Mama Shujaa

More importantly, do you want to read my mind? I think Facebook does, and I somewhat reluctantly, am acquiescing. I logged onto FB this evening and viola! my home page asks me what's on my mind and honest being my middle name, I say: MJ is on my mind. S.t.i.l.l. I Know. Blame It On The Boogie. :-) Sambazaing you much love [sambaza=share] Mama Shujaa

We Had Him by Maya Angelou Beloveds, now we know that we know nothing, now that our bright and shining star can slip away from our fingertips like a puff of summer wind. Without notice, our dear love can escape our doting embrace. Sing our songs among the stars and walk our dances across the face of the moon. In the instant that Michael is gone, we know nothing. No clocks can tell time. No oceans can rush our tides with the abrupt absence of our treasure. Though we are many, each of us is achingly alone, piercingly alone. Only when we confess our confusion can we remember that he was a gift to us and we did have him. He came to us from the creator, trailing creativity in abundance. Despite the anguish, his life was sheathed in mother love, family love, and survived and did more than that. He thrived with passion and compassion, humor and style. We had him whether we know who he was or did not know, he was ours and we were his. We had him, beautiful, delighting our eyes. His hat, aslant...

siwezi kuamini [i can't believe it] wala sina sauti ya kuongea. Lakini nitajaribu. I am numbed by the news. Reading Anengiyefa's post helped me this morning. His question nudged me to express a little, to process now that he is (supposedly) gone, the impact MJ had on my life. Here's a comment I left in response to his question: Within seven minutes of my walking through the door from work, tired and starving. Having just washed my hands in the kitchen after popping some leftovers in the microwave - I had not eaten since breakfast. My husband walks out of the master bedroom, where he'd been watching the news, leans heavily on the interior balcony railing; and in a voice choked with emotion says "...Michael has died." I was not hungry any more. Just sad. Really really sad. Rock With You. That is the song that does it the most for me. The one that helps me remember things my soul wants to forget. Those things that make me who I am. Those occurences, the cock...

Baby, break the boundaries between what I see, what I feel, what I do. In the order and sequence of every fibre of my being, help me reach the unseen. These last few days contemplative, elemental in many ways. My brittle body weakened. Prompting a perspective focused inward on renewal, like never before. The imperatives manicure, pedicure, shop, dance, sleep-in manicure, pedicure, shop, dance, sleep-in. Delegate! Remote-control in hand, agitate the crew. Do. Me. Baby, and I'll emerge fully able to deal with existence. Play hookie, girls' night out, kick-it-old-school put the mind at ease search no more for unfinished business. Do. Me. Break the boundaries between what I see, what I feel, what I do. Mama Shujaa. Copyright © Hana Njau-Okolo 2009. All Rights Reserved.

What comes to mind when you watch this video? Wacha wewe!