Thursday, October 29, 2009


Last week there was a very sad story on Kenya's leading newspaper the Daily Nation about the high rate of early pregnancies. This came at the time when there has been a debate about contraceptives and the HIV prevalence rate going up. The story on the Daily Nation was about this school that twenty four girls out of twenty five have dropped out of school because they are pregnant. This are girls well under 16 years and infact most of them are just 10 years or slightly above. This has made me think about Birth especially the young mothers most of them barely 15 years old yet expectant.

Could this be the new tread in the rest of the world? I have just one more question, how shall tomorrows birth look like?

Below is the Poem, " Another Birth"


Yesterday’s birth was good
The new born survived
There were pains- as usual,
Every woman cried,
Screamed, to welcome the guest
Many of them are used to this treat and test

Today there will be another birth
There will be more pain
It will be unbearable
The wails and screams will likely be louder
The first experience- more to come
Today’s birth will be different from yesterdays
Today’s birth may be better than tomorrow’s

Everyone is talking about it
The women are talking in whispers
The grannies are dumb
How about the men?
Only a few are shocked
After-all this yet another strike
A strike from an iron rod
That she handled without care

Young and tender
She let it tore her fabric
She let the ink spill on her fabric
She let the sword pierce the fabric
She let them, him, skin her alive
She let it happen nine months ago,

Everyone is waiting eagerly
For tomorrows birth
To see the little thing
And how it shall look like
The day after tomorrow
Another birth
Then, the world might
Listen and reason
For the fruit is not yet ripe
For that birth

Simon Mwangi Muthiora

Monday, October 26, 2009

"WHO AM I" came into my mind when I came across a batterd Woman and I wondered howmuch we appreciate our DAUGHTERS, WIVES, SISTERS and MOTHERS.......!


Who do they say I am?
In the vast savanna
They call me daughter of the sands
The beleaguered woman
The shelter maker

Who do they say I am?
At the coast, I have several names
Saumu, Fatima, Harsia…..
Daughter of the deep seas
The mummy water; others quip
Who am I?
The beleaguered woman
The pilau cook

Akinyi yoo
Akoko yoo, Atieno yoo
Daughter of the fishes
They say my omena is the best
And you, who do you think I am?
Have you ever seen me dancing?
Off course not to those silly instruments
Not at all
Dancing to the tunes of otutu
Daughter of Ramogi
The beleaguered woman

Irio is my favorite
I also make good matoke!
Many a man fears me
“She is the money manic; the gold-digger?”
Wanjiku, Gaceri, Waithera
All are my names
The beleaguered woman
Pillar of Mt. Kenya

Kitu cha mtongoea
What does this mean?
Kitu gain hii
Others say I am the daughter of the salty waters
The face of the vast plains
The hip buster
Others call me a witch
I am not one,
I am a bed wizard

SPECIAL ONE FOR THE WOMAN WHO BORE ME; PURITY MUGURE, "You are such a darling to me. Despite those very ugly episodes in your life. I attest to the fact that you are the greatest Woman i have ever known. I love you!

"This post will never be complete without the rare mention of WAIRIMU KAIYEHE; You make me proud baibe. I have never known any better way of appreciating our love. But one day i am certain we shall kill the distance. You are special too"

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

TELL ME NOW what i was writing about, first it was a Spoon, then on the way i thought about a Woman's 'Eye'


Oh tell me now
What I have never known
Throughout my long journey
I have had encounters

No one has ever told me the truth
What pleasures they derives from me
I have never explored myself
I may never get the opportunity
I may never feel the taste of myself

Tell me,
Would there be taste without me?
You may say yes,
How then do you crave to scratch my back?
Your finger has always pointed at my eye

During my long journeys
I have been to the corridors of power
I have been to the most holly shrines
I have been to the murkiest forests
I have also been to
Battle fields
Many a night I have slept in tents
In slums
In palaces alike

Tell me now
What pleasure do you derive from me
Your finger always pointing at my eye
None of you has ever exhausted me
That’s why I fly on
Run on
Walk on
Swim on and
Crawl on

Oh tell me,
What pleasure you finds in me
Your finger always pointing at my eye
What pleasure do I give you?
I am tried, tested, tasted and trusted
Your finger always pointing at my eye.


"AMPUTATED ITCH" is the story of our childhood jiggers that reminds us how far we have come from. Amputation reflects the change of Fortunes in life.


Until the accident
That road accident
I had my toes- I would feel them on
That reminds me of my childhood
Those little creatures
That some time gave me a sweet itch
I would love to scratch between the toes
Not before they breed
And their white eggs
Oozed out!

My leg is now gone
Gone with the scalpel
Knee downward

That reminds me of the accident
That crippled and condemned me to a wheelchair
It is many years now
After feeling the scalpel rip my leg off
After the amputation
But I can still feel the itch
Through an illusion nerve
Reminding of my childhood
The wrong gone days,
Gone long away!


Saturday, October 17, 2009

"APPEAR TONIGHT" is a poem about wife inheritance. A practice as old as time, it remains deep rooted in our society! But we can all say no, TONIGHT.


Oh my poor man
Man of a woman
Son of a woman
Did you have to leave?
At one million hour
When I needed you most?

A son was not all I wanted
One was not enough
Three or four would have been better

Could you be watching this?
Your lustful brothers
Your cruel mother
Oh! I hope I left instead

I remember those days
When we soiled and toiled together
Remember the ever dying promises
Promises of a prince to a princess
The kisses
All those adventures,
Now gone and washed away

The moment you shut down,
A part of me went under
It went with you
I hardly live again

Why did you have to go?
Was it natural?
Could your mother have a hand in this?
Probably she is the bad omen

Your splendid smile
Is still fresh in my mind
My body is nostalgic
Missing the golden touch
Warming the loins and
Illuminating my womanly faculties
Were you here tonight…?

To share my wet dreams
Did you see him force me?
Please forgive me my dear
They forced me
Threatened me with eviction
If I declined!
I am sorry I lay him, I know you saw that
But I had to, or else your sons would loose
The land would go
And ‘home’ is no better, my brothers are no better
Neither is dad any good!

Your lustful brother has made me swell
Is this the way to sorry a widow?
Lay her night long?
It’s him to blame, eating from your plate.
This could never have happened, if you were around

I miss your smile
You would be cheering me up
Please cheer me tonight
Let me see beyond
Let me feel you
Only for tonight
Creep below my blankets
And warm my loins
Creep deep in, and
End my thirst, the thirst of a widow
It is only you who will know how!

Before they retires to bed
I don’t know who will be the man tonight
But, feel me before ‘he’ comes
I want you one last time
Touch me
Appear tonight
For a night

This a special one to all Inherited Women in Kenya and other parts of Africa. This practice is as old as the Bible yet women continue to suffer silently. Besides been inherited this women are battered and treated like deities by preying male who use them as sex tools.


Tuesday, October 13, 2009

He was young at the time of his death, but his strong Will & Love was enomous. Simon Kamatu, your typical young saint, "My Tribute To Simon"



I doubt you will read this
I hope you will anyway.
It hurts to think about you
Atleast not now

How much I wish you are on a short journey
Oh, how much I wish you are just somewhere
Smiling as you always did.

Simon, my pen is refusing to write
Its innocence is open
My mind is refusing to think
My guilt is open
This paper is refusing to bear you
Its innocence is open

Why did this happen to you?
At that tender age!

When you lived
Very few people cared, just a few
Many didn’t bother.
Very few
Wanted to be with you,
To know you,
To help you,
To feed you,
To listen to you,
Or even to think about you.

You were always jovial,
In an empty stomach
You smiled
In torn shirts and shorts
You laughed
When no one showed love
You simply praised God.
What a heart!

Now that you are with us no more
We are all crying our hearts out.
Our eyes are swollen
A true sign of guilt
And even pretence

Wish we loved you when you lived
Wish we made you laugh
Wish we smiled together
Wish we appreciated you
Wish you would live again.

Simon, all and sundry gave eulogies
But they were all regretful

Your love for the world was not in vain
It was the best lesson for us all
That the ‘will’ is bigger than people, years, and it
Can conquer this world.

As we celebrate you Simon,
We just make one request…..
That we are all guilty,
Fill our hearts with joy again
And heal this cancer
That has eroded and eaten away
The Love of our hearts!

Simon Kamatu was my cousin and he died young. He had the spirit and will of a real gentleman.

All rights reserved. Simon Mwangi Muthiora

Saturday, October 10, 2009

"A WOMAN'S MEAT" is my next Poem that is about Female Genital Multilation. STOP FGM TODAY

FGM continues to be practised in many countries. I read the Novel; DESERT FLOWER and this book inspired me to write this poem. How many of our sisters are suffering quietly in the hands of this merciless act? God apparently created the clitoris for the sole purpose of generating pleasure. It has no other purpose. There is no instruction in the Bible or in the writings of the Qur'an which require that the clitoris be surgically modified. Thus God must approve of its presence. And so, it should not be removed or reduced in size or function.

Mutilated genitalia reduce or eliminate a woman's pleasure during the act. Besides its in-human to subject a woman to this suffering that continues to haunt many.


Early in the morning
Before the birth of the sunlight
And the death of the moonlight
The old gypsy woman appeared
Her motive open
Clad in the humor of guilt
For a woman’s meat
Was all her target
In the name of cleanliness

Grinning, she closed in
Ha ha ha ha, ha ha ha........
“It is not painful granddaughter”

In her kiondo, gawky instruments
A near rust knife
Stained with dry blood-from yesterday’s cut
“Part your legs child, culture does not hurt”
She spit
With no opium she knelt between
And the slaughtering started

“This knife is blunt”
She knelt again between the tender thighs
And searched for the bottom of
Her womanhood with the finely filed teeth

Within no time she spat out the ‘meat’
A woman’s only meat
Ha ha ha ha, ha ha ha........
“You have graduated daughter
You are clean; you will now get a man
You are a woman; the dirt is now gone......
Ha ha ha ha, ha ha ha........”
She laughed, her lips red in fresh warm blood
From yet another cut, or munch-amid ‘her’ yells and screams

“You are not dirty anymore”
Wearing a grin of terror,
She picked a long sharp keiapple thorn
Teared across the fabric
Of her wounded womanhood

Amid the young girls wails and screams
The gawky woman makes the stitch
In the name of cleanness
Besides the ailing girl
Stood the mother
And a dozen of smiling aunts, all
Celebrating the cut
Of a woman’s only ‘meat’


"The importance given to virginity and an intact hymen in these societies is the reason why female circumcision still remains a very widespread practice despite a growing tendency, especially in many urban settings, to do away with it as something outdated and harmful. Behind circumcision lies the belief that, by removing parts of girls' external genitals organs, sexual desire is minimized. This permits a female who has reached the dangerous age of puberty and adolescence to protect her virginity, and therefore her honor, with greater ease. Chastity was imposed on male attendants in the female harem by castration which turned them into inoffensive eunuchs. Similarly female circumcision is meant to preserve the chastity of young girls by reducing their desire for sexual intercourse."

The physical complications associated with FGM may be acute or chronic. Early, life-threatening risks include hemorrhage, shock secondary to blood loss or pain, local infection and failure to heal, septicemia, tetanus, trauma to adjacent structures, and urinary retention.13,14 Infibulation (Type III) is often associated with long-term gynecologic or urinary tract difficulties. Common gynecologic problems involve the development of painful subcutaneous dermoid cysts and keloid formation along excised tissue edges. More serious complications include pelvic infection, dysmenorrhea, hematocolpos, painful intercourse, infertility, recurrent urinary tract infection, and urinary calculus formation. Pelvic examination is difficult or impossible for women who have been infibulated, and vaginal childbirth requires an episiotomy to avoid serious vulvar lacerations.

Less well-understood are the psychological, sexual, and social consequences of FGM, because little research has been conducted in countries where the practice is endemic. However, personal accounts by women who have had a ritual genital procedure recount anxiety before the event, terror at being seized and forcibly held during the event, great difficulty during childbirth, and lack of sexual pleasure during intercourse."

Thursday, October 8, 2009

Paul Kibe makes a return with the "NEW SEASON" Where are the rain Gods? Kenyatta Day is my D-day. I perform in public for the first time.


The enchanting sun spread its wings across the barren vastness like a warm and sensual soothing light,natural yet surreal.
For six seasons,the skies looked down scornfully as the streams turned into valleys,crops choked under the scorching heat while an army of vultures banqueted on sumptuous meals of animal carcasses that dotted the countryside.The farmers watched helplessly as the fields became a furnace,the sun the executioner.
But the afternoon still crawled on as the once vibrant village drowned in silence of blood-cuddling screams of anguish set out to break the coldest of souls.Mathioya's life of quiet desperation was slowly becoming a nightmare,a fleeting shadow on a cloudy day.
Then without warning,pregnant cumulonimbus clouds gathered hurriedly above the jagged Ngai hills pushing the crimson sunset rays to the western periphery as the sun dived into the ocean blanketing the village into near pitch darkness.
Whirling dust to skies infinite,a violent breeze gushed scattering the clouds momentarily and giving way to bolts of lightning punctuated by incessant roars of thunder.And as a multitude of drops coalesced menacingly,a wolf howled from a distance as a mother scolded a truant child who was still playing outside just in time for the long knitting needles of rain commenced their choreographed dance of clatter on the thirsty soil.

Muhunjia was still lying on the concrete floor of the cell of the shrine almost lifeless when the three horns trumpeted in unison.He stirred laboriously as if to scare away his sealed fate,the stench of death threatening to suffocate him.
He reached for a matchstick by the side with much difficulty.Striking it on his left earlobe,he lit the sooty lamp and as the wick hungrily swallowed the last few drops of oil,he propped his bones on the wet wall.He clutched the rosary beads with trembling hands unsure of what prayer befitted that hour of need.
He was still mumbling some caned lines when steady footsteps approached hurriedly.Then the black door creaked open allowing in the three wizened clan elders.
The mesh work of cobwebs clung defiantly almost indignantly on the door frames,the streaks of freedom preying into the room briefly.And as they mopped their soggy faces,one staggered onto a dry bone.The intruding clatter reverberated,scaring a curious lonely rat.
The rat dived into the pile of bones as it scampered for safety disturbing their ordered sleep and like a house of cards,the heap came crushing down in a deafening scream of mercy.
A gush of fresh air stole through the half open door whistling soft commands to the ears of the warring parties in a jig of pacification.Then it rushed out violently,unsteadying the precarious lamp on its belly as the door banged shut.
For a brief moment,the village shook as the explosion resonated in unison with an ear splitting rumbling thunder from the mountains.
Panic stricken ,the entire village poured into the shrine but a moment late.They found the charred bodies of the three elders prostrate on one side alongside their sharpened machetes while that of the new village pastor was sprawled on the other still clinging on his rosary.
That planting season was marked with less fanfare for there were no seasoned elders left to lead the celebrations.And as they toiled in their farms,the peasants would occasionally share snuff or cut sweat in small hushed up groups exchanging notes of that fateful evening.Some blamed it on the lightning while others cursed the lamp.But they all unanimously agreed that time had come to stop spilling innocent blood at the onset of the long rains.The rains had not only brought hope on the dry fields but also watered the seed of tolerance in their hearts .
The Thai faithfuls took an oath at the eve of the bounty harvest to uphold their beliefs and allow other doctrines to take root in memory of the three Matathi elders.