Author name: Hellen Kimaru

Poetry

I will Never Say Goodbye

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After you left I felt like I would be broken Like I would crash into a heap Like the world was over for me After you left I mourned my loss On days without end Deep in my heart I felt wounded And wore sackcloth After you left The void I tried to fill But my efforts bore no fruit But now I sing a different tune A song I can only enjoy Because I remembered That you did not want me to mourn you You wanted love,laughter and good tidings for me With time I have learnt to appreciate those moments Get over the hurt Embrace our memories And live with no pain I WILL NEVER SAY GOODBYE!!!

Poetry

To The Dreams I Chase

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To the dreams I chase, Please wait, Why, you may ask, Sometimes it feels like chasing the wind, Sometimes it feels like a river that is constantly on its way elsewhere, Sometimes it feels far fetched, Unattainable. To the dreams I chase, Please wait, Why, you may ask,  I have had times I have no strength left, No willpower to keep moving, Too many hurdles my way, Too many no’s instead of yeses I have faltered Stumbled and fell. To the dreams chase, I want you like yesterday, I want my heart at peace and my mind at ease, I want to tell the world that I finally got a hold of you, Be like a wind beneath my wings. To the dreams I chase, Be my little darling

Poetry

Walled Fortress

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It’s what they are offered, A walled fortress against their impunity,  To also keep of the same breed together,  For they say a mongrel is only for the roaming,  And that a quarter will never make a whole. A quarter will never make a whole, Of even the things they aspire to be, Let us rig this elections, Let us get away with some public funds, Let the long arm of the law try to get a hold of us, Ain’t we the law anyway?  Yes we are, So we will ignore those court summons,  Pay the judge to rule in our favour. Does he even need payment?  Maybe this a hundred acres will do, After all…this land is ours to inherit.  Walled fortress, You leave me wondering how the hell we are supposed to make it, To that other edge of the person you have created a comfort zone for

Poetry

Letter To An Old Friend: Wanjiku Wa Comba

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Wanjiku Wa Comba, My childhood friend and playmate, Do you still remember those days we played in the rain; Despite our parents’ efforts to keep us indoors? Do you remember us sliding on those muddy giant anthills? Do you remember…? That day we were taken ill with fever? Because we could not have enough of the hailstones, Our mvua ya mawe… Wanjiku Wa Comba, My childhood confidant, Do you still remember? How inseparable we were, How everyone kept wondering; Why we would never leave each other’s side? Yes Wanjiku, you the only one I told of the happenings at home. I knew my secret was safe with you, Unlike Kamau, Liz, Otieno and Chebet; Who would laugh out loud and tell the whole world what conspired. I miss this childhood moments, It feels like yesterday at times. Not to forget teenage, Yeah, Young, wild and “free” I know you know what I mean, Our mothers putting us under scrutiny, A close eye like hawks, Always checking out for signs of morning sickness, Because they said times had changed, And the fear of the unknown… Yes and those very lengthy talks About why we should not be seen about toying with the village “boys” Yes Wanjiku, how we tried to hide our small boobs; And how it embarrassed us to see them pop up our dresses For the whole world to see! And the glory we brought our village, For having produced the best girls to attend high school, And later the prestigious tertiary education albeit That the few men had managed to get never made any good use of it; But showing off in the local clubs. So Wanjiku, After all this years of toiling, Working against all odds, I am happy to inform you, That it paid, I now own my kiosk Yes, I always wanted to be an entrepreneur, I am making a few dollars a day and I am happy, What did you make of your life?

Poetry

Wow, We Turned Fifty

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Wow, We Turned Fifty: First Published “The President’s Eulogy” an anthology Elenah Kim They took away pen and paper, They took away my hands, A total mutation it was, But heaven knows why, I still got this power, That which propels me, The power to speak. And so I will talk about it, The evil and rust in society, How our politicians, are not ashamed; Of passing dehumanising bills, How they would not make it to parliament to vote for a bill that would help Wanjiku, How they in large numbers turn up to pass their salary increment bill, ‘May those of the same opinion say I, And it echoes through the hills, valleys, mountains and the plains ‘I’ Of how are they accumulating wealth through Wanjiku taxi money, And of how SHE now lives on edge Below a dollar a day, That’s her way Her sing song. USAID, UKAID, appeals are made. Yes, Of how a seventy year long aquifer could possibly help a nation survive, Yet the people in Turkana; Where this life giving resource is located are dying of hunger, Their lives still at the mercy of well wishers and donors, Of how our people are dying as we watch; As our economy builders our dear teachers and doctors strike for salary increment, Children having to be sent home, Our dear patients; Should I talk of a home or six feet under? Mass graves without a proper sendoff. A grotesque sight! I will talk of the insecurity which aren’t like mid life crisis Grenades hauled at our dear ones daily, You never know the day or the hour, For even churches and mosques are not spared. I will speak for the disabled, Why a modern day contractor would not put up escalators; In that skyscraper and justice is denied. Of how we lost all in civil war and with the promise of a better tomorrow, I voted you in, I thought I would get out of the murk Why I will keep suffering from these bills you pass each day, Why my five children are now school dropouts and now pick tea in your plantation; For five shillings a day, Why at the end of the day I will go home with a grumbling stomach, An empty bag, And my hungry emaciated babies’ eager with anticipation, Will have to sleep on an empty stomach, And why in the morning I will find one took for the street, And later hear he was marooned by the city council, City mortuary just for a few days, If I do not claim the body, Six feet under in an unknown grave he would go, Yes, without a ceremony. Wow, I can’t believe we turned fifty!

Poetry

You Scare me: Of Men Beasts

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You scare me. When you forcefully bring my pants down, You scare me, When you squeeze yourself into me. Is it mama that I should run to? But she is never there, Her diary full of work schedules, Day and night shifts, Or either she went for that business trip abroad, A high-flying career, A woman that knows no limits at her workplace.   You scare me, You hurt me, Daddy, Is this not supposed to only happen between adults? At least I heard my friend say; That her mummy warned her against showing off her private parts Why do you always insist on seeing mine? Why do you hurt me?   You scare me, You torture me, I am always in constant pain, My friends in the kindergarten keep asking. What really happened to the way I walk? I see the way you look at me every day, The way you summon me into your bedroom, Daddy, Does this happen to every child? And why do you always say it is our little secret, When you gracefully hand me the bars of chocolate?    You scare me, The thought of coming home every day, The thought of seeing you after school, Daddy, I am scared. Of men beasts When will this ever stop?  

Blog

My mother’s Daughter: The World Is Your Stage!

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My mother has always been the biggest support system I have had since I was a child. Looking back, she supported my dreams and pushed me to achieve a level of greatness I would not think possible. At an early age of 10, I discovered I had a talent, poetry-I began my journey of doing solo verses. I attended music festivals and the annual church festivals. I vividly remember my first shot at doing a solo piece, it was grueling. My teachers came up with the piece, it was for a church festival. It went like “Food is little, Children are crying, No mothers to nurse them, Fathers, brothers, No men in the villages, All are gone, Gone for days without an end. Fire! Fire! Houses are on fire! What has caused it? We wonder! They came at night, We were to tired to wake up, They stole our food from the stores, They have burnt everything! We carried our belongings, Running for our dear lives, With nowhere to go……” Sadly, this poem was a traumatic one for me, but I was so young to understand. I do not recall the intention behind this poem, or why I was chosen to actually do the solo. But what I do recall was the fact that during practice sessions, one of my teachers asked me to tap into my pain, so I could show emotion and cry. Sadly, for me, this had been my reality, my family and I had lost everything a year before from tribal clashes including my father. Story for another day. As sad as this may seem, that’s how my poetic journey began. Every year, my mum made sure I was in a school play or doing some sort of poetry, I came to love it. She constantly reminded me that I could be anything, that I just needed to put in effort. She would use me as an example for my siblings and somehow, this pushed me to achieve even more in my academics and co-curricular activities. My other siblings also followed this dream, we were an artistic family, we would get all the leading roles in a drama or do solo verses ,both for the church festivals and the Kenyan music festivals for our schools. My mother instilled leadership in us at a very young age. We took up space wherever we were. From learning how to do chores and run our little lives, to learning the importance of farmwork, to being leaders at school and at church. I remember one time my mum being summoned by the church leadership about our whereabouts on a particular Sunday, we had skipped church. This was because we would always lead the church school choir and our missing in action was such a big deal. The world has always been my stage, and my mother made sure that I knew this from a young age. Her support meant everything and propelled me. As a mentor and trainer with LatitudeZero Opportunities , I realise the impact one can have on those who look up to them. How words of affirmation and encouragement can shape the future of the young people I work with. Each day, I strive to let them know that the world is their stage, and they can be anything they ever dreamt of.    

Blog

Purposeful Living

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There are days I have questioned my very mere existence, sort of like the “why am I here? What was I placed to do on this earth.  I have had people joke and even call others “waste of space” very derogatory if you ask me. I don’t believe anyone can be a waste of space. We all serve a calling, yet sometimes I have found myself questioning mine. Wondering if what I am doing is right or enough, or even what legacy I would leave when I am long gone. I asked a few friends of mine if they believed in a purpose and if they found theirs, and if it was fulfilling for them? I got all manner of answers. They all circled back to one thing though, they all wanted in their own way to leave an indelible mark on this world. They wanted to be remembered for their small contribution they had on this world. That’s what I thought summarized purposeful living. Does purpose change? There were times I would have sworn that I knew what my purpose was, and I stuck with it for years. And when something altered this sense of purpose, I found myself lost and questioning what my purpose was. Showing up for your purpose. In 2022, I went through such a phase. I prefer to say I was adjusting and realigning. It was the first time I was going through such a transition, and it shook me like a tsunami. I had lost my voice, not literally but in so many other ways. I thought I had lost my purpose too. Ever been in dark space, a pit you know not how you would get yourself out? That was me in the depths of it all. The struggle was real. I listened to podcasts that would help me find myself. I wanted to rebuild so bad but had little strength to do it. What’s my purpose? Was a question that lingered on at this point.   Purposeful living. Purposeful living is a conscious decision to  do things in a way that aligns with your core beliefs and values and in a way that makes you happy.  My experiences have taught me that purpose doesn’t necessarily remain constant. It is more of that thing that gives you the energy to wake up each day excited to get something done and achieve something. For instance, a new parent may find a new purpose when their child is born, it could be in nurturing their children or working to ensure they don’t miss out on anything.  A poet may find new purpose in creating pieces that speak for a social cause and a sign language teacher may find it exciting to teach a class sign language and ensure smooth communication. Find your purpose. When we go through a rough patch, it’s easy to not find anything exciting. We mostly are hanging on by a thread and days and months could go by. It’s okay to stop and take a break and heal us before we can get on track. Self-care is a big part of purposeful living. What’s that thing that gives you purpose?  

Blog

Reclaim Your Identity

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I have felt lost in my life and sometimes thought of myself as a wandering spirit of some sort. I lost myself in my work when I gave it my all thinking I could change a little corner of my world. I lost myself trying to help other people I cared about because I always went the extra mile to fulfil their needs. You know those times you stretch yourself thin thinking you could do it all, you could take care of all the problems around you, you could take away the pain of those you love and care for deeply. And then one day you wake to realize that that would be such an impossible task. That all along you couldn’t and might never be able to do it all, that you cannot save everyone!  In my twenties, I had this noble idea that I could change a lot. I had equal drive and passion, and I constantly was in a race against time, resources and my dreams. I wanted it all, I wanted the world, and nothing could stop me. I remember when I got my very first job, I was a program assistant earning Ksh 20K, it was as if my world had come to a stand still when I got this news. I remember making plans for all the things I could change and budgeting a trip around the “sun”. I thought this money would be life changing and that I could do anything. I had learnt some budgeting during my college years but when I received my very first paycheck, it dawned on me how much responsibility I had vis a vis the money I was earning. It became apparent that I could only do so much. After all the budgeting, I would be left with 2K which I would save in the same current account. Money that would mostly spend very limited time in my account despite it being allocated as “savings”. Why, you might ask, I have always been a giver, so I gave and catered for peoples’ urgent needs. Their emergencies became my own, I embraced them like that scar you got as a kid that isn’t going anywhere. I guess we all have that, right?   When I first started my business, I had big dreams. I saw it as my baby, something that needed to be nurtured. So, I drove all my attention there, I spent nights working on putting together workshop materials and thinking about the next big thing. It was such a rollercoaster. I never knew just how much potential this business had, but I had a dream and a clue on how life changing this could be for me and our beneficiaries. I still wanted to change the world, if only I could empower one young mind, if only I could bring about a mindset shift, if only one or two people got employed or started a business because of a skill I had taught them. That was all that I needed. So, I pushed to make it happen, I wouldn’t let anyone get in the way. At some point, I did not realize just how much I was losing myself in my work. I stressed about my deliverables, employee’s deliverables, the participants and whether we were doing enough or right by our funders. I was and still am a perfectionist, but if anything, life has taught me that sometimes we can only do so much. I remember one time just before covid and six months into the business, I broke down. I was overwhelmed and at this point, I just felt like I needed the world to open and swallow me. I thought I should quit but something was still holding me back. It felt like I had not fulfilled my purpose, like there was more to be done and God had placed me here for this very reason. So, I found strength to continue but still I was not taking care of myself. My work became my identity, I was always looking for ways to better our curriculums or learn something I could teach my students. I had fun on most occasions but eventually, that was all I could speak about or identify with. I am a lover; I love life and I love my family and friends. I had never thought that I would let a relationship almost define my very existence. I met a guy; one I thought was the “one”. I guess sometimes we have that kind of person. The one who sweeps you off your feet and it feels like you have conquered the world. Sorry, sometimes it’s just an illusion. I watched a video sometime back that said that “ if he gives you the butterflies” he is not the one. I cannot attest to whether it works that way, but maybe there is some truth to it. The butterflies could be an indicator of being unsettled, some anxiety, like when you go on stage to present a speech or recite a poem and cannot imagine how your audience will react to your delivery. I loved and planned. I thought about all the things we could achieve. Don’t mind me. I am big on planning. My life since I was a teenager has been one big grand plan in my head, did it work the same way I planned it? Sorry to disappoint, it didn’t, but that doesn’t stop me from planning. I still have found myself planning for almost every aspect of my life. It has kinda helped me control some things for sure and anticipate for the worst. Might work for you or not. I lost myself in loving genuinely and even when the red flags about my relationship were right there, served on a silver platter right before me, I couldn’t see them, or maybe I ignored them because I couldn’t bring myself to believe the truth that was right there. It was not working, but

Poetry

Sometimes

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 Sometimes in the silent moments, We find who we are supposed to be, Who we always desired to be, And who we would wish to be. Sometimes in the silent moments, We get to reflect on how awesome life has been, How those who made us laugh made a big difference, How through it all we found our light and shone. Sometimes in those silent moments, We get to remember the tough times that defined us, The ones we thought that we would not get over, The ones that screamed “it is over”

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