nilichoandika

Lawama

September 27th, 2018

Juhudi ran into the mainland when a huge wave rose only to part a few feet away from him. He was here.

He saw Aziza’s door ajar. Swazuri was lying on the floor.

“Aziza! Aziza!”

He walked to the back of the hut but the old woman was not there. He walked back into the hut, picked Swazuri and cradled her in his arms as he waited for destiny to do as it pleased. How could he have not known that the old woman had been right? The huge wave hitting shore meant that he would take the girl and he would never behold his daughter’s eyes or hear her laughter. How many more daughters would the goddess give unto him only to take away when they turned seven?

He was a Prince. The only living Prince of Sirens and to love and lose love was unbearable. He could have wished for another life, a simple life as a mere mortal, but even then…the goddess knew what moved the heavens and the earth.

A shadow fell on him. The moon hidden by the clouds could only fathom his sorrow.

“I am here for my daughter.”

“She is sleeping.”

“Do you question the goddess? You traded your life for the mainland, brother, do not make demands that you cannot fulfill. Now, hand over the child, I have to get back before the sun rises.”

“Brother, please, let me hold her a little while. All these years, I have never asked you for anything whenever the goddess sent you, she is my soul, brother…she is my soul, who else would know how to make me smile on this realm?”

“You chose your fate Juhudi. I did not ask you to. However, I will let you hold her a while and then I will take her back to her people.”

“How are mother and Father?”

“They reign.”

Juhudi looked at the girl sleeping in his arms. Aziza must have charmed her to sleep for she neither tossed nor turned, the steady rise and fall of her chest was all he could prove that she lived. Her beautiful green eyes now shut, her nose resembled her mother’s. The only daughter of the Lake, Nyanam, a Queen by her own rights. His only regret was that he never told her how much he loved her mother. He’d been on land for centuries, but seeing Nyanam for the first time in Likoni warmed his spirit.

At first he approached her saying that he was a native, a Digo, but she could see through his charm and told him to play her his flute that night. Nyanam unlike their daughter Swazuri, had blue eyes.

When he looked into her eyes, she often said that his changed from blue to green, and that his soul was a troubled one.

He looked up when Lawama, his younger brother, cleared his throat.

Juhudi gently handed over his daughter, the only Princess his heart and soul cherished and watched as Lawama walked towards the ocean where the goddess awaited.

Swazuri, like the six sisters who went before her, would be trained to fight the goddess Ghadhabu, and protect the main land from the wrath of the seas.
Swazuri

September 26th, 2018

“What are you wearing Aziza?”

“Clothes, and you, little one, what brings you to my hut at this hour? Where is that man you walk around with?”

“Which one?”

“Oh, so you walk with many men? I see…there is no use standing out in the cold, come in and tell old Aziza a story.”

Swazuri stepped into the hut. The walls were lined with paintings of the sea, one showed fishermen on a boat casting out a net, the other showed a group of women with their arms raised as the waves rose. She stretched out her hand, hoping to touch the painting of the woman at the center of it all, “don’t touch things that do not belong to you, little one. What brings you here?”

“You are not mad.”

“Everyone is mad, it only depends on who is looking.”

“You do not smell like rotten fish.”

“Even rotten fish is food to some creatures.”

“You talk funny.”

“Why aren’t you laughing?”

“It is not the kind of talk to make me laugh, but you are hiding something Aziza. Can I ask you something?”

“You are in my hut, so why not?”

“Do you know what happened to my mother?”

“Which one?”

Swazuri took a step back, bumping into a golden chest. She wiped her palms on her dress and then looked outside, the moon was still shining. Aziza was polishing a crown and singing, but that did not bother her. What did the woman mean by ‘which one?’ Did it mean that she had another mother and if so, how did that happen and why?

She wiped her palms on her dress. Her throat was drying up and the old woman was still singing, her voice rising as she polished the crown in her hands.

Swazuri turned to look at the painting of the woman on Aziza’s wall. She had green eyes and the waves around her were moving. How could waves on a wall move? Aziza was still singing and now she was sweating. She had to leave the hut and return home before Juhudi realized that she was missing. She took one step towards the door, her leg was burning up, she could not move her lips. Aziza was still singing with her back turned towards the door, polishing and polishing a crown as she, Swazuri, died of a fire that she could not see.

She tried to reach out and grab the door, her body was burning up and the pictures on the wall were moving. The fishermen were casting out nets, their boat was rocking and the woman with green eyes was staring at her.

The village people were right, Aziza was a witch, but how could she leave her hut alive? What would she tell Juhudi? She reached out to grab the door but something fell on her and her body met the floor.

Aziza turned in time to see Swazuri hit the floor. She walked up to the little girl, smiled and walked out into the moonlight. It was time.
Aziza and Swazuri

September 25th, 2018

Aziza took out her crown two nights after Juhudi’s visit. The man Juhudi spoke of would be visiting the main land in two moons. Like Juhudi, she could smell his spirit every moonlight, the waves were stronger and the ocean, once peaceful was in distress. Juhudi’s flute and songs could not calm them.

She polished the crown as the black veil she had worn all this time turned into ashes right outside her hut. If they were to protect the girl, she had to summon her strength, she had to wear the crown of her people.

It was time to go back to the ocean, to part the waters with every step as she made her way to the bottom where her people, now, believed she’d gone mad.

Oh, how beautiful and free the mad were!

Who knew that she would be here, on this land, on the coast, protecting such a little omen from herself? Swazuri, why did her mother give her such an odd name? She was vengeance wrapped in innocence. The girl born among men, a vessel for the goddess of vengeance, set to walk upon the land centuries after she had been destroyed by the goddess of the ocean.

She looked at the heena pattern in her hand and rose to twirl around the room. A Queen. She was Queen and her time had come.

Mshika mbili, moja humponyoka.

Her mother’s words floated to her mind. She had a mission and that was to protect the girl from the man who was coming, but even then, she could not stand in the way of destiny. Swazuri was the goddess Ghadhabu, literally meaning ‘Wrath,’ and those who came before her only spoke of her in hushed tones. They said that though of noble birth, the goddess changed her ways when the man she loved left her for her sister, the goddess of the ocean. Aziza refused to believe it.

Of course, if she loved a man as much as Ghadhabu loved her man, then she would break under the burden of such betrayal, but it was not sufficient for such a turnaround.

However, Aziza held one truth, she believed in exacting revenge.

Oh, how she twirled, loved and cherished justice- but the mortals, the mere men who graced the land at the Coast were too weak to know the power that came with such rage! Oh, how she wished they’d stop saying “yote kwa Mola,” and take matters into their hands, and besides, Juhudi would stop being so patient with the girl and start training her on how to fight.

She was about to shut her door when a shadow filled her presence and when she turned, there she was, Swazuri.
Aziza and Juhudi

September 24th, 2018

Aziza knew he was outside her hut as soon as the sun graced the skies. She removed her white robe, folded it and threw it into the golden chest beside her bed. She rubbed some soot from the koroboi on her face and then put on her black gown and carried her sack of trinkets out.

“Shikamoo Aziza, hujambo!”

“Marahaba!”

“I saw you watching us yesterday and I am sorry I could not come to you then.”

“Juhudi, is that you? Well, go and dance away, the moon is shining on the people on the other side of the Indian Ocean.”

“Aziza…you are the only one I talk to because the world is changing, the waves hit the shore harder every night, and the girl, she is going to summon him here again. I do not know what will become of us if he comes for the girl.”
Juhudi and Aziza

September 23rd, 2018

She waited for him that evening, watching as he sang unto a goddess so envious that she’d struck her own daughter. He sang until the sound of the flute merged with the waves that hit the shore.

The little girl was sleeping beside him. Her wild hair would be filled with sand tomorrow, but it was her eyes that she yearned to look into.

The women at the market spoke of green eyes. The men thought it was like the ocean. No one cared much for a mad woman and they talked freely, their fears coming out of their lips in hushed whispers. She had seen the girl.

She had known her mother would never behold another sun if she left the Coast, but who could have stopped the hands of the goddess? She alone was life. She took as she pleased. She struck when she saw fit, but here was a girl, the one, she saw in her dreams.

Swazuri.

Swazuri.

Princess of the lost souls.

Daughter of the Indian Ocean.

A girl among men, a goddess among spirits and a vengeful spirit in the land of the dead. She was here and even as she lay asleep curled at the feet of Juhudi, Aziza knew that no one would stop her once she set on her vengeful path.

Aziza stood when Juhudi stopped singing and he reached out for the little girl. How could he not see the force in the girl?

He who sang to a goddess should have known that he would be punished for loving another.

She lifted her veil and stared at him. Juhudi bowed, his hold on the little girl unwavering, but even as he walked back into the mainland, Aziza knew that he was a man doomed to love the one who belonged to another.
Swazuri and Juhudi

September 22nd, 2018

The man, she later came to know, was called Juhudi. He came from the land of Kings. His family traded not only in gold, cowrie shells, camels and cloth, but also in songs. His kind were the only known sirens who reigned in the Coast.

Every evening they would sit beside the shore, pull out their flutes and sing unto the goddess of the Indian Ocean.

Swazuri was the only one who dwelled in Juhudi’s heart and nothing anyone said against her would ever grace his ears. He struck the ones who spoke ill of her, the ones who said her eyes were the color of the Indian ocean, the ones who trembled when she walked in their path.

Whereas Swazuri was thunder, Juhudi was the lightning that struck without a sound.

“What happened to my mother?” she asked him.

“Your mother was never supposed to go beyond this land, but she believed that she could escape the gods. I never made it in time, if only I would have rushed home that evening, she would be alive today.”

“But, that is what you always say, I asked you, what happened to her?”

“And I, my dear Princess, keep telling you that she dared the gods and they punished her. A life for a life, is what Aziza said when I returned home that day to find her gone.”

“Aziza? The old woman who smells like rotten fish?”

“She is a wise woman. If her scent bothers you that much, then go and dip yourself in a pot of rotten fish and then sit beside her.”

“Why do you like the old woman so much?”

Juhudi turned to the little girl seated beside him and pulled out his flute. The moon was slowly making her way above the ocean, shining upon the waters as she made her way to the sky. He started playing, afraid that if he opened his eyes, he would see the woman- once Queen, now locked inside the grief in her soul.

His greatest fear was that one day Swazuri would look into the woman’s eyes and see her own eyes looking back at her. One a Princess, the other a former Queen.
Swazuri

September 21st, 2018

A tale is told among those of the old days. It is told with such grief that whoever comes upon the words from the lips of the narrator would never be the same.

This is the story of the princess who never was.

Her people called her Swazuri. Her name derived from ‘Swala’ and ‘Zuri’ to mean something good, but her mother intended it to mean something noble. She never lived to see her daughter take her first steps.

Swazuri was born among men.

She was the kind to stare down those whose eyes had seen beyond the lake. This vast body of water on the western side of a country so profound that no one dared ask how it came to be.

It is said that a stranger visited their home on the night she was born. He was from the Coast, his accent impeccable, his manners too polite, but with him came the downpour. It is believed that the people by the lakeside had never seen such heavy downpour.

So, when the stranger asked for the child, they could only hand her over. He looked at the child and just like he came, he disappeared into the night with Swazuri in his arms.

Swazuri was indeed born among men, but what astounds those who lived to tell the tale, is what happened years later, when she returned to her mother’s ancestral home.
Cultural Celebrations in Kisumu

September 20th, 2018

I love festivals!

This year, the National Cultural Celebrations are taking place in my county, Kisumu. So, there was no way I was going to miss out on this and it was quite an experience that I had to capture so many moments until my battery died.

The events dates are: 19th-23rd September 2018 at the Jomo Kenyatta Sports Ground, Kisumu.

Here are the highlights of my short visit:

a dance

Prof. Wangari Maathai is one of my role models on resilience, and this artwork just blew me away.

Have you ever wanted to dip your hands into a pot? I’m Luo and these are my native dishes, eish…Obambo.

I met Richard. He designed and created this massive fish and I had to take a photo of him beside it.

Maasai dance troupe waiting to perform.

🙂

In the end, I bought two pairs of earrings and a bangle that drew my attention. I love glass earrings:-)
10 Things I Wish Were always in my bag

September 18th, 2018

Are there things you wished you always had in your bag?

They may be things you have but just don’t always carry them around or they could be things that you do not have but wish you certainly did. I have shared what’s in my bag before and thought why not share the 10 things I wish were always in my bag:
1. An extra vest. I am not a sleeveless kinda girl, but of late the heat in Kisumu has me seriously considering a wardrobe change mid-work.

2. My antiperspirant. Look I believe in applying this stuff once, but sometimes when I see the patch of sweat on my t-shirt, I wonder what I’d be able to do with this in my bag.

3. A pair of flip flops, because hey, I am all about being laid back.

4. A platinum card. Now, who wouldn’t like access to cash that they could spend once or twice on themselves without having to make a mental note of how much goes to what and what?

5. Enough space to carry everything in my bag without being weighed down by it. I need a bottomless bag, like the one that Mary Poppin’s had.

6. A first aid kit. I just saw that the one I want is the size of my lunch box and goes for Ksh. 1295. I’ve got my eyes on that one!

7. Thermos Mug/ Cool portable flask. Look, I am all about my coffee, I’ll have to invest in this. I got one from my Mom for my birthday last year, it’s a cool 500ml black flask, but you know the gods of sheer sleek design be tempting us mundanes on Supermarket shelves. The one I am visualizing as I type this costs Kshs. 1345, so I’ll keep that in mind too!

8. The mute card. Have you ever wanted to mute people for saying something outrageous in public? I need a ‘disappear card’ too for all those trolls on social media.

9. Sunglasses (look, I don’t own a pair, and I am thinking of getting one)

I don’t know what type these are, but they sure look like something I could wear and maybe not cry-when I either (a) lose them or (b) break them

10. Food Container that has fresh fruits. Look, this is just my way of admitting that I am weird, because I am the Queen when it comes to freelancing. No, I do not mean work when I say freelancing, but I can eat while running, sprinting, walking, in a matatu, just snacking! So, this container wish is all about trying to act composed.

What are some of the things you wish were in your bag?
How Sim Sim saved my life

September 17th, 2018

Let me tell you about the time when eating sim sim saved my life.

This was around 2013 and I was working for an organization that had just embarked on community entry in Siaya. It was my duty to work with the local administration and this included doing a census of every village I was assigned.

Have you ever visited fifty four homesteads in six hours?

I visited more than this and given the varying terrain, it meant walking for hours, meeting and greeting everyone I came across and mapping my way through each homestead whilst keeping an eye on landmarks.

On this particular day, I had carried one liter of drinking water and two apples. We got to the location, some place called Boro and had to make our way around a village there and then proceed to another village near the Lake, miles away at Harambee. It sounded like something simple, but by midday, I had already emptied my bottle of water and we had just arrived at Harambee.

I had to visit at least a hundred households by four and I had already consumed my second apple.

It gets to three in the afternoon and we have covered more than half the homesteads. Yes, all thanks to this Village Elder who insisted that I call her “Min Rosa,” and who walked like she was floating on water, especially when we’d be climbing rocks, or walking through cassava and maize plantations. We get to this plain field and I put my bag down and ask her if there is a shop around.

At this point, she looks at me, places her hands on her hips and says “the only shop we have is at Harambee, it’s two hours from here.” Now by this time, my knees are stuck to one another, my breath is coming up short and I know for sure that I am going to die of hunger, thirst or the heat. I am in Siaya somewhere near the lake and hippos love strolling the main land in the evening, and I don’t want to meet a hippo or get eaten by one. I also know that in my condition I cannot outrun the creature!

Min Rosa just stands there, then she says “give me a minute, let me send word to my home,” and she takes off.

I lie down and think of all the jobs that I could be doing. I think of the way I knew I would be a Counselor and now I was dying of thirst in a remote village in Siaya.

Hunger is a beautiful tormentor.

See, as I am lying on that ground, I see this wild plant(Lantana Camara), the Luos call it “Nyabende,” they have these tiny seeds that look like blackberries and are quite tasty. (Don’t ask). The plant itself is a treasure because you could use the leaves as a broom, as an air freshener for your pit latrine, or as tissue paper (and it’s pretty rough on the ass). So, I look at the Nyabende all around me and I think, well, this is like the situation with the Israelites, even though I could use some chicken and chapati, nyabende is just as well.

Nyabende aka Lantana Camara/Photography Art Plus

I try to get up, but cannot move my upper torso. It was like a failed sit-up. So, I keep trying but by this time, I know two things for sure: my vision is blurry and I cannot feel my limbs.

I stay there for a while hoping it’ll pass, but the more I try to blink my eyes, all I see are dark shadows. At this point, I remember, praying, asking God not to let me die out in the sun miles away from my Mom.

When I come to, Min Rosa is on phone beside me, my t-shirt is wet, so is my face and hair. There is a small girl with a blue basin seated beside us and she is looking at me like I fell from the sky.

“Did you get your friend?” I finally ask Min Rosa.

“Yes and now, you decide to die while I have turned my back? Why couldn’t you shout my name? You know the heat is too much but you did not say a thing, we could have asked for a glass of water at the last house we visited, why would you want your people to send me to jail? I have two children and a lazy husband, who will go to the farm when they send me to Kodiaga…”

I remember turning to the girl and asking what she had in the basin. She removed the lesso and right there were these round balls of sim sim. She said she was taking them to the market to sell and I reached into my bag, gave her a hundred shilling note and asked her to empty the sim sims in my bag.

Before she started emptying them, I had already eaten three balls.

I ate some more then it dawned on me that I had no water, so I had to ask Min Rosa to make a stop at the next home so we could ask for drinking water but she shook her head and said “Jogo jojuogi, kidwaro lokri jajuog piti piti to temie” (they practice witchcraft, if you want to be a witch, running naked into the night, then try).

And that is how sim sim saved my life!

By the way, this is what I was talking about:

Wait, did you know that Sesame is gluten-free? Like these seeds are so awesome that the greatest producer of Sesame is Myanmar? Oh, wait and yeah China, India and Mexico too.