Mama Shujaa

A first look at the memoir of Kenya's pioneer writer Rebeka Njau , author of The Sacred Seed , Books Horizon (2003), Ripples In The Pool , Heinemann (1978) and The Scar (1965) . Here is the first chapter of her soon to be completed memoir. In Quest of Justice, a Memoir by Rebeka Njau Chapter One WHEN I decided to write the story of my life, I struggled to find the best way to express my deep and complex emotions. Finally, in memory of the poetry of my earlier years as a writer, I chose to open this memoir with the following lines: My ears are plugged up By poisonous spittle of a grimy tongue; Times without number, Little birds have been twittering, joyfully at my backyard, But I cannot hear them. Falsity, scattered like seeds Everywhere I tread, Has driven me to extreme bitterness and pain, Making me feel powerless to forgive and forget. Like a piece of rock that stands on its own, I stand alone beside a sweet-scented bush To ease my heav...

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.

This yellow batz glaze is highlighted with terra sigallata underneath to show off the great texture. The texture was hand stamped with an old batik stamp. My friend Todd over at Peace through Pottery was kind enough to let me illustrate the story using this lovely piece. It reminded me of the vibrant pottery produced over the years at our Gallery, Paa Ya Paa in Nairobi, Kenya. Please visit his blog and esty shop . The Day The Kiln Did Not Fire - a Short Story by Hana Njau-Okolo Saturdays usually started early, when Baba’s booming gramophone record player interrupted dreams and their endings. Guantanamera Guajira Guantanamera Guantanamera Guajira Guantanameraaa… The 1970s song was Baba’s favorite; about a man’s longing for his chiquita bonita from Guantanamo Bay. I remember the chorus well since its first release; we had the 78 rpm vinyl. Back then, I liked the way the singer held the “aaa” in “Guantanameraaa…” I still do, because endless possibilities lie within that note; it captu...

I met Todd from Santa Fe today. We were introduced by just another young poet walking the broken road to freedom . I invite you to follow the links to each of their spaces. The Peace Tile above is one of Todd's creations and his creative medium of finding peace through pottery resonates deeply with me; a soothing balm for my wounded soul as I slowly summon the courage to revisit memories of our kiln, destroyed in a ferocious fire that consumed the gallery where I grew up... ...now I can look at the lone surviving figure above. A small but monumental sculpture bearing the personification of life force beyond the anguish, a gateway to the history of Africa where slash and burn agriculture cultivates seeds of creativity which, when practiced purposefully breaks the boundaries as we reach the unseen, a more compelling future. Mama Shujaa. Copyright © Hana Njau-Okolo 2009. All Rights Reserved.