miaka na hio taka taka yote,

Yaani hatambui Mama Kavumbi alishatranscend.

Inafaa tumsurround miguu tumskizie.

Tujue vile sisi pia tunaezagraduate,

Vile tunwezatulia tu.

Bila madistractions 1 million,

Hio level ya kuwa being ako that much closer to God.
Sijamuona for 2 weeks,

Sijui ako wapi na anaishi wapi,

Deep down na feel alimaliza kazi yake,

Amerudi pali alitoka ama ako mtaa ingine,

Bado akimaintain hio state ya kutulia.

In short natamani kutulia hivo,

I hope atarudi,

Nipate courage ya kumwaknowledge.

Hio tu!

Amarepoeta

Little Kitten

I am not sure of whether it is a boy kitten or a girl kitten.

I am sure it is a kitten.

On Moi Avenue,

In a corner between two glossy shops,

It is shivering.

It is a hot sunny humid day.

A day to pull on your short shorts,

Strap on your sandals,

A day to let the heat get in your head,

The type of day to make love on the grass.

The kitten is shaking now, it is damp.

Almost distressed by the dodgy droplets of water,

Originating from somewhere in those buildings,

Ending in little puddles in the cracks and spaces in the pavement

It tries to move… obviously unable to, yet persistent,

It is scared by the bright neon colored heels that whiz past,

The high pitched squeals of girlfriends jumping around in glee,

The matatu screeching to a halt at the traffic light,

As I watch absentmindedly, half dancing half walking to the music blaring in my headphones.

A man, using his hands for feet, hobbles to find a space in the shade.

Kittens hate water.

It collapsed in the puddle,

Its little frame heaving, eyes wide darting here and there and everywhere,

Its mouth opens wide in disbelief,

It was time for the little kitten to go.

The man laid out his mat blocking my view of the kitten,

His hollow chest heaving, he is tired.

He fishes out his little phone, squinting at the screen,

With a smile too big for his face he says, ‘Hello!’

He laughs long and loud and deep, it is good news.

The man sets out his red plastic cup,

He fixes his mat and adjusts his black shirt,

His face is distant and black,

His breathing, slow and deliberate,

Looking up into the faces of those who pass, asking of alms,

He is as much a part of the street as the uneven pavement that lines it,

He finds my eyes and lifts his cup to me,

I rummage in my bag for spare change,

Change from the potato chips that I didn’t really need,

I see my girlfriend waving at me and forget the man seated next to a dead kitten.

Amare Poeta

A day in the life…

Every morning, OK most mornings, I jump out of bed and run to the shower. Why? Because on some mornings, OK most mornings, I wake up good while after my alarm clock goes off. I shower performing whatever song seems to meet my mood at the time. I am currently in a Jill Scott phase. It’s one of those bright sunny mornings; I’ll be performing the song ‘Golden’. Yes, I don’t sing in the shower… I perform. (Pause for dramatic effect!)

Today is not one of the days I fall into a pile of clothes and head out. Today I take my time; I choose what I will wear. Why? I have a date with my man. Queue Jill Scott’s He loves me. My head held high, smiling, twirling. My sisters give me the final touches and Mum approves.

Stepping out of the house, I am thrown back into reality. My face is serious; the sunglasses not just for the sun but to hide my face. I walk quickly. Head down, pretending to be on the phone. That way, the guys always hanging out at the car wash won’t take it personal when I whizz past them ignoring the cat calls. Finally at the stage I find an empty matatu, so I wait for a few people to go in before I do. All the while I am animatedly talking to my pretend workmate explaining some “technical details to a new system at the office”. Safety First! I climb in next to a matronly middle aged woman. She is not small because she fills her seat and spills over a bit into mine. Squeezing me…  At ease, I end “the call”. Plug in my earphones to Sade’s Sweetest Taboo. I am an old soul and the playlist suited to my date goes on.

Somewhere near Makadara, She steps out and in comes a man. I thought his eyes went straight for my dress barely a few inches above my knees. I must be paranoid. He makes himself comfortable. Once he is I move my phone into the inner pocket of my bag, zip up the bag, fish out a novel and finally place the bag between us so no part of our bodies touch. I have a thing about personal space and strangers.

Finally, I meet my man and proceed to have a beautiful afternoon. The type of example that you will use to teach your daughter, how to know when a man really does love you! He likes my dress. I feel at ease, without a care. Safe! As a woman, I don’t have to tell you what it means when you feel safe in the presence of that special man.

He walked me, my hand in his, to the stage. It is dark already though not too late. I hate sitting at the back of the back of the bus. It’s usually better to sit next to the driver and a healthy number of women in there too. I hug him goodbye. I will text him as soon as I am home. Home safe. Once in the bus I wave goodbye… Then hope I don’t end up with ‘the drunk’, or ‘the pretend drunk’. Both are notorious for not knowing or ignoring the seat divider. Both lean on you and forget where their hands should be. The last thing you want is a long drive home with someone who keeps ‘accidentally’ touching or leaning towards you. I get the chatty woman and her friend. A welcome relief.

To pass the time I log on to Facebook. And it’s the same story all over. A woman, like me. At a stage, like mine. Wearing an outfit, not as revealing like mine. It’s one of those distasteful internet pranks. By the morning, There will be a few raves about how making such prank videos are wrong and plain disgusting and that will be that. Life goes on. I get home using a different route than the one I used yesterday. Safety first. I walk quickly head down towards the well lit area. With a sigh of relief,  I am home. Safe. I text… ‘Home safe, handsome… You?’

My sister is not in her usual high spirits. Mum is just shaking her head. It is true. A woman was stripped by a crowd of men. A woman, like me. At a stage, like mine. Wearing an outfit, not as revealing like mine.

The next morning, I want to wear a dress. But I think no. What if they pick me today? What if, today, no matter what I wear, a random man will accost me and start to tear off my clothes? Because I didn’t have enough fare? Because I didn’t respond to his cat calls? Because I demand for my change? Because he is bored? What if they steal all my belongings? Touch my breasts? Part my legs and make a mockery of my sex? Where will I hide? My face all over the internet! My shame bared open for the world to see? Men and women behind their pads, phones and laptop screens debating whether or not I deserved it? Debating what I did wrong to cause them to do this to me? To make joke memes from hash tags for justice? I feel sick! Angry! Afraid! No not me, not in my presence! I pull on my jeans, running shoes, a comfortable top, a simple handbag and inside the handbag… a sharp serrated knife. No not me, not in my presence, Not without a fight!

AmarePoeta