Being in the village makes you realize that going to the market is a privilege, because once in the city you can get all the groceries in the supermarket and not the ‘super’ market. Muddy, dusty offering the most natural interaction with the farmer turned businessman actually mostly businesswoman.

I went to such a place in the mid morning of that Saturday. I almost purchased everything coz my luggage was heavy to lift but I was happy of the many extra gifts that each trader added in my bag. I guess to lure me back next time, they didn’t even know how often I stopped by but they wanted me back to their stalls each time I came around. The market made me feel wanted and appreciated.

Keenly listening to my shoulders complaining of the excess weight gave way to my stomach muscles to surmise that the sugar levels would soon be down. So I seriously contemplated on eating at home; only that this meant I would arrive home to an empty kitchen, start to prepare the dish from scratch. Hell no I told myself and with that I walked into a restaurant.

I was really exhausted hence I chose an empty table; I did not intend to engage in a conversation with anyone but myself. My dish came first followed by my drink, followed by an elderly man who also chose my table and suddenly my space was crowded. I ate in silence my eyes glued on the plate not even raising my head to look at the man. Then he spoke to me; ‘Madam Do I take the drugs first or eat first?’ I raised my face and said eat first then take your drugs. In a second our eyes met, my heart sunk, my hair struck up as I thought I know this man… I know this man.  In that thick silence the elderly man spoke again this time as if he read my mind; “I think I know you, I think I have seen you somewhere”. I didn’t even look up, he continued; “you look like a kikuyu, where do you come from” I said kiambu, “Is that is central Kenya”, Yes.

The inner me was not at peace my spirit was choking me, of course I knew this man we share the same blood for crying out loud. He resembles part of me or even half of me, I almost broke down, I almost corrected the mystery………………… but I remembered my mother, I remembered her pain, I remembered her warm heart, I remembered her smile. I asked myself what she could have done in this very position. She is my mother yes but I had no clue, she looked like me but yet different.  I wanted I hoped that the situation would be different, I really wanted to pay the elderly man’s bill but the thoughts that flashed through my mind would kill.

Will it ever change; the fear, the uncertainty of future events………………… I wondered.


This tree reminds me of when I was growing up

As its shade covered me when I was sprouting up

As I longed for its fruits way up

As I played with its seeds and other stuff

This tree reminds of when I was growing up

The shiny yellow flowers; the green tiny leaves

The scent, the bees, the juice

It was all there was when I was growing up

This tree reminds me of when I was growing up

The tiny holes we made to play

The cheer songs we sang to celebrate

The gloomy faces after the defeat

The dirty feet at our doorsteps

The late night stories in the backyard.

The sight of this tree; spark memories

Fond stories, of the children now grown

That we played, we ran

Rushed to cover our playful trails

From our parents always close by

This tree reminds me of my childhood friends

Wicky, Stanely, Nancy, Debby

A brother; Joachim.

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