Monday, July 23, 2012

No Offense But You Look African ~ The Voice of a Season ~ The Mitishamba Series Finale

Africa is a word that conjures up many negative adjectives that make being called African seem like an insult. African has become an insult. It has come to denote everything there is in human suffering. Pictures of human plight never cease to contain a sad African environment or face. Even more amazing is how these images have become prevalent, engrained in the minds of the common man like household advertising disclaimers. Hunger in Africa; ‘Weeknights at 2am’. Child Soldiers; Made in Africa’. AIDS, Ebola, Malaria, and that twitching thing your eye does: ‘Brought to you by Africa’. Political instability; Yes We (Afri)can. Corruption; ‘There are some things money can’t buy, for everything else there’s…’
Present in these mildly comical taglines is an exaggeration, so too is some level of truth. The truth, however, is what’s exaggerated. This exaggeration has created a running theme that falsely overstates Africa as the place where only human strife exists. This lie has cemented itself in the minds of so many Westerners that most Africans develop an inferiority complex. An assumption that a dark person with a heavy accent is dim usually comes quicker than the reality of one’s own ignorance. With reality comes an apology, “no offense, but….”
No offense?! Really?! Well, I’ve come to find a great deal of offense in this apologetic answer that carries more insults than apologies. It’s as if to say, “I hope you are not from Africa, but if you are, sorry.” I take offense from this statement’s blatant position that being African is an insult. That being African is offensive. Well I am African, Kenyan to be specific, and I will never apologize if that’s an offense. Nor will I allow Africa to be insulted or African to be insulting. I can no longer stomach the 2am television view of Africa, because my memory serves me different. Kenya served me different. To neglect the degradation of Africa’s or Kenya’s image is sad because at the very least, pride, if not factual memory, should move one to defend it. I shall defend it with pride-filled memory. Join me.
I come from the Highlands of Kenya where nothing insulted my lungs when I took a deep breath. Nothing offended my sight for miles. As a matter of fact, my most recent memory of the landscape is one of beauty – a conclusion cosigned by my ‘first world’ friends. My four-month-old memory of Kenya consists of heavy eating (aahh Galitos!), heavy Nairobi traffic (no, we weren’t riding elephants. Would been cool though. Maybe traffic would flow smoother, but I digress), heavy road construction (again, for cars), beautiful women (none heavy), and the sight of the Great Rift and the beautiful landscapes that constantly killed my camera’s batteries – just to name a few. I recall making a joke about bottling the fresh air that greeted me when I got to Kisii. The taste of food fresh from the garden almost shocked my tongue. I was stunned, however, at the creativity of some of the architecture in the city and its buildings. Buzzing businesses revealed advances that were invisible to the strife-craving Western media.
All these memories, coupled with my pride as an Afrikan, provide the zeal to defend the image that I know to be different – a mosaic of not just bad, as others would have you believe, but also plenty of good. Afrika is my roots; my place of origin that I value simply because I know it to be better than how they seem to be showing it to me. It is a place where majority of the world’s resources came and continue to come from – be it human or natural. My roots have endured lifelong abuse from insiders and outsiders alike, but still remain healthy enough to sustain life – my life. I grew from them, so I live for them – My Roots.
I grew from them, I live for them.
My Roots
(Originally published March 5th 2010 @, i.e. prequel) 

"Green and Sexy." 

PLANTING SEASON ~ The Mitishamba Series Finale

Thursday, July 12, 2012

112: The Last Cipher ~ My Dear Black Widows ~ Watch the Thorn Vs. Watch the Throne: The Mitishamba Series.

No words are enough to cater to your pain just as no words are there that can create enough pain. The memory of your deeds on earth just brings enough rain as tears that embody what foolish men do with your children just for some gain. Since the West’s system that’s entirely man-made is created intentionally to put your children inside cages like you deserve no sayings, I’m dedicating all my love to you because I know no one deserves to be subjected to blind rage. A woman in a glass house with a sad stage has her men throwing artificial rocks from walls to paled statues everywhere since their curse is forgetting where they housed their weak sage. All my love for you fits a single page so just let them continue to deceive even the young with their fairy tales. Allow me to reintroduce myself, my name is I, S.H, to the MA.EL, the snow flakes have been moved by the O.Z., so I want you to let them enjoy what they retailed. Never heard of human so traffic these words through their snouts using baked with soda white lines since they refuse to accept basic natural facts about who’s the real thing and whose smile’s comes lined in real fake. Abuse?! No worries, that’s why I’m hear to listen to anything that wants she.males, since even in their prayers, they pray for your man’s might to be weakened. Elongated jaws they suck your man raw and build all manners of defense against anything that looks different so who’s to say the rainbow isn’t what you collect for what they now would want to call a freed man. Since evidently to them freedom can be bought and sold, then so too are your Libra scales so please allow me to use Leo, my Lion which the Swahili labored to make it simply mean your word’s today, so to anything that’s still, they’re just maids. Helpers, traversing homesteads, learning nothing other than, ‘how can I save, these look homely’ but spending their days in the dark mentally judging using only their skin’s shade. Like Lucky said from Summer's gates, “we got to come, together as one” but dividing is ruling so I think uniting citizens is their final straw’s break. Twelve ciphers I’ve written with the intention to unveil their coded schemes that use synthetic green to mask their love for power in order to forget what it means to just say. You told mountains they showed you valleys so you gave them your back which they instead also turned into a superficial and now monetary ice, aged. The reflections of my mirrors show you as the one they run after that’s why your words now come sounding a schools’ whale. No use swimming with piranhas look at me and see that your air still stays entirely where their polluted air meets your completely minced maze. You can walk around and get around without their squeezed gaze. Hatred, for your love that you unload and eternally leave for anyone that shows a heart in the open, that’s why they hide and use force to spread their days. Wolves in sheep walking and talking with written and cover read book words in muted tones about who’s paying. Since all they buy are dreams, please forgive me for this turn and for reading their front Paige. Because I know the letters of my words carry enough weight to crush any artificial rock thrown in any direction in this final day, I pray you use what you gave me, identity’s name in every one of its seven letters for my Rasta brother’s clean sleigh. May you June, tune, and prune anything that cries fowl as every bird’s warnings always come with earth’s warming so as I bow to your thirteenth arrow that belongs to your last word to a woman that can be satisfied as Swahili say its Shiba, take these weak one’s veils and clean your man to the top just as you promised, Amentop.”  

“The Green Sleigh” 

Tuesday, July 10, 2012

Cipher 111 ~ Pay Attention: Listening Lessons ~ Watch the Thorn Vs. Watch the Throne: The Mitishamba Series.

With tension, need I mention that paying means there’s a buyer willing to forgo attention and be paid to listen to whoever seeks its treat? Mine spans the lengths of a bootleg tape that’s decked to become something worth purchasing that if my attention is being paid for means my ears don’t come free, freak! I’m freer now that I can clearly see strings being tugged and manipulated to produce their desired result of making a mind that downs its own tree, streak. Monotony of guised dons these cold feet see more miles on broad streets than the fairy tales that line its world’s needs, reap. Except what’s really sowed are its hateful themes that draw leaps but bound from being realized since they are still working to cage a flightless bird’s seed from walking as seen, trip. Never meant to fall though or falter since my steps glide on mortar, unhinging bricks carrying menial rodents that want more tar to keep them hiding their weakness behind one screen, preach. Discourse discarded like garbage I sit on its pile’s edge and soak up its stench earning mileage like my flights are united on one page, Grinch. Double up from ten up I put three down and flip peace signs with my trigger finger keeping their attic class fcukin honest, Finch. One shot, Six strays, flinch and see if you are not roasted with the movements of seas that has their present chained currents in Shekels coasting but freedom with me comes from the insides of my forests of fortress that their thoughts think they can image in pity while working in desperate to earn any sight or see, breach. “Jah Jah see dem, dem a come, but I and I a conqueror,” my cultured love birds fire warning sings while I open seams that hem the cloaked self-wanting-to-be-determined bastards that use another to labor like their mothers have twelve months to produce what another does in multiples of three without any need for saviors on bells, screech. No screaming just witness the leech as they tug for war thinking terror can make a warm blooded animal become scared of its own skin, leach. Trickling venom with pain in its intentions why suffer from a scaled and skin shading animal that has never been able to grow its own feet, mint. Imprints in casts now outing from closets with skeletons that have voices advocating for anything that can be purchased like all are brave enough to even muster the courage to change scenes from their street broads that never narrow, ditch. I’m v-necked, conveying luggage that sits well without water’s damage and pitch tents in orders of carriages that empty its three bags fooled, stitch. Threading haystacks with needling speeds but not for bail funds as seen in their economies’ needs revealing jailed hands, why stamp my food when you never once toiled as one to grow some, bitch!! Inorganic barks that thrive on missionary styles with midgets in tow like there’s a constant need for her camel toed bunions, clit. Horny kids in closed positions hiding things in soundless diction like only those that can read provide the correct direction, so where to Laz-E boys since you always in need of offering instructions, steep?! Yea, my verticals are tremendous and suddenly even earth wants my tremors but rhythms with me come from no one but my knowledge within on what's expensive, so why purchase only dreams unless you also want to make my think come cheap?! Listen up, yea you down there, your attention I’ve bought so wind down your talk unless you also want me to turn Ishmael beast with my blue collared walk, crip. Full blood that can drain your star lacking theme in simple Swahili for talking to any of my trees bila adabu, as my color coded schemes will leave you guessing on who really is Bin.a.damu so just stop your lessons from grave dig and for once let the dead sleep. Listen, I lesson in greed and turn up the heat to separate good from your deeds that always come begging for leaves thinking you can plant life unseen so I creep, its just me exchanging your hate for some TLC.

“Listen I Lesson in Green”   

Tuesday, July 3, 2012

Cipher 110 ~ Rocked and Steadied ~ My Thorn Watching: The Mitishamba Series

“The more doubt the more clout. I capitalize on the questions that already have answers so all I present are exclamation marks of sorts that only ring true to those with bouts. Fighting off any streamlined conclusions to my ins and outs I draw from zigs and zag through any exhalations that would rather me shout. Hold up….this is not how I deem my smile so this frown is just the idea of someone that thinks they have a watch on my mouth. Showed up to find routes clogged with empty shells that purchase my verbs like they exist with a fault. Crack lines waiting to pounce on anything that has the right ways like night days requires walking with acid like gout. Pain in staking anything so my prayer is for Rasta to burn dem Sems who make things and claim to have done it alone like their steps on sand have any designated route. My power puffed girls can sync my joints with the steps that align with Popeye’s choice to have Oil bury these weathered bastards in the deepest part of my loins, I remain stout. Flesh eating bacteria they always craving blood like they don’t have enough of their own to destroy that’s why they cry foul at the smallest verbal threat that’s employed in showin how quick they turn West in fear of who they actually seek shelter from, being told the wall is theirs if they can vault. If they self.made, why do they always seek my brothers’ shades then, I think its coz living alone in the light reveals that they have no nest eggs as they’ll just be bird watchers waiting for an eagle to rest or build anything that doesn’t show them as the ones that drag societies into aimless jolts. My lightning’s Bolts with thoughts that can make you sane from their fog and see clearly why it’s more important to give animals a home than those that worship the back of another while trying to break what it’s housed. Memory doesn’t come without action so their thoughts of making it disappear without a reaction is  more comical than watching a dog chase its own tail then forget its whereabouts. Where’s your home homes?! Or is traversing a desert something you eternally do like you ever had any love in anything that you claim to do so as you make sure happiness is what you precede your death with, I just know my work is to leave you uncloaked. No hard feelings, just pieced together humpty dumpty's breakaway shell disguised as a brick for snowhite's snout. No sniffs, pigs only exist to fake some clean up after an unnecessary drought.”

“Oh Is….you have no…Ra…and you don’t deserve el. That’s my end, Ishmael….The Green Monster.”

Monday, July 2, 2012

"Cipher 109 ~ Made in the Deep ~ Watch the Throne Vs. Watch the Thorn: The Mitishamba Series

“Hard for many to identify with me because what I speak of comes off of my deep,  you shallow ends with lives guarded to the teeth is like swimming with piranhas and thinking sharks don’t exist. Verbally castrated and mentally incapacitated your thoughts only amount to the tip of my ice bugging you why I don’t show you how your flavor lacking waters is just a reflection of the salt I spit. Culinary ditch, my feed trough consists of more than one avenue for your temporary and melted ideas of who’s the original one to take a dive and learn to keep. Confused? That serves your rights so when you question why I always walk like I know where I’m going, just know it’s my attention your woman continually seeks. Opened up, aaaaaah, swallow maid, when you learn to speech in open tones then maybe you’ll turn from being the leech. Roots lacking bitch that’s why your rules be smacking against my beach, rejected ties tying together anything just to seem like your seeds are worthy of anything other the fairy tales you feed. Hapless mongrels that never once see that if it’s a single star that has the scrolls of the deep, just shows how helpless you are since land has only sheep. Dead weights in currents that reflect what the moon actually carries so them caps that don’t actually fit in the back of a wall that wants free only fully exposes the fear of the sun’s rays that uncloaks the wool craving cheat. You outside whistling hard trying to make a dog that doesn't bark but really, look at what that has done to your speech. Openly now, even your seeds following everything that all your past attempted to segregate as your mentality has no lesson worthy coz now they all just want to be identified with a street. That’s a neighborhood and since it’s there goes it when one of mine shows up, good, you are unwanted in any way and form of living including a tree. Omnivorous, you lack meats so the star’s consumption on your behalf has the same gluttons waiting for your impotence to seaceed. Pull back your fangs from my thangs before you also lose your woman’s piranha teeth. Suckling on the wrong tit has her thinking she’s brave enough to even muster anything that can compete with the warriors of my deep seats. Take your scaled think and make some pigs correctional before I cover your shallow ends with some much needed algaean deeds."

“Green as far as Land can Sea.”