Moonlight Monologues


Hi. I’m not sure what kind of  night you’re having because you look like you always do. I guess that’s part of being the moon; sitting in the middle of night,not saying much or doing much at all. Just looking. Waiting. Maybe for someone to look up and say ‘Hi’? I don’t know.

I feel like I can talk to you. Is it because of your kind phase? Sorry, bad moon joke.

Anyway, I wish I could cop a ride to where you are.  We could hang out. I’ll do most of the talking. Okay, all of it.
We’ll look down at this crazy world, watch as the pesky humanoids go about, trying to make sense of existence.

We’ll shake our heads at the clueless ones. We’ll want to shout and tell them to face reality. But we won’t. Reality will walk up to them and punch them right in the face; her flight might be a little late but she’ll get there eventually. Our hearts will break as we see theirs do. A tear may fall as theirs fall in torrents.

But on the other side of town, there are the hopeful ones. The dreamers. Lost in their own worlds, they barely register the one before them. That’s not always a good thing.

They’ll look up to us. We’ll be surprised at first. Shocked that they are looking directly at us. You won’t be able to turn but I’ll look behind us to see if they’re trying to catch the eye of a zooming shooting star. But it’ll be us that they’re looking at ; the moon and (his? Her? We should really have that conversation ) trustee sidekick.

For some reason, they wont ask me to give you guys a minute. For that night, all dreamer- moon privilege shall be waived.
Then they’ll tell us their heart, their pain, their deepest desires.
We’ll listen. Could we do anything beyond that? For some reason, you will be brighter. As if the dreams and pain of dreamers are the light you reflect back.

She’ll leave the house,wanting to just be outside. It’s a warm night and the moon seems to be beckoning her. She doesn’t think much about it but she knows what she feels.  She goes with her gut.

He’ll be walking down the street. He wont know where he’s going, but not home. Not right away. His chest will have a dull ache. Incessant. A slow burn on the inside. Never stopping. Never getting better.

He’ll see the bench, perfectly encased in the amber street light and he’ll know it’s where he was going. He’ll sit down with a sigh, wishing he could rip out his heart and be done with the pain.

He wont notice her sit beside him as his head will be buried in his hands.

‘Beautiful night, isnt it?’

He’ll look at her,sursprised. She’ll be smiling slightly, looking up at us. He wont be able to stop looking at her. The amber street light and the silverish moonlight will play on her features beautifully. She’ll look at him for the first time. He’ll look up at us quickly as the dull throb in his heart turns to flustered beats. They’ll look up at us, not really seeing us,  but the possibilities of the next lifetime.

He’ll be glad that he didn’t rip out his heart. He may have some use for it after all.

To every journey, there is an end. And to this journey, that end has come. Mwende the dreamer was born over two years ago but now it’s time she grew up a little.

I appreciate you, dear reader, who has been with me throughout the journey. Listening to my winding monologues and pushing me on when the hill got too steep.

I hope that you’ll join me as I start a new on my new platform

You didn’t think I was actually quitting, did you? I’d go crazy if I didn’t write!

See you guys on the other side 😉




Caring hurts. Such is the folly of the human heart. It brings such joy at first, to be vulnerable,  but with time you realize that you’ve stretched your neck across a chopping board. You’ve given someone a butcher’s knife to hold over your head, hoping they wont drop it.

Its a thrill, knowing you trust a person. But the hand gets tired. Distractions come along, and though they may not mean to do it maliciously, the knife falls.

Disbelief comes first, then anger. Anger can burn for quite a while . But staying angry takes such a toll. Eventually, you tire of the rage game and tell yourself ‘i will never….’.

Being human is such a chore. Sometimes it becomes too much too bear and its just easier not to care.
Its easier to sit in this chair and not move. It’s easier to try not to do anything to disturb the air around me. Its calm and peaceful as it is. No need to mess that up. So I’ll just sit here and be invisible. Its easier.  

Sealed Lips, Dry Eyes

Some words come easy, some don’t. The most important barely make their way out.
Those that have the power to bring us to our knees, we hold closest, lest anyone know how we truly feel. We have gotten so good at lying, we don’t realize that at some point, we ourselves  began believing it. But no matter how much you believe it, a lie is still a lie.

Sometimes it’s not what is said, but what is left unstated. The ambiguity we leave to linger in the air.
Its hesitation before giving a reply that barely skirts the truth.

Sometimes pain characterizes every waking moment until you can’t remember what ‘normal’ feels like.

Sometimes, under the cloak of darkness, away from caring eyes,  we let ourselves go. We stop running and let the tears catch up. Not that they were that far behind.

Sometimes, not all the time, we wish we could have them back. If only for a moment.  Just to hold them. To tell them we love them. To tell them how much we miss them.
Only that sometimes, ‘sometimes’ is every single stitch in the fabric of time.

Love Lives Here

We all know that one of the factor’s of influence on a child’s psychological development is their parents’  relationship with one another. So, I suppose I should attribute my sanity to my parents getting it right with each other. Every kid asks, “Mum, how did you and Dad meet? ”
Come to think of it, a lot of weight is placed on that question.

Anyway, it took about 18 years for me to get a straight answer and I’m still not sure if I can piece the whole story together. I guess I’ll wait for one of those opportune moments, that for some reason, involve my Mum being at the wheel and not being able to escape my curious eyes and pressing questions. If I’m lucky, there might just be a traffic jam.
Mum is a teacher and sensible is her middle name. But it’s always amusing to note that every time I ask her to retell the story, she blushes. She never makes eye contact …probably because she is driving. But I doubt she sees the road itself. It’s like time stops and all of a sudden, we travel back in time, more than 25 years ago. We no longer are just heading home, but instead, we cruise between memories. I look outside the window and I can picture them. Walking hand in hand… a couple…planning their future together. It’s obvious to anyone who looks at them that they have found in each other a safe place. They’ve found home.
And she tells the story of an answered prayer, an unlikely answer and their journey to love…

I look out into the world and I find it stripped bare of love and hope, tears marring the faces of the people. Hearts are scarred, a keepsake that could only say ‘once upon a time,love lived here’. Love’s meaning seems to have changed. But then I look home and I see a beacon of light. Love is still alive.
In a shared smile, a hearty laugh and an affectionate gaze. Even when words are exchanged, love remains supreme.
And I smile; hope is renewed. And I thank God for parents like you.
I thank him for love that has conquered the test of time and that of loss. Even that which has conquered raising a stubborn daughter.

Where The Heart Is

My culture shock just went to the next level. I’ve been to boarding school for 7 years!!! And yet here I am, home sick.

I miss the sun,
I miss the clear night sky,
I miss the humidity ( but my hair doesn’t )
I miss the irritating coasterian accent! ( never thought I’d say this)
I miss the freedom of being home,
I miss my dogs!! (Really, really, really)
I miss church,
I miss my friends,
I miss random conversations with my mum,
I miss laughing at my dad’s attempt at dancing,
I miss goofing off with my sister…

Oh, who am I kidding?!
I’m going home!!!!!

When In Rome

I was born and brought up in Mombasa. Save for my stints at boarding school,  the Coasterian way of life is the only one I’ve ever know. Don’t jump to the idea of me eating rice with my hands while I sit on the floor; it has been a hybrid kind of life. As you know, school offers a tempered condition so it did not prepare me for what I am currently going through. As of a minute ago, I have concluded that what I am suffering from is culture shock.

Mombasa has a large variety of cultures, and as one would expect, people have had to find a middle ground, a new culture of sorts. Kiswahili, as a language, dominates but English has always been my primary language.
I find Coasterians to be quite welcoming as compared to the people of the Cool waters. Plus, I don’t care what anyone says, I love the pace of life!!

Then there is Nairobi ……. To begin with, I basically live in Kikuyu central. I went to the market, not SUPERmarket, not grocery shop …MARKET. Everyone was speaking the golden language! The good news is, I now understand exactly what it means to stick out like a sore thumb. (Yes, at my height).
Do you know that moment when you’ve decided to turn in? When you have just switched off the television and for a while, everything is completely silent? I don’t know about you but i usually hear a monotonous hum. That’s what I heard the whole time as I sludged through mud from one stand to another.
On that day, I learnt never to mess with anyone’s veggie pyramid.  They get really testy and may give you an evil eye as they mutter something in a language you don’t understand, after which you can only utter a lame ‘Sorry.’

Minutes after entering a hair salon, I was handed a baby. Okay, I accept the fact that I am obsessive about detail. If I had known I would be handling a baby, I would have taken the necessary precautions. Relax! No one died. But seriously, I wouldn’t give my kid willy nilly to a stranger. Furthermore,why are you taking a baby with you to the salon?! The noise (read loud conversation ), the chemicals…it’s just not right. Not to mention constantly listening to a foreign language. All I can do is infer from facial expression and drop in tone that they are discussing something real juicy.

Let me not even start on the weather!! As per now, I can’t complain much because my scalp is slowly melting away in a drier. But at least I’m warm. #Sigh#.