Who are you?

” The lord shall preserve me from all evil, He shall preserve my soul, the Lord shall preserve my going out and my coming in. From this time forth and even forever more, from this time forth and even…. Forever… More.”

When I was a child, some of my first memories were of music. 90s hip hop is my childhood theme, I am born free as they say in South Africa, 1994 baby.

On the first of july I arrived just in time for lunch, as I always do… (maybe my friends have noticed tihihi)

So, yeah, I arrived neh. I was within as they say in my home country Botswana. Even though I was born in Nairobi Kenya, shout out to my Kentswana buddies btw…

So I was chilling neh, then at 3/4 months I got on my first plane neh. I don’t remember how that was… Cause my memories don’t do that, (lmk if yours do in the comments below.)

Then I came to beautiful Botswana. My God, that place is AMAZING .

Y’all should come visit.

Anyways fast forward to 2020.

I’ve always had a hard time explaining who I am and where I am from because I am many things. I am not alone in this, EVERYONE IS MANY THINGS ALL AT ONCE. And that my friends is what being alive means. Being everything and sometimes feeling like you are nothing at all.

Yesterday I felt like nothing.

This morning I feel like a hero.

Saturday night I felt like a piece of actual excrement.

Now I feel like such a boss bitch and you can’t tell me I am not.

So, let me reintroduce myself.

“I am the stone that the builder refused…”

Jk, tihihi

I am Ivy Mutheu Sumbi, daughter of Mbula and Mulu. I am a Kamba woman. I am a Motswana by the virtue of being raised there. I am a Kenyan because I say I am a fucking Kenyan (bitch don’t get me started).

I am African despite having a Disney Channel accent.

I am clothed in strength and dignity.

I am currently laughing at the days to come.

So… That’s me.

Who the fuck are you to tell me otherwise.

Tell me who you are in the comments. You’ve been part of my family for 7 years now. All love.




One of the most beautiful things has to be those sweet smiles you share with yourself.
Smiling at the blue sky, or your phone.
At a private joke.
At how awesome you are.

Remember those smiles when you are down.
When you look in the mirror and don’t like what you see, remember that there is more to you than your image.

I am starting to accept that the highs and lows don’t matter as much as what I think about myself.

No matter how much weight I gain or lose, how I do my hair, what I wear, how I speak, where I am…

I matter. Amidst the chaos, difficulty, boredom and stickiness of healing from something I don’t understand. I am hopeful.

Because once in a while I look up, and feel the corners of my mouth rising up to a slight smile, and I remember just how beautiful I am.


Rafiki (2018)

Hate is looking her in the eye and saying you love her, but you can’t be with her cause the world doesn’t accept this.

I just watched a story of love and found myself pan handling for change.

I am now both teary eyed and hateful.

It’s so unfair that such a beautiful thing is faught against with such vigor.

Oh… the energy you spend on banning a beautiful film, spend that on bettering our economy, fill in those pot holes, keep those damn corrupt politicians IN FUCKING JAIL.

Paint those god forsaken buildings, preserve national heritage sites, improve the fucking sanitation in CBD, get rid of the fucking pit latrine, stone-age-esk plumming situation by Ambasssader.

Fill out hearts with pride when we think about you.

Make me happy to be Kenyan.

But instead, you deprive us of the Rafiki movie, you don’t support art. You cater to the select complaining masses in Lavington , but not us… The artists, the so called bright future that you CONSTANTLY dim with the array of shit you throw around…


Ironic, you are an unsupportive friend.

YOU are a fucking fake friend.

You don’t have to agree with it to publish it, you don’t have to eat art up and swallow it to support it.

If you let people be who they are, oh my GOD what a wonder we would live in.

Hate is depriving ourselves from the opportunity to change.

Stop hating yourself Kenya.

Please, stop…

Yours Angrily

Mutheu wa Mbula


This is what love sick really means

You are lying in bed at 4:20pm.
It’s hot outside, or atleast warm ish.
The room is cold and you are covered in three blankets, wearing a beanie and a black dress. With a black jersey.

You don’t know why you decided to wear all black today.
Or why your stomach hurts and Taking a shit hurts.
Maybe it’s the drugs your taking.
It’s now 4:21 and you haven’t gotten to the point yet.

You miss how he kisses you.
You miss how he was always there when you woke up and when you fell back asleep.

You miss watching him work on some engineering stuff you don’t understand.

You miss misunderstanding him.

You miss the silence, cause you never had to tell him what’s wrong. What to do, how to make something, what you needed. He always knew.

37 days left.
And it’s 4:23.
And you miss him.

So much it’s making your tummy hurt.

Throw that back.

Here is a little something I found as I was going through my journals this morning….

This is as raw and as natural as it gets. An old poem about an old love that was never mine. And instead of getting rid of it I’ve decided to share it and let it go. This is an exercise in self love, release and honestly.


Mwiitu wa Mbula

Relearning (1):Dreams

I close my eyes and i think
Of all things i dreamt of as a kid.
The things i swore i knew were posssible in my mind. The things that only childhood brings.

The thing is…
Im not a child anymore.
Flying dreams became falling dreams became dreams of falling in love became the reality of heartbreak.
The monsters in my nightmares are now the monsters in my life.
Ghouls and goblins wave at me in the streets of this big city.
And i cant seem to catch a break. Or a breath. Or hope. Or my dreams.

They are like a double edged sword. Giving you hope initially and despair when unfulfilled.
They are illusive sleep to the insomniac. They tease you and leave you lonely.
Flirt with you and leave you horny
They bait you, leave you wanting.
They break you.
So im left running.

Dreams are for children.
They are the kryptonite to my adulthood.
They hold onto me like regret
Now i cant stop having them.

I will swallow the bitter with the sweet.
And i will learn how to fly again.