Swallow Me

Swallow me whole
without sedation.

Sample the truth
my heart's vibration.

Limb by limb
take me in.

In every crevice
you will find
Hints
Teetering, dancing
around life's rim.

Swallow
lest the precipice
invites me in.

Swallow me whole
Smack your lips
Seal them with
my single wish

Brimful,
the Marrow Of My Love.

Mama Shujaa.

Copyright © Mama Shujaa 2009. All Rights Reserved

We Had Him

We Had Him by Maya Angelou

Beloveds, now we know that we know nothing,
now that our bright and shining star can slip away from our fingertips like a puff of summer wind.

Without notice, our dear love can escape our doting embrace.
Sing our songs among the stars and walk our dances across the face of the moon.

In the instant that Michael is gone, we know nothing.
No clocks can tell time. No oceans can rush our tides with the abrupt absence of our treasure.

Though we are many, each of us is achingly alone, piercingly alone.
Only when we confess our confusion can we remember that he was a gift to us and we did have him.

He came to us from the creator, trailing creativity in abundance.
Despite the anguish, his life was sheathed in mother love, family love, and survived and did more than that.

He thrived with passion and compassion, humor and style. We had him whether we know who he was or did not know, he was ours and we were his.

We had him, beautiful, delighting our eyes.
His hat, aslant over his brow, and took a pose on his toes for all of us.
And we laughed and stomped our feet for him.

We were enchanted with his passion because he held nothing. He gave us all he had been given.

Today in Tokyo, beneath the Eiffel Tower, in Ghana's Black Star Square.
In Johannesburg and Pittsburgh, in Birmingham, Alabama, and Birmingham, England
We are missing Michael.

But we do know we had him, and we are the world.


Rest In Peace, Michael Jackson

Political Agility?

Ah, but if you have no expectations, You can never have a disappointment.
(Stephen Joshua Sondheim (1930- )

I am disappointed. It seems the politics did not stay out of this. We were contacted by the Kenya Embassy in Washington, D.C. and charged with nominating amongst us, Kenyans in the Diaspora (the US, Mexico and Columbia), ONE member of the Diaspora to participate in the July 29- Aug 2 conference in Nairobi.

The Ambassador gave us a mandate, with very little time to complete it. We volunteered hard-found time and energy to come up with a painstakingly transparent process. After numerous meetings, conference calls, and the review of writing samples, etc., we completed the process and communicated the selection of our nominee to the Embassy well within the given deadline, June 30, 2009.

After receiving no response from the Embassy, I made the phone call that would intimate that perhaps all of our hard work was for naught. Chronic Politics As Usual?! And while I'm not one to sip on the grapevine juice, news that a high ranking female staffer at the Embassy may have hand-picked the candidate weeks ago, is extremely disappointing.

At the end of the day, if we confirm that to be the case my question will be: In his efforts to portray himself as Ambassador for the Kenya Diaspora, will he have shown political agility, or just dreadful political maneuverings and for/to whose advantage?

Mama Shujaa

The Magnitude of Michael Jackson

siwezi kuamini [i can't believe it] wala sina sauti ya kuongea. Lakini nitajaribu.

I am numbed by the news. Reading Anengiyefa's post helped me this morning.

His question nudged me to express a little, to process now that he is (supposedly) gone, the impact MJ had on my life. Here's a comment I left in response to his question:

Within seven minutes of my walking through the door from work, tired and starving. Having just washed my hands in the kitchen after popping some leftovers in the microwave - I had not eaten since breakfast. My husband walks out of the master bedroom, where he'd been watching the news, leans heavily on the interior balcony railing; and in a voice choked with emotion says "...Michael has died."

I was not hungry any more. Just sad. Really really sad.

Rock With You. That is the song that does it the most for me. The one that helps me remember things my soul wants to forget. Those things that make me who I am. Those occurences, the cockles that line my heart. Rock With You revives those memories, delivers them to the forefront of my brain, because they matter.

Because "...even when the groove is dead and gone, yeah, you know that love survives, so we can rock forever..."

Michael Jackson, Rest In Peace.

And then I read Rethabile's beautiful poem, and that helped as well.

Kifo cha Michael Jackson kimenishtuwa, wala sina sauti ya kuongea.

Mama Shujaa

Our Collective Voices

I have been conducting some interesting work: selecting one candidate to represent the Kenya Diaspora at the upcoming Biennial Ambassadors/High Commissioners Conference in Nairobi, Kenya in July-August, 2009.

Just over a dozen of us were contacted by the Kenya Embassy in Washington, D.C. under three weeks ago. We were charged with nominating amongst us, Kenyans in the Diaspora (the US, Mexico and Columbia), ONE member of the Diaspora to participate in the conference. The original communique came from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Nairobi.

Exciting stuff. As a vetting committee member, I've especially enjoyed discovering our talented candidates and their commitment to moving Kenya's agenda forward.



My recommendations on who will make a candidate for the role include:

- an individual who is best able to represent the aspirations and needs of the Diaspora in such a meeting;
- an individual who is able to participate effectively in the meeting;
- someone who is an active member of the community;
- someone who is engaged in organizing the Diaspora to be a collective force;
- someone with the knowledge of the realities of those in the Diaspora and also challenges and opportunities back home;

Essentially, someone who is involved in efforts to organize Kenyans in the Diaspora for the greater good of those here and those back home.

This weekend, we complete the vetting process and then begin the "grooming" of the candidate. At that point, we will tap into larger communities to develop a think tank of sorts as we develop well thought-out views, topics of interest that encompass our aspirations as a Diaspora community, to be presented by the representative. I am interested to hear from those of you in the Diaspora; and I will keep you updated on our progress.

Asanteni,

Mama Shujaa.

The Shady Taxi Driver will be continued on next post.

The Shady Taxi Driver

Immigrant life has its pros and cons. Kweli when you take up a long-term residence in a foreign country, you lose the ability to do some things and gain the capacity to do others.

It’s all very enriching, which becomes especially clear when you return to visit your home country.

You find that losing the ameishi ng’ambo [just landed from abroad] demeanor is a pro; and the habit of performing mental gymnastics in converting dollars or pounds into Kenya shillings, at every shopping opportunity, is a con!

About two years ago my brother and I planned our vacations to coincide with a visit to our parents in Nairobi. He and his family live in England and for the first time in almost 20 years, he and I solamente, were to be nyumbani [home] at the same time.

We synchronized our arrival at Jomo Kenyatta International Airport almost to the hour; our planes landing just as an orange hue lit the sky beyond myriads of dry, flat-topped Acacias.

The even drier savannah grasslands were a welcome sight. And the jua [sun] in our very own City in the Sun, as it majestically sank into the horizon.

The blaring horns, exhaust fumes, diesel, pot holes, garishly painted matatus swerving within inches of our taxi, to overtake others already crammed with passengers.

Everything was perfect! And it got better.

We did a lot of walking in town, my brother and I. The pedestrians, nice and fit, men and women with naturally shiny teeth, a far cry from the obese of Atlanta, and its excesses. For my brother, the exquisite beauty of the women compared to his dry sampling in St. Albans, England was quite overwhelming.

“Heh! I’m glad I don’t live here. The women! Oh my god, they are so beautiful. Gorgeous skin, flat stomachs, ample hips…I would find myself in trouble,” he admitted.

“Sahau [forget that]! Don’t even think abourrit,” I growled at him, older than me and supposedly wiser, finding himself in trouble, my foot! I’ve got to look out for my sis-in-law, my niece and nephew.

What was interesting was that while he saw more beautiful women, I saw fewer handsome men. I married a Naija after all.

I did enjoy the women-watching with him, albeit from a different perspective. Their body language conveyed a confidence I had not seen in the gait of African women living in the U.S. Their graceful straight backs, and effortless smiles captured my attention.

We filled our days quite easily, visiting relatives, attending to minor business and dining at a few select restaurants.

An especially memorable visit was to The Carnivore Restaurant, a meat lover's paradise, where we enjoyed delicious nyama choma, including ostrich meatballs and a few shots of the world-renowned Dawa cocktail.

We also enjoyed the assemblage of cheery, happy-go-lucky folk, some average looking, others hot looking.

There was one chick brother-man set his eyes on. The cool, sleeveless, yellow number she had on revealed all of her shapely curves. A thick jet-black natural afro framed her mocha-brown face; cheekbones jutting fearlessly above the contours of her sensuous lips. She exuded mesmerizing confidence.

The look in his eyes was all about "Girl, I want to shake you down" over and over again...

I told him, "that is the beauty of fantasy. You can fantasize all you want, all the way to heaven dear bro."


To be continued..(Nollywood style)

Mama Shujaa

Copyright © Mama Shujaa 2009. All Rights Reserved

Summer Is Here!

Hi!

Chidi here!

I just want to let you know that I am having fun with my mom and dad.

Mom will be back soon. I helped her with this video. I hope you like it.

Bye,
C.