I’ll start with Rachel Simon’s book
What’s on your reading list this July?
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There are three sides to every story: your side, their side and the truth.
Well, there are also so many styles of writing and with the rising number of blogs and support from platforms like WordPress, I found myself delving into the world of other bloggers in Kenya.
I simply key in the tag: Nairobi or Kenya and read the posts that follow.
So, it’s no surprise that I am addicted to these blogs and I am always eager for new posts from them in my reader log.
- Random Nairobi Musings: If you’re there, you’ve got to read the post on Kenyan Mutura if you are like me who has always wondered what draws people to mutura, then it’ll shed a lot of light, especially on the belief that ‘I’ll just buy one, then twenty shillings becomes forty, later the hundred shillings is gone and you are digging into your pocket for coins.’
- Kuna Matata : If you are ever in the world of Ekra’s stories, then take your time reading her posts and if you are a single young lady then have a cup of tea and read If I were pregnant kind of musings. Trust me, you’ll thank me later, that’s if you don’t (a) choke on your tea, (b) spill your tea, (c) die of laughter or (d) simply nod and say ‘amen sister!’
- Iamrabih : I love pictures and anyone who knows their way with a camera, especially when it comes to nature shots, has me sold! Looking forward to more shots from him, in the meantime (psst! Rabih, I am going to be all over your IG, you’ll see)
Those are the three sides to my story about my sudden fascination with these blogs, trust me when you visit them you’ll be charmed.
Have a lovely day people!
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There are things Tom never talked about. His house. His job. His love for chapati and the scent of the earth when those raindrops hit the ground. He woke up at five because fifteen minutes before that the Muezzin would summon all the faithfuls to the Mosque. He had his tea, black and strong with two slices of white Supa loaf bread.
When he got inside the bus at six, he never looked at the other passengers.
Maybe he did, but he never saw me.He sat by the window always keeping on the driver’s side.
Sometimes depending on the bus he’d be stuck with that morning show about domestic issues and fall outs on Classic. You’d see him scrunch up his face, twist his lips as though he wanted to spit out the disgust that streamed into his ears, but he’d never utter a word.He would keep his eyes outside the window until the bus came to a stop in town and then he would take his time and let everyone step out before finally taking in the bustle of that morning.
Sometimes when he did this,he had a smile like on Fridays. Sometimes he looked like he needed a hug, a reminder that someone still cared, like on Mondays.There are things Tom never told anyone, like who he really was and why I was the only one who saw him.
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I have had a relaxed week and what’s better than reading a book and being transformed by the characters? So, here are four books that kept me company and here’s why:
1. Summer at Shell Cottage had secrets that all came to the shore by the sea.
2. The Last Summer introduced me to Clarissa and Tom who love each other but are kept apart first by their social status and second by the First World War. It also reminded me of Daisy and Gatsby.
3. Stand by Me showed me the strength of a woman called Domino, beautiful, bold and above all one who falls apart with a smile on her face.
4. A long way down, phew! What a way to write about suicide! This book had me walking on egg shells and laughing at the witty remarks made by the characters. And it had me at Maureen’s statement:You know that things aren’t going well for you when you can’t even tell people the simplest facts about your life, just because they’ll presume you’re asking them to feel sorry for you.
Now I would have to get working on my current project titled “40 Days” which takes me back to a genre I enjoy reading and writing. Romance. You’ll know more about the story in a few weeks or shall we say the end of Summer? Maybe, I just got through the first chapter and I’m hopeful it’d not cause me grief!
So,what is it about these four books? Truth is I enjoyed reading them, and there was something about the style and flow that I picked up which would improve my writing like having strong heroines and including elements of surprise that could throw the lead off course and working on how to get them back on it.
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I met someone.
Not someone someone, but I saw a man with his daughter and wife and I thought of you. It was like that time I walked into the wall in our bedroom and got the bump I have on my forehead. So, I was out buying Mala at Fergie’s shop when I saw them. The man was pushing his daughter away from him, “aargh! Enda kwa huyo mamako kwani, nitokee ghasia.”And the little girl was wailing calling out to him, but he pushed her aside and walked into the night. It was last night, did you see it too? I did but the magnitude of it only hit me when I walked into a Café that has Wi-Fi.
Daddy, it’s been 20 years but I cannot shake you off. Your eyes, touch, smell, voice. You are everywhere. Even the music you loved, but you’d be sad to learn that we lost Papa Wemba this year. We still have Koffi, but you and I know there’s only been one Papa Wemba. Football teams have evolved, they don’t wear those tiny shorts anymore, and you remember that pretty boy who played for Manchester United, well, he retired but they made a film inspired by his kick. It was called Bend it like Beckham. You’d be an Arsenal fan I think, but I have a feeling you would be frustrated by Wenger, but they are trying.
It’s Pep that you’d love Daddy, he paces back and forth like you did when you watched your boys play. He has your height and body weight,it’s just the hair that’s missing, but you’d love Pep and I’d rekindle my love for football again if you were around. Did I ever tell you that I loved you Daddy? Did you know even when you were with us that night? I still see you kicking sometimes, you fought death Daddy,even in that moment you couldn’t let God take you without a fight, and it kept me awake some times. For years, I would stay up every December 18, hoping to get to you in time, but you know how wicked memories are when you don’t want them.
They become nightmares.
I wonder sometimes when I look at Mom, just how lucky you were to get that woman! She’s doing a Master’s in literature I tell you, your woman be a smart one! She can also beat down people and she misses you, but you’d be surprised at Che. She’s morphed into the kind of wine you’d save for an occasion. She had a boy, cute and intelligent named after you. She looks more like Mom, so I’m sorry if you thought she would forever look like you,but good news is, I walk like you, always in a hurry with one shoulder slanting. None of us became teachers, you should see Mom’s paycheck. You’d want to blow up TSC. I know I have thought about it but we both know I am a weakling, so I hide behind my words.
Dad, the first book I wrote and published was about you.
Since then I have written more books, the pay is nonexistent but I can’t shake off the writing or the reading bug, but you’d approve. I know you’d love reading my books because you always loved it when I read the newspaper with you. Did I ever tell you how much I loved you? We all must have even that night when you were taken away, we knew it. We turned out great.I haven’t met someone. You know life has just done some Abra cadabra Daddy, Nairobi ji lich. Onge chuor nga’to and there are lots of people who are out to date just for fun and not commit. I dread walking down the aisle someday and having the Priest asking “Who gives the bride away?” And turn to see no one like you there. I know for sure that no one will take your place that day and it’d be nice if you could whisper in my husband to be ears, “Fanya fujo uone!” So he knows not to break our vows.
But, that’s not why I am writing this, it’s for the little girl I saw yesterday. I want you to watch over her. Father’s are for life and good ones are for an eternity. Watch over her. See, her Daddy might forget last night but she won’t, she will know that the only man she loved rejected her without a valid reason. I do not want her to grow up with “daddy issues” for she is too beautiful for that. Watch over her, because one day she will sit down and write him a letter but it will be too soaked for him to read it.
Thank you for loving us .
Thank you for telling me to keep my head up and use my brains.
Thank you for calling me beautiful before I could even spell that word. And most of all thank you for choosing wisely, because Mom has kept the faith, and has seen us through. You got a fine woman, finer than this cup of coffee I am drinking, finer than my words.Now, go and watch over the girl.
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Consistency is the last refuge of the unimaginative.
-Oscar Wilde
Have you ever crossed a line? Not the white chalk on the sidewalk, or the crime scene tapes, but the lines you had set in your mind. These strong boundaries that haunt you when you close your eyes or when you see someone across the street and you cross the road.
Have you?
Well, you should try it sometime, like telling your neighbor’s girl that he has girls visiting every Wednesday at 3pm. Or kissing your friend when you had clearly locked them up in the friend zone cage. Better yet, you can tweet that your boss is the devil and hope he never reads it. Those are my examples when Grace called to ask me why I am such an angel. Her words not mine.
What is it about rules that bring out the law breakers in people? Why are they even there to being with? Order. Minimize chaos. Get enforcers. Rewards.
I could spin that list following the whole reinforcement and punishment angle of behavioural psychology but you didn’t come here for a pep talk. You came here for creativity. For that burst of genius of wordplay. To be transported to a world like no other, and I’m sorry to disappoint, none of that juice is flowing through me today.
So, I set aside my writing material and started spewing words on my keyboard, just like this, to see where it would take me.And I believe it’s taken me to this point, where I acknowledge that not every blog post will be planned and awesome. Sometimes, going off the road might lead me to moments like these where I don’t really know where I’m going with my words but all I know is I’m on a roll.
So, have a lovely day! Break a rule you set or two, or all of them and tell me all about it!
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Kenya is the home of literary giants.
Aspiring writers are often challenged not only to produce quality manuscripts but also to learn and build up on what their predecessors have put out. I recently started working on improving relationships with the writers I know here in Kenya to get us talking about writing in Kenya and publishing and how to change it for the better.
So, I got in touch with Elly and I’m pleased to introduce you to her. Hello world, meet Elly.At days’ end, on my way home, a boy and girl from a nearby primary school walk home too. The boy has a cast on his arm, so the girl walking beside him is carrying his book bag. There’s a story here, a delicious story, as the girl laughs at what the boy says, then they walk in comfortable silence. I imagine them growing up together, falling in love (or not) maybe falling in love with others. The two going through struggles together, maybe reaching a point in their lives where they don’t know each other anymore, and wish they could go back to the old days and…the story continues in my head.
Of late, it has been a blessing to know I’m not alone in this wonderful sense of imagination. I feel privileged to know people with the same sense of creativity that constantly hangs over me daily, like finding kindred spirits.Kenyan writers have increased these past few years. Their work is fresh and entertaining it is often sad that the only place to fully read their stories is online: on a blog, or an e-book.
In a not so distant past, I ran a bookstore in a small town outside Nairobi. A young man walked in with his poetry books one day. He had traveled from Uganda, and gone selling his poetry in every bookstore he found. His books were inexpensive, only Kshs. 80. I bought them, paying him for twenty books at one go. We sold those books for Kshs. 150 within the month. He had moved on to Tanzania by then, and he’d sold off his stock by then, but his brand of marketing stuck with me.
Print a large quantity of books, cheaply, sell fast.
So, I want to will a pulp fiction publishing house into existence in Kenya. A publishing house that will choose to publish fiction at affordable prices, so that the everyday Kenyan can afford it. Yes, I realize that the bottom line is important in business, however, no one wants to constantly buy a fiction book for Kshs. 800, that is the truth. We’re all on the streets buying foreign fiction books for Kshs. 100, or even Kshs. 50.If you can find a way to print fiction on cheap low-quality paper, and make your stories epic and exciting enough to capture the masses, I think we could be in business.
This is my quest. Writing has always been easy, creativity quite available, however, the business side of printing in Kenya is an amazing challenge, especially if you’re looking toward selling affordable fiction. Finding a printer who can help print pulp fiction…in great big quantities, will make Kenyan fiction a bonafide trade/business. One without elitist circles, or prestigious airs, simply fiction with one goal—to entertain. This type of mass printing will nurture Kenyan writers, give value to our constant creative thoughts, create new job avenues, increase readership and inspire more Kenyan fiction into the world.
About Elly:
Elly is a gem when it comes to romance. She loves gardening and knows a thing or two about delicious treats. Hint: Cakes! She is currently writing the Koya Series.
Visit her blog: Love in Nairobi or send her a tweet @ellykamari254
To read her novellas, visit her smashwords page: Elly Kamari
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We are like knots and circles,
We end, tie up, and come back .
Your words, my words,
Your thoughts, my feelings,
You ask and I answer.
You dial, I receive,
But…we never hang up.
We are like knots and circles,
Like circles and knots,
We love and lust,
We touch and trust,
Your words, my words,
Your feelings, my thoughts,
But…we never hang up.
We are like knots and circles,
Moments held together,
Fears bound together,
I think I love you,
You already love me,
But…we never hang up.
Like knots and circles,
One is continuous and the other is out to put a dent,
A stop, a break, a knot…
But we never hang up.
I hope you never hang up.
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There is something about a moment, a glance, a touch. Something that defies my use of words. I have spent years using my words carelessly, walking up and down the busy streets paved with dreams and ambitions that to have one touch stop me is like a spiral.
Down and down I tumble, falling and smiling and laughing. So, when I found myself yearning for a word from you I thought of my best friends, I thought of the journeys we have traveled over the years and decided that it was time to read…one word, two, or more anything to stop me from free falling.
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I had a story to tell,
And rhymes to spell.
Each word would quench,
Your thirst and mine.
So I tried,
I wrote and wrote,
I thought and thought,
But when evening came,
Not a single one survived,
Oh, how I thought…
That I had a story to tell.
nilichoandika 