Elohi Tembea Nami: KBC Studio Mashinani; Appreciation

If I were to give it a monetary value, I’d say, around 300-500K, both the audio recording and the video recording. So, thank you all who made it happen, more so, KBC's Studio Mashinani, Langata.

So, you’ve been writing songs, doing practice, knocking on studio’s doors. Well, recording and production costs are out of your reach. Still, you hope and pray. You trust in the Lord. Years go by. You write more songs, for the urge is always there and tomorrow might be your day.

You are there, listening to KBC Radio Taifa. Are you talented? In music, in jingles, in poetry? If yes, don’t sit on your talent at home. Hasten to the nearest Studio Mashinani. The government cares for you. The government understands the Creative Economy as having the potential to create thousands of jobs. The next morning finds you at the national broadcaster’s headquarters at Nairobi’s CBD.

The very next day, you are at Langata, the Studio Mashinani that’s closest to you. Thing is, there are several around the country, equipped with the best: equipment, staff, ambience. You book studio time… a beat is made… rehearsals… recording… mastering… video shooting… video editing… tedious, involving, lots of work… but the staff are ever gracious every time you are there.

The end product? ‘Elohi Tembea Nami’ by Sant Mark (yours truly). This is an inspiring song that whatever your travails, ask the Lord to walk with you and everything will be alright. Kindly like, share and subscribe to my channel.

The link to my song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f9jE6HRTBI4

(Get my short stories collection at: https://nuriakenya.com/product/a-funeral-dress-for-nyasuguta-by-mark-mwangi/ )

Asanteni!

Comments

My-Once Molly (Praying for a Rainbow),

Dear Molly, I hope you are ok and are keeping safe in these floods. As for me, I am heartbroken. I am in pain. My mind, my body, my spirit aches. I am numb with grief. As is the nation of Kenya. The picture just won’t get out of our minds – the father, trudging stoically, his dead, muddy son slung over his shoulder. It’s a devastating image… the screams, elsewhere, as a boat capsizes, the swollen river swallows a lorry… Izrael has visited the land. Dear Molly, a while back, the nation faced drought. Then, images of dead livestock, emaciated men, women and children, parched, cracked earth, haunted our screens. Elsewhere where there was a glut in food production, the farmers cried for their fellow starving countrymen. They demanded for lorries to traverse the rutted roads and take the produce to their brethren… collectively, we prayed for rain. Dear Molly... will we ever catch a break as Kenya? The Covid-19 pandemic that paralysed lives and livelihoods in 2020 as we recovered from th...

My-Once Molly (thinking of Valentine),

My-Once Molly… the girl who broke my heart, the one who got away, the one who promised me the world and left me to survive alone – typical of our Kenyan politicians… I hope you are good. Now, as February – the month of love – lurks about, I find myself thinking of you. Thing is, my dear Molly, I have new neighbours. A young couple, very much in love like we once were. The young lady, her name is Val… maybe Valentine… I don’t know. This Val, a spirited girl with rich, deep, heaving laughter - almost like yours. Her smile… ah! You should see it. The shine of the morning sun distilling the dew upon cool meadows… I am totally in love with her. Alarmingly, she teases me much and I am getting ideas… Molly, dear, wherever you are, please pray for me… the temptation is too much. If you don’t, the frail creature that I am may fall. This, despite having numerous songs in my playlist to warn me. Invariably, Majengo – that infamous locale – does a dishonourable appearance in most of them… ‘Maj...

My Once-Molly (A Theft),

Hi Molly. How are you? The floods are here and I almost drowned – should have gone for swimming lessons as you often times suggested. Anyways, I now walk with a motorcycle tire’s tube and pump in my backpack. DIY lifesaver gear as instructed by Grade 3 CBC cohort. Dear Molly, as I informed you last time, I shifted. Partly, the floods, partly, change, partly, finances. This Creative Writing journey is taking a bit of time to yield fruits, but I hang on, consoled by the words of one Ernest Hemingway, whose ending was horrible: “There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.” Where I shifted to, is a downgrade. ‘Mabati’ rooms – plenty of stories, though as living is communal and one’s business is everyone’s business. Such as the recent theft – a woofer, charger, ‘meko’ gas, a bar of soap, and a bucket of maize flower - that’s how ‘flour’ is pronounced, FIY. Must have been pretty hungry, them thieves. How it unfolded. A bit of commotion early mor...

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