I’m a fan of gengetone.
Not that it tickles me as much as Bongo flava.
And neither do I love them like I love hot lemon. I’m that fan with contrasting expressions from verse to verse. But I love creative art; I’m an ardent lover of deep poetry, like that of Mufasa Poet. I also think Sauti Sol is the sauce of Africa. I believe it when King Kaka says he’s a wordsmith. I love Nadia Mukami’s beautiful vocals. Oh, and Otile’s, and Nviiri’s and Bensol’s…the list is long but bite my tongue should I leave without mentioning my good friend Evelyn Muthoni. Yake ni ile ya kutoa ‘ pangoni. Damn! She’s good.
Do I think Professor Hamo is funny? “Of course, yes.” His sight cracks me up even before he opens his mouth to crack the joke.
I love literature; I still hold Ngugi wa Thiong’os work in high esteem. Guess what though, my predilection for literature doesn’t go way back. I’d be lying. In fact I didn’t know I could put words together and wow people, until I was 21. Well, I knew I wrote good compositions back in Primary School, but not good enough to have our Teacher read them in front of the class. So, I never took writing seriously. In High School, I hated writing Minutes, Assays, Official/non Official Letters… But I enjoyed those “write your composition beginning/ending with this words…” those were my thing. But still, it failed to occur to me that I’d be here today scribing. It was until I dated a blogger. One evening, he put me up to a challenge. “Babe, let’s each do ‘An Open Letter to Our Unborn Son‘ then compare notes later.” I took the challenge. So like me. No offense, but I’d never envisioned myself mothering a boy before then, and so, I did mine as ‘An Open Letter to My Unborn Daughter.’ It wasn’t as good as his. Weeh! He was good. (PS: I’m using past tense not because he’s an ex but because he stopped writing) He was really good with words. Especially because he’s the life of the party type of son and in some kind of way, he’d transfer his humor to his work. There was no way you’d read his pieces and not laugh till you cried. When he read my letter, he wasn’t wowed. I saw it from his face. But since he didn’t wanna hurt me, he said, “You can write.” I took offense. To date, I actually hate it when someone comments “you can write.” On my work. I feel sort of insufficient. More like they’re trying to say, “you tried, you can do better.” But then, I didn’t stop at that. I wrote. And wrote. And wrote… and that’s how I landed on this site in the year 2014. I started this blog. I saw myself grow from piece to piece. I taught myself how to tell stories from my own experiences and sometimes change persona.
But then, I too got to the point where I stopped writing. You guys have no clue how amazing it feels when you slide into my DM asking why I stopped writing. I feel appreciated. Thank you. here’s what happened; I became too self conscious, I began to feel the starkness in my pieces and thought I was unmasking myself a little too much, and for free. Unlike my ex, I didn’t nip in the bud. I just stopped posting, brought down some of the posts which I felt exposed me too much and started journalling intead, and extensively, with the hope that one day, I will gather the courage to post all the stories I have written in pencil. Let’s hope together.
Moving on swiftly, this year, I have come to love Kinyanjui Kombani. Google him. And I think it’s time I met Brian Mbanacho. I might wonna buy his books as well; The Honourables first. Then we could exchange a few notes in the process. By the way, Brian is my favorite writer on Facebook. He’s good.
Oh shoot! Were we not talking about gengetone before I lost the thread? Poleni. But you remember I said I’m no fan right? Haha! Well, I meant I’m not such a big fan, though there are those few sounds that move me intinctively. Not that I even pay a lot of attention to the lyrics or the video content, sometimes I just close my eyes (literally) and just listen. I especially enjoy, those ones of Miracle Baby and the crew. They remind me of how much I loved Nonini when I was a little girl. Gosh! I feel old. By the way, I knew all of his songs word by word specifically ‘Mtoto Mzuri‘. Now I can only imagine how our folks would sit and wonder the hell their kids were listening to. Same way I look at my teenage cousins today, singing along to some of these songs and wonder. “Can’t these kids even feel a bit of shame on them?” I go like, “from where do y’all even get the nerve to sing along out loud and in public.” Then I swallow my words after I suddenly remember how I’d sing along to Nonini. But honestly, some of these songs are just too extreme that they give bad taste to this genre of creativity. But well, what do I know? To every man his own. Ama namna gani my frens?
See you soon!
Wanjiku The Writer.