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Showing posts from November, 2009

Beautiful Improvisation

This improvisation reminds me of my feelings, the goosebumps that traversed the lengths of both arms when my baby brother played piano for me when I visited home and our resuscitated gallery in Nairobi, Kenya, after being gone for so long.  The energy and honesty, the way he trusted himself and his fingers as they roamed the keys, allowing me a glimpse into his inner feelings.  On that day he played melodies created on the spot, that captured so beautifully what we were all feeling.

Have a good weekend.

Mama Shujaa.

The Peace Teacher

Here is my submission in the first monthly MyBrownBaby Beautiful Mind Writing Contest; this month's topic is "Peace." I've been overloaded at my 9-5 and have not had much time in the blogosphere; otherwise I'd have seen this sooner, I'd have posted the announcement earlier, you see the deadline is tomorrow. I just could not resist penning on the topic. So, here goes, a little rushed but I hope you appreciate the message.

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Edith was a tall girl with a bosom the boys admired.  Every day, the swish of her skirt lapped around her legs and stirred more than the boys' imaginations.  Every day she allowed her jet black hair to cascade freely around her neck, framing a brown face that revealed God's mastery; everything on it perfectly structured, and eyes that suggested.

Truthfully, that was the reason the Kenya Regional Peace Corps had dispatched her to Kasari Rehabilitation Center.  Of the entire graduating class, Edith had succeeded where most had fai…

Troubled

Image
Image One:The lovebirds are holding hands.   She is a head taller than him, and attractive, her skin is a rich dark brown.  She has a figure that is model material, not runway thin but unique, shapely, African.  She leads the way, her pointed chin tilted slightly upwards, as if proclaiming her innocence.  Blood is smeared on her left breast.



His eyes are downcast, praying for the ground to open up, swallow him whole.  Blood is trickling down his chest, beginning right below his heart, continuing down, little rivulets meander through to the creases in his groin; the source of his agony.

In the background, a dozen men, fully clothed, young and old, on foot, and on bicycles, advance towards the naked couple. On their faces is a sprinkled mix of scorn and pleasure, like a herd of hot, hungry, hyenas hankering for leftovers.

Image Two:   A hooligan is facing the lovers, his back is to the camera and the club in his right hand is raised.  It is freshly carved, and lacks attention to detail; …