My-Once Molly (a bit silly me),

Hello Molly. Hope you are good. I am thinking of Valentine, of Men’s Conference… seems distant now, Christmas holidays. Anyway, this week, I had the flu… plenty medication, lots of sleep (daytime), restless sleep at night… FYI: I read somewhere that most people die at night between 3am-4am (the devil’s hour) when the body is at its weakest… suffice to say, I listened to AFCON through the night, plus some music, past this hour. Anyway, life is never that serious, so, here goes some light stuff:

Tomato Sauce

Childhood sunny, play rainy
A tight brother, poverty
Him - uncle to the family
Our meals souped and soggy.

Reserved for Christmas – Chapati
Like the Americans - their Turkey
Chips, soda, chicken – paradise
Would our bellies then be at peace.

In our dreaming, a turn and a toss
Our imaginations at a loss
We then knew Money the Boss
When we dreamt of tomato sauce.

In my room alone, out of luck
Wife ran away, for I am out of work
Full circle, supper - soup and duck
Tomato sauce, plenty - a belly pluck.

A Little Storm I Pray

A little storm I pray, to be sent my way
To clean and freshen, unruly my day
Some sun later, to dance the folk fairy
The afternoon breeze, lows the cow dairy.

A little earthquake, I earnestly inquire
My life shaken a bit, this I require
Sharp again – my arrows, I quiver
Persistent in labour, much I learn from the beaver.

The campaign for the launch of my books, ‘#20BobSanaa’ is still woefully inadequate. The launch budget is Kshs 100,000. So far, Kshs 300 has been raised… I still believe in miracles. To angels out there, we can still make the launch happen end February 2024 via:

Buy Goods Till Number: 9080911, Gatere Mwangi
Send Money: 0708 276 622, Mark Gatere

Plus, my anthology, ‘A Funeral Dress for Nyasuguta’ is available at the Nuria Bookstore and you can get it via this link: https://nuriakenya.com/product/a-funeral-dress-for-nyasuguta-by-mark-mwangi/

That’s all for now My Dearest Molly. Back to rest to fully recover from this bad flu and get back my full voice.

Best regards,
Sant Mark

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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