What I do when I don’t write or work.
We’ve made it to the last day of this celebration. And I have to say that this did me so much more good than I thought it would. So thank you for tagging along. Now for the finale! Today’s featured artist is Angie Ngugi!
“My name is Angie Ngugi, a poet, writer, feminist and medic who is passionate about telling stories and personal experiences through poetry.”
It’s not that you weren’t perfect, you were.
It wasn’t the fact that you weren’t enough, you over flowed.
You made me feel loved.
You were gentle.
I saw you today.
I was a bit surprised to see you since last I heard you had moved to another part of town.
Yet here you were,
Right in front of me.
It had been two years since I last saw you, so a lot was going through my mind.
You had changed, a little.
You had a new spring in your step, you looked happy.
I was having a bad day so you were the last person I needed to see.
I couldn’t faceyou, especially after how we ended things.
My first instinct was to run and hug you.
Muscle memory, I guess
I wanted to ask you if life had been kind to you.
Whether you finally accomplished all your dreams,
Dreams that used to be ours
But it wasn’t my place, anymore.
I watched you walk away from me, again
I wish I hadn’t let you go but all I would have said was
“It’s not that you weren’t perfect, you were.
It wasn’t the fact that you weren’t enough, you over flowed.
You made me feel loved
You were gentle.”
And it just isn’t fair to drop that on someone Especially after two years, the AUDACITY.
So I let you go,
Like I did, two years ago.
Thank you all. For helping me grow in hope. I needed this.
Mutheu wa Sumbi
So we are at day five of this post once a day celebration. And day *insert number here* of social and physical distancing / quarantine. So here is something different you can feast on. Bio below….
Hi people of the internets! I’m thesarcasticbanterist. I’m both moody and bubbly depending on who you ask. I live in the grey with occasional dips in black or white. I love writing. To me it’s like taking a chaotic bunch of wool and knitting an intricate sweater. Check out my blog if you are so inclined.
Every so often I look back at some of my most impactful friendships. In self reflection you can’t help but remember the people who either hurt you and left a dent or people you hurt to the point of pushing them away.
This is a draft of a letter I wrote to a friend once. A depressed friend. I’m not a psychologist. I didn’t know how to separate myself from a situation. I just soaked it all in like a sponge until I couldn’t tell myself apart from her problems. I had to learn to navigate depression from the seat of a friend. Mental health awareness is only in its infancy. Awareness on how to be the friend of a depressed person is only in its conception if being considered at all. Nobody talks about the resentment and guilt. It’s not trendy right now. I’m still learning but I’ve come such a long way. What I’ve learned is that sometimes compassion is a skill. An active process. It’s not always an automatic switch even if you love them.
‘There are few things I truly hate. One of them being words left unsaid between friends. I realise you may have a limited quota of things to care about at the moment. And I may not be in that list. Fair enough. You’ve said you hadn’t truly felt comfortable opening up to me but you did to some extent. I should’ve considered that a privelage. How many people can say we express even a fraction of our truest selves to. I can count on maybe one hand. I didn’t mean to undermine your suffering. But I can see how my actions reflected that. It is now that I realise something I’ve known but never truly appreciated as true, there’s a big difference between caring about someone and showing that you care about someone. I assure you you never stopped being one of my best friends. A person I deeply respected even if I fell short of showing it in recent times. I’ve been the worst example of a friend by allowing something as ugly as frustration and anger to soil something as pure as compassion. Five years is a long time. Or maybe it isn’t. It’s all perspective I guess. In a couple of decades you might not even remember my name. It was hard. Sometimes the person in front of me seemed locked away somewhere unreachable and in trying to get to you with the smallest chisel. Nobody denies your strength but being strong also means being able to admit when you are weak. . In my desperate attempt to change your mindset I set myself up for disappointment. But I want you to know that the world is not out to get you. There are people who do love you and want to see you do well. More importantly I hope you stop looking for love in all the wrong places. ‘
Thank you for your responses and love on this series. You amaze me daily.
Mutheu wa Sumbi
The Artist I am featuring today is:
He is a spoken word artist, actor and writer.He is the first ever Mr. Albinism Kenya as well as the founder of the contemporary mime group, Mime Kenya. His poetry skills have given him platforms to showcase his dexterity with words, which has led him to being part of the Zebra Poetry Film Festival in Münster, Germany.
He’s taken part at the TEDx event (Buruburu) as a speaker _
He has won the Kenyatta University’s Poet of The Year Award amongst others.
Last year his short film MISFIT, got a silver dhow award at the Zanzibar International Film festival.
His goal in life is to use his art to radiate hope and heal hearts around the world.
I don’t want to imagine
I think of those mornings that invite dark days. when sunlight rains and drenches you of pain, past.
When the rays blindfold you to let you see your castle crumble and the seas allow you to watch your peace of mind being carried away by the waves
I hear of trees in the Amazon whistling away dirges
of spoons scooping from feeble plates
when you see life losing its breathe
When fake oxygen chokes your lungs and_
of wishes in form of horses that not even the rich can ride
of love spelled as H A.T.E
when the second hand on the clock decides to tick faster
when the rooster crows at noon
Of flowing blood forced to break it’s banks
to rob lives,
to paint disaster
of cracks rebuilding walls
of sleepless nights begging for dreams
loud voices unheard
of wrong teachings in form of songs replayed on our stereos
I don’t want to imagine saying Amen before making a prayer
those limps and staggers of a sober mind
of lambs roaring
once rolling wheels, now motionless tyres in the
hands of a mob burning a mugler.
when justice says neigh but the I’s have it.
genuine cries but viewed as childish temper tantrums best ignored
when green shouts move but red doesn’t even have have the strength to say stop
So i paint my thoughts colorless
pull these triggers and shoot away stereotypes
collabo with the shooting stars in the music of light
when Kenya will embrace truth and see the potential energy lying all over
maybe we should replace oxygen with inert gases if that’s the way to breathe out brightness.
cause if my thermometer is going to measure the same temperatures then I don’t want to imagine
His social media:
Stick around for more awesome Features.
Xxx Mutheu wa Sumbi
Hi everyone. The second poet I’m featuring is Slim Shaka. He is a writer and a spoken word artist.
Here is his intro.
“My name is Slim Shaka.
I am a performance poet with the Evolution art hub; a network of artists committed to inspire positive Social, political and economic change through art and leadership.
I’ve performed at various poetry platforms; Poetry After Lunch, History vs His_story(1 and 2), Try my shoes, Anika forum… Just to list a few.
My poetry is grounded on bridging ancient and modern street philosophy in voicing the status quo. A learning process I seek to obediently achieve.”
THE LOST WORLD
I woke up in the lost world,
The world of my dreams.
Tell the Quantum physicist. To travel the universe, I nolonger need his quantum foam.
My soul already did that. Long before I took the body form. I woke up in the lost world. The world of my dreams; when alkebulan was free of these boarders of segregation. The Azanian civilization blossomed from the land of Kush to South Afrika. The Indian ocean was still the Azanian sea & the Atlantic, the Ethiopian sea.
The Environment was overwhelmed by people meditating by the river side.
Nature spoke and humanity responded to the purity that understood the path to the source. I guess Divine words can only be as meaningful to those who understand it’s language.
You can never give lessons to a people never taught how to listen. So I listened.
I listened to the philosophy of Che. The only black man born white, the only white man who knew about rights. He showed the the love of being truthful, the truth in being loved. He said to me; Son, Your world is corrupted by selfishness & greed but don’t be like them.
Nature’s wrath is pure, not even the safest of them capitalists will survive… Death, has never missed it’s Target.
Stand tall & preach love & truth. You’ve got nothing to loose. Don’t bow to the self righteousness mental; one that uses fear to control the living, using food to control those in need of it, using amunition to control those who fear it but be those who heal the world through kindness. Ensure your generation respects life, because you are aware of where it comes from. Heal the world & go to extinction as a Noble species.
You are Mutambaruka, you are Midikizela. With freedom you live far beyond the heartbeat; Here, the dead don’t need oxygen to live. Just the inscription from the author of life saying; Live!
And che went away.
Then I listened. I listened some more to the chants from the trees & there I found the Egyptian Queen, Nefertiti. She looked at me, smiled and said;
Your words can save humanity. Let your letters maintain the formula. Sons of the Legendary black Queen Tiye. May the awareness of who you are Grant you wisdom to seek Divine consciousness and not social conformity so when you pay those taxes, ensure the money doesn’t leave with your dignity. Least you sacrifice your humanity for their debts.
You should know, Their economy hates vacuum.
But to be truly free is to be able to think & reflect in your society that only approves those who repeat what they are taught without question;
The government is always right, no question.
My religion is perfectly right, no question.
I am always right, no question?
Well here in Alkebulan the truth attracts criticism. It’s the only way it becomes affirmative how come yours doesn’t?
And the Queen went away.
At this point I realized, all this time I’ve been blinded by expectations. Never really seen the world for what it is. The selfishness & the greed that I’ve always hated has always been part of me.
A self destructive conformist. Honest to the world but never honest to self,
Seeking freedom for the world but never quite known freedom myself. The beauty of my mask only works from within; it’s difficult to admit, how then can I face it?
Trying to balance who I am & who I should be got me sleep walking in a dream that is this perfect reality. Will I ever get it right? Will I ever retrace my path to the Divine vision of my ancestors?
Will the value of my history worth much more than just the ephemeral amusement from the past?
Oh God, I woke up in the lost world.
Keep clicking for more featured artists.
Mutheu wa Sumbi
Hi everyone, in celebration of this year’s world poetry day, I will be featuring some of my favorite poets and their works.
To start, I’d like to introduce you to Nuru Rufo.
Thank you darling for honoring me with your words.
Be prepared for more impactful poems.
Mutheu wa Sumbi
” 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…”
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.