Category: writing

  • msafiri hakuna barabara – machado in kiswahili

    msafiri hakuna barabara – machado in kiswahili

    Msafiri, nyayo zako Ndizo barabara, sio vinginevyo; Msafiri, barabara haipo, Hutengenezwa kwa kutembea. Kwa kutembea watengeneza njia, Na ukiangaza macho nyuma Utayaona mandhari ambayo katu Hutarudi kuyapitia. Msafiri, hakuna barabara, Bali mawimbi baharini. ya Antonio Machado imetafsiriwa na Wangũi Kamonji Linapatikana hapa katika Kiingereza na Kihispania Huku nikifanya juhudi ya…

  • sculpting dreams and reality in mapungubwe

    sculpting dreams and reality in mapungubwe

    I recently finished reading ‘The Sculptors of Mapungubwe’ by Zakes Mda and I loved it so much when I first started reading it, I had to stop because I didn’t want it to end…… That notwithstanding when I did pick it up again I finished it in a couple of…

  • environmental lessons

    -Rosemary likes sunshine, so we planted it over there where it’ll get lots of it- Interwoven with observations about where the sun rises and sets, -it rises on that side and sets on that other one- an explorations of smells: of soil, of compost, -compost contains dung from a cow…

  • where are those songs?

    ‘Where are those songs’ is a poem by Micere Githae Mugo (1972) that I like and find inspirational especially in light of a quest for memory and recovery of once remembered things. It starts off a bit despondent, the narrator is seeking songs and memories only to find them lost-…

  • kwani? literary festival – gems

    I attended some events of the Kwani? Literary Festival that was held 2 weeks ago in various locations around Nairobi. The festival brought together authors from countries including South Africa, Somalia, D.R.C., Senegal, U.S.A., Ghana, Tanzania, Italy and our very own Kenya to consider questions of language in new ways.…

  • on poetry, and agosín’s ‘i lived on butterfly hill’

    on poetry, and agosín’s ‘i lived on butterfly hill’

    “Poetry is a violence from within that protects us from a violence without” Wallace Stevens One evening many years ago, I stood up in a modestly filled room at the Goethe Institut, Nairobi, walked somewhat unsurely to a seat at the front and read some poems from my ‘Pink book’…

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