My Diary

By Charity Kuria It’s no longer possible for the elderly to tell folk tales to their grandchildren. Nowadays grandchildren hardly ever visit upcountry because grandma and grandpa are now tucked in some place dubbed ‘the home for the old’ Slowly as you sit under a shade of tree watching a colleague wrestle glasses unto their face some distance away the memories come crashing in. That rainy morning when the bundle of joy was finally, brought home. How everybody crowded to just have a look at the little someone hidden somewhere between the shawls or just hold the baby even if for a short while. Having waited for this important little person for nine good months and marveling at the sweet baby scent emaciating from the shawls. During the first weeks there were only anxious guesses on the sex of the child. Everyone wishing inwardly let it be a boy/girl according to their preferences. Soon the little chap is walking and calling mama. Then he stands at the door and wave...

By Charity Kuria  Why! They take you places...you tour places you otherwise wouldn't have in your miserable routine. They change the scene for you on your way to and from work when they use panya routes to evade the traffic jam. He will use that road you've always wondered where it leads to and that free ride inside that estate you've always admired from hearsay...at no extra fee! They engage you in humuor through their (foul) language and will crack jokes that will leave you smiling if not laughing like crazy. The makanga sometimes forgets(intentionally) to give back the change. Please humbly remind him before you alight. The driver will sometimes give you a ride further than you intended please ask him to shukisha and remember to say thank you! Courtesy demands it. The makanga will ogle at you as you enter the vehicle calling you all those beautiful names sometimes to your dismay he might be tempted to touch to the amusement of others. Please kind...

By Charity Kuria They are the last places to have peace of mind. The salon and the inside of a matatu. Let me take on these mabasi aka manyanga . There is everything you know! That random guy who will enter and start preaching loudly struggling to be heard over the noise, that hawker who has everything from dawa ya panya , mende and viroboto , sweets and torch etc. Then, there is that other one selling stronger than strong mukobero . Now, there are two things involved, if you miss the loud preacher then there is loud music with DJ Demakufu on the decks. Thiiiitima ! And there is WI-FI too. The makanga will then decide that the music isn’t loud enough and will request the driver to turn it up. The driver is one obedient person!  The passenger on your right is eating roast maize and is talking loudly on the phone. The one on the left has a mouth emitting raw sewer and insists on striking a conversation with you. As if that is not enough torture the damn windo...

Innocent I was When you first approached me I didn’t know how to behave You said you loved me I loved you back, intensely Oh! How I want to break free You have been guarding my heart jealously Over a decade and counting Still you won’t let go You won’t come physically in my life Yet, you won’t let any other in my heart Oh! How I want to break free They say distance makes the heart fonder Still they say out of sight out of mind I believe the former Your face I can’t remember But in my heart you won’t leave Oh! How I want to break free Any other that cometh I can’t help but compare Because in my heart you rule Your voice I’ve long forgotten But still in my heart you won’t leave Oh! How I want to break free (Charity Kuria)

GUKA By Charity Kuria He was the calmest person I ever meet. Never once did I see him angry or moody. Instead he had this beautiful smile on his dark face whenever he saw someone approaching. Serene defined him perfectly.   His handshake ever firm he would enquire about my welfare with genuine concern. He really cared about my education.  When I came to understand things, my grandfather was a clinical officer and owned a clinic right outside the homestead. People referred him to as ‘Doctor’ but to us his grandchildren he was simply guka and he seemed to love it.   I believe he loved me as much as I loved him. Guka was my favourite person because never once did he raise his voice at me or heard him do it to anyone else nor did he beat me up unlike my grandmother and parents who are guilty of all the above. Guka used to buy me presents. I remember once, he bought me a facemask. It had many colours and I really felt nice. I am told of stor...