We are at this moment, fellow pilgrim, treading on the boulders of this hill
upon weathered rocks and rotting roots to smell a whiff of nature’s scent
or to spot footprints on molten lava.
I used to hear echoes from the hills but I realized that the winds of time blew them away. I used to scribble them on the caves and tree-barks until the rocks weathered and tree-barks got defaced. And now, I am on a mission to preserve these echoes, these tales, these whispers I hear from the hills.
Asiyesikia La Mkuu Huvunjika Guu*- This is a Kiswahili saying or 'methali' which warns people to listen to their elders failure to which they will 'break their legs'.
Ilat- The god of thunder among the Pokots.
Shuka- Swahili for bedsheet, night wrap. The Pokots wrap them around their bodies as their clothing.
Akala- Traditional shoes made of Michelin tyres worn by the Pokot nomads.
Ng'achar- Traditional stools worn by the Pokots.
Lukup- Traditional walking sticks used by the Pokots.
When I took up this challenge by a wonderful haiku community, I had not written a haiku.
Well, that might not be accurate.
I could have written it without having known that it was a haiku. As the Challenge ends today, I feel glad to have taken up the challenge. My haiku are still nascent but with time I will perfect them.
I feel good when I parade my failures. That way, I will have some evidence of where I came from.
For those who had found time to read the pieces, "asante sana".
“As
I conclude I reflect on my childhood experience when I would visit a stream
next to our home to fetch water for my mother. I would drink water straight
from the stream. Playing among the arrowroot leaves I tried in vain to pick up
the strands of frogs’ eggs, believing they were beads (emphasis mine). But every time I put my
little fingers under them they would break. Later, I saw thousands of tadpoles:
black, energetic and wriggling through the clear water against the background
of the brown earth. This is the world I inherited from my parents. Today, over
50 years later, the stream has dried up, women walk long distances for water,
which is not always clean, and children will never know what they have lost.
The challenge is to restore the home of the tadpoles and give back to our
children a world of beauty and wonder (emphasis mine).”
--Nobel lecture of the
late Professor Wangari Maathai (10
December 2004)
As
I was walking to school today, I froze in my tracks when I heard from Maina
Kageni, a commentator at Classic 105 FM, that Professor Wangari Maathai had
passed on. This was hard news for me to swallow especially considering that I
had honoured Wangari Maathai in this blog sometimes earlier this year. To be precise, on 5th March this year, I had written a poem to honour her and had even made an effort to send it to Greenbelt Movement Kenya for onward transmission to her. I remember feeling so good to have her read the poem. I knew she was busy as a "citizen of the earth" and that just her smile was enough though I would have saved her reply as some sort of an "autograph" had she replied to it. You could read it here.
All
that Mama Wangari has done in her life is public information and I need not enumerate
them here. But I had always dreamt of one day meeting her in person, shake her
hand and tell her most sincerely “hongera mama” and encourage her to keep up
the good fight.
I
always hoped that I will sit with her and talk with her about what inspires her
and draw from her cheer.
But
last night, my role model, as I am told, succumbed to cancer in Nairobi
Hospital. My sweet mama was no more.
This
however doesn’t stop me from decorating her even in her death. For I know that
mama will still watch over and smile on us, maintain her cheer. In fact, I will
plant a tree and call it after her, water it and watch it grow.
I refuse to
believe that Mama is dead. She lives among us. She lives in my poems. She lives
in the trees. She is the air I breath. Her soul is in Uhuru park. Her soul is
roaming all over the world. My mama still lives on.
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