Brown Steps

the

Quarterly Colour Series

of

Poetry©

Fifth Edition N o v e m b e r 2007 Compiled and published by Al Kags Design & Layout by Qboidesign Poetry by • Olina Jaya, Malaysia • Vee, Kenya • Vera Mshana, Tanzania • Sibusiso, Zimbabwe • Phoray, Kenya • Neema, Brooklyn USA • Daniel Duwa, Kenya • Yliana, Kenya • Al Kags, Kenya

Forward Brown Steps is the fifth edition of the Quarterly Colour Series that is published every three months by Al Kags. The first four editions were Gray Spots, Blue Smudges, Red Streaks and Green Piece. All of these eBooks can be downloaded from The Al Kags Trust Web site, www.alkags.org. Brown Steps is about social issues – the issues that drive our lives - from politics (in general), issues like corruption and all, the idiosyncrasies of life, the gap between rich and poor and all those issues around which our lives revolve. As many countries, including Kenya, USA, Sierra Leone, Nigeria, Morocco, and others go through their electioneering process in 2007 and 2008, we are awakened to the issues that drive our lives – economics, justice, education, health, that thin payslip etc. This ebook contains poems that speak to that awakening but in a fresh way. For the most part, we avoided the poetry that was the usual anger and instead looked at fresher expressions of these emotions that we feel so strongly around this time. This ebook is a synopsis of views from around the world, of real issues that affect our lives. The Quarterly Colour Series is a poetry ebook series that is published by Al Kags. The whole objective of the series is to provide poets with a platform on which they can share their work freely and without prejudice and to provide the rest of the world with the spiritual nourishment that only poetry can give. The poetry is shared virally over email from one person to another, free of charge and free of prejudice. The rules are pretty simple. You may read, recite, share, forward, republish – indeed do what you want with the poetry. All you must do is to share it free of charge and acknowledge the poet and the book where you found it. To share your poetry, please send it to [email protected] and to contact Al Kags, the publisher, send an email to [email protected] Have a colourful quarter.

FEATURED

Olina Jaya, Malaysia Vee, Kenya Vera Mshana, Tanzania Sibusiso, Zimbabwe Phoray, Kenya Neema, Brooklyn USA Daniel Duwa, Kenya Yliana, Kenya Al Kags, Kenya

My eyes open, reluctantly I am awake to the fact that it is dawn a new day that I must brave the cold step out into the world and meet my destiny Off the bed my feet step, hesitantly the cold hard floor revives me another day, that I must walk16 kilometres stretch out limb for limb and meet the future My hands deep tentatively Boy! Is it cold the water in the old cracked bucket a new day that I must shock my system with near freezing water and remember, I am going to school not to the ridges or the street, I am going to school.

A NEW DAWN AL KAGS • KENYA

Hey mama, tell me how you doing Nkosi has been good to you, has he, that you come to the queues in a new car? or did you get a job at the UN where they pay in real dollars but then you wouldn’t be here because they don’t queue at the UN, just like out there, they don’t queue but for ATMs. So mama, what did you do that you new purse glitters in the dust of the shopping centre as we queue for sugar and salt and toilet paper lugging around us all this paper, that pretends to be money do you know something we don’t that the policeman whispered to you last night as you shagged in his jeep?

Mama, I know what happened as they drug me from the queue so that I can assist with investigations and tell them who has been talking to the media about Shabe, Stephen and that white man who met their untimely end escaping this our plight

SIBUSISO ZIMBABWE

Mama, be aware, while that the world is round and the sprits are high i’ll still come back.

I have climbed mountains I have been to hills Taken to the valleys Laid on those plain Then the alleys laid me Nailing me to the plan Not knowing how Where and when I got there Once there I drunk from the palm Drowned in the lamp Taken by the tribe A boy to a man A man clouded in by the light The right not to But has to climb this forsaken plain Rocking and rocking and rocking

CLIMBED THESE MOUNTAINS DANIEL DUWA • KENYA

I shell off my skin A new being to be Seek not in my olden ways From this date Time seals a convert From the walls of a convict Emerges a convert Leaving my former convictions on the rear To pursue a life devoid of DANIEL DUWA • KENYA Enlaced in.

ME BEING

POCKETS

YLIANA • KENYA

The coin it flips and lands at my feet. New and shiny, Presenting a way out of my pit, Dark, dreary and slimy. The Pockets from where it “fell”, Never run on empty. They point me to their well, Where shiny coins lie in plenty. Inscribed on the back of this coin, “Tunanunua uhuru” If I fill my own ragged pockets, I’m a slave through and through. The Pockets tell me I’ll start at the bottom, But soon my coins will multiply. The cost of wealth is my freedom, Sold, just to don suit and tie?

I think to myself, “I’m a prisoner either way” Shackled by poverty or by wealth. “Freedom” isn’t too high a price to pay, For life, happiness and health. The Pockets seem to read my mind Painting colour over what’s at stake. They assure me soon we’ll be two of a kind, The deal is sealed with golden handshake. Then my benefactor turns slave driver, A coin tossed for my sweat and blood. For everything I agreed to waiver, My ragged pockets lose what they never had. For the Pockets never did reveal, What coin I make is theirs to keep. My options; beg borrow or steal, To buy back “freedom” hidden in pockets deep.

FLAG & FUTURE NEEMA • BROOKLYN USA

They declared black the colour of my people, the Luo and Taita and every shade within, including they who chose here over past homes. Green signified the land and its fertility, of Marsabit and Muranga and Malindi, every altitude and region between. Red, was the blood spilled till ’63 in wars our own and not, every encounter known and shrouded in silence a declaration of our right to direct our destiny. White was the way they hoped we would live for posterity: in peace, love and unity. Still, in the city blood spews as rocks fly and kill traffic lights, while youth are target practice for police, who are scared and righteously pissed vengefully armed outside Main Campus – and blood spews in the Rift Valley an artery bearing a jagged rift cut a century deep, no antiseptic imported – so of course we’re still fighting, flying, though there are healing-salts at Magadi.

And the people sing: White man – save us please, bring peace, love and conformity. look at our blackened bony fly infested kwashiorkor ridden Malaria and TB-weakened bodies, how personhood in these lands is a prison Mandela cannot save us from. White man - peace, love and weed-sleep, You love me; Say yes. You will teach me right from wrong; Say yes. You will help me dream a dream like yours; Say yes!

THOT, BEFORE THE FIRST NOTE SOUNDS for Jean Sibelius and Lloyd Stone NEEMA • BROOKLYN USA

If my heart is spread across lands, divided more by immigration officers than by mountains and oceans If I must translate and censor myself in each country, because each Man’s scars ache uniquely and one must watch how one prods If I can find here what I long for from there, smell deja vu in seaweed which I hate to feel drifting or growing around my toes, but which takes me, nostrils and all to Dar-es-Salaam; for as long as I don’t open eyes to see this grey pebbled manmade beach here in Dover If I have loved across cities in and beyond that of my birth – Nairobi – and cannot see where I will rest, to live and work; have given up even the hope of collecting my pieces in one lone patch below the ground If I am weary of looking in

on my various limbs across the globe, and sometimes my circulation slows, I lose a limb; I run too fast, skip a beat and offset the rhythms of that song If I should suppose that knowledge abounds in my mind, yet cannot see to believe in a god who is God, what but drink and folly would comfort my despair for dying lands, and what can I say to my nephews and nieces – because the same despair will not allow a child to escape my womb, nor allow me to waste my breath on a song of peace for lands that are not separated by laws or gods, whatever the lines on the weatherman’s globe say, whatever men of old said What will I say in defense of life, theirs and others, when peace is propaganda and a lie

CROWDS VEE • KENYA

Smothered by the crowds I contend with from point A to B in all corners of Nairobi the Railways, Odeon & Kencom crowds eager to get home & spend their pay they who in the morning determined to make their way walked in droves to the city working fingers to bone to gain respect - not pity Bothered by the hawker crowds peddling their wares competing for wananchi stares battling askari batons, riot police guns & unsympathetic glares from they of the so called elite who would rather not see this riff raff on their newly paved, freshly painted, pothole filled, hawker-free streets they who gobble the icing off the cake proceed to lick the crumbs off the floor leaving the masses to eat at each other at 3am - thief banging on grilled door Perturbed by the let’s-circle-around-the-religious-looking guy crowds

who wait with baited breathe as he chalks the next doom’s day conspiracy on the muddied pavement Only for all to be distracted by the “Mwizi! Mwizi!” crowds always ready to beat civilization into any suspected young man who a short while ago was rotting with frustration as he reached out to her bag for salvation but salvation came in the form of kicks & blows how he’ll escape today…only God knows Amazed by these metropolitan people of the green city in the sun (& yes that was an intended pun) they that just came from upcountry they that will better their lives come pharaoh like hail or hives they that walk tall & proud they that won’t be put down through high tide or low times police bribery or tax fines they that will run towards trouble & overindulge in political squabble those smothering those bothering those perturbing crowds… I do love our Nairobi crowds

Police are investigating the crime It happened in a rocky area But no stone will be left unturned; There are some suspects in custody They came forth to help the authorities Anyone with further, helpful info Should kindly report to the nearest station Officers will be awake, vehicles will be fuelled There are always bullets for the chase; All calls will be treated with utmost confidence (Even though some officers are on the take). Apart from the suspects in custody Three others lost their lives When they were confronted with kindness But opted to open fire. In the ensuing battle to close this fire Officers on the scene returned it Leading to the said fatalities. Two others escaped on foot (Unfortunately, with half the loot) Police are in hot pursuit. It was a normal robbery Crime is not out of hand

THE HOTLINE PHORAY • KENYA

The man-thing burst out From the dark urine-pungent alley Dread locked and liced Scrawny beard, sackcloth Nothing but jiggers on his feet Plodding down the patches of asphalt Clutching the golden purse to his heart Like his lively form of death Depended on it; Or did it? For in his rear-view mirror The hysterical mob hot in pursuit Baying for that fluid in his vein Poisoned, intoxicated and charged. A Wellington stretched out ahead Across his hawker-infested path A beefy shoulder plummeted Into his fractured ribcage But on he ran, In the pounding sleet Having charted out his morrow. His feet no longer heavy Anatomy a burden no more Light as a feather his lungs felt; Came a streaking bolt of lightning Followed by rolling thunder On soldier-man, on. When the tuk-tuk suddenly materialized His was the fatal oral embrace PHORAY • KENYA That shattered its screen.

NOW OFFICIAL

If rich are not poor And if poor is not rich It could be anything Education, politics, love What would it be If north is not south And if south is not north If east is not west And if west is not east How is it going to be What would it be If humans are not computers And if computers are not humans What are the scientific and possibility Will it be, come to think of its Giving a space and thinking

PEACE

OLIANA JAYA • MALAYSIA Is all sound unendingly It does not sound properly So why think so much Where all are now jumble up high Give your time a space If all this don’t exist What will the earth be What will the planet be Come to think about it is nothing Why do we need to fight Why can’t we just be in peace Fighting does bring anything in good Among each other Make world peace Make the world smile Make everyone happier For the best is better.

Dream? Gold? What it is about? Life would not be hard If you choose your path or dream Look deep in your heart Everything comes from there You got to believe it! And you got to know that It will happen in you Course that is what you Want to be And that is your dream away Your wish will come true If you believe and imagine Anything could be true Use your time and responsibility wisely and properly And then You will see your dream away

YOUR DREAM AWAY OLIANA JAYA • MALAYSIA

THIS IS WHY

VERA MSHANA • TANZANIA

Laughing at myself Sincerity Water Family Sand A good story Malibu ‘Kinky’ hair Falling out of the arms of Lovers And into the faithfulness of Friendship Snocream sundaes and mabuyu My village Music Henna Young crushes Hand-holding

Sunsets A job well done Khangas Moonlight parties Mduara Beads Kiswahili Layers Spice Embe dodo Makande Konyagi Bongo flava The quiet knowing of wazee Kiti moto Passion

Whilst it has its uses, We know there is more to ourstory than Animals And beautiful Swahili doors. (The mountain is not in Kenya by the way) Whilst it has its uses, We know there is more to ourstory than Corruption And donor hand-me-downs. (We are not all being fooled by the way)

IT’S PRONOUNCED TAN-ZA -NEE-A VERA MSHANA • TANZANIA

Whilst it has its uses, We know there is more to ourstory than Dancing Maasais And spice islands. (It is not all so fun–loving by the way) Whilst it has its uses, We know there is more to ourstory than Tanzanite And Baba wa Taifa. (the wealth is yet to trickle down by the way) Whilst it has its uses, If we do not tell of ourstories, We will continue to be spread out on someone’s coffee table in london. Or perhaps, Not even that.

EPILOGUE “ In a time of universal deceit, telling the truth becomes a revolutionary act.” ~George Orwell~