Sikiliza

Binyavanga Wainaina One of my earliest memories about my brother is me telling on him to Baba after the bathtub was left running and it flooded and messed up part of the house. There was serious damage on the parquet floor near the bathroom; it was easy to accuse him, he used the bath last and was kind enough to draw me a bath as I was next in. In the ways I was known to be absent-minded and fleeted off to say hi to the dogs outside promptly forgetting about bath-time. When I got back into the house, it was disaster galore when the flood was discovered. And Baba who could be sweet, could also be a loud thundering force when he got pissed. Blaming Binya was easy and I could not look him in the eye after that when he got a major spank and was asked to mop up the mess. He took that hit for the team without so much as a squeak, and he never justified himself or tried to explain.  Filled with guilt, I wanted to help him clean the mess but dare not as he had this silent sullen ...

And so I am watching with bemusement at Kenyan’s (sudden) outrage at Mututho’s incredulous and almost manic obsessive policing of Kenyans and their drinking habits. I on the other hand, I’m less surprised with this sad state of affairs. When a journey begins overrunning personal choices its a long slippery path and there is no escaping it. Now conveniently, Kenyans are being reminded to get licenses to hold house parties. Ten bob for your thoughts on what criteria would be used if police invade some dinner party to inspect the validity of their license.   Suddenly there is this thin line between state regulation and invasion of privacy. Soon, there will be a special unit to inspect your bathrooms, bedrooms, your relationships (which are already under a spot light needless to say) and oh we cannot leave out the law that governs uteruses! All the while Kenya is on its knees with a collapsing economy to pay for a ridiculously expensive government, with a legacy of lowly paid ...

Her skin silky supple, rich dark Irresistible to touch Over and over again Her eyes slit molten lava of sensuousness Alluring and dizzying Playful and sizzling Large and luminous, vulnerable and trusting. Her hair cascades messily around her face She looks stunning all the time. Her smile lights up the darkest hours Her kiss melts away all the pain Her caress magically conjures goose bumps Her voice still makes my heart skip a beat Her love is tender, so breathtaking I adore her. My soul mate In this and all my future reincarnations.

I put together castles, wangle bridges, reach to touch the stars I knit dreams, spin vivid webs of patterns, movement and colours My mind bends my universe into how I recognize it Skies and earth are a step apart Adversaries and friends can blur at the stroke of a trance The only true place I can fathom chaste bliss My thoughts, words and acts constantly understood I soar, I drift, I feel perfect The bubble bursts when sleep ends And my perfect world is gone Sobering me into this sad bad world But I have my treasure dream chest I open and enjoy the spoils Each time I yield to mortal exhaustion Perpetually grateful for this wealth of imagining.

There a manner of silences; Some calm Others awkward. Few remain quiet There are those that are heavily pregnant Particular ones bursts at the seams. Is silence a gilted cage Or a warm shelter from the storms? But what are silences other a cloud of halfs? Half truths Half lies…. Which half is bigger? If it remains unspoken Is it a secret? A truth? A lie? A cage?   A shelter? We remain quiet We will never know.

Hot angry flow of boiled molten rage Run down dripping at every unspoken word Exploding into endless tears To shed every hurt, pain or infliction Puffy eyes drained ducts Throbbing head Anger replaced with fatigue No simple answers Just a cleared tissue box

Earlier this year I teamed up with 5 other women to come together and have an art exhibition in Nairobi to celebrate International Women's day. As African artists we chose to illustrate African women through our lenses and worked with the theme, "Curving the Visual." I chose to work with women being life givers and tried to capture the surreal captivating beauty of a woman with child. Here are some of the highlights of that work. All the proceeds were going to women's charities the artist picked out. Enjoy...