A Poem By Samuel Mwangi 

Across the valley

Adjacent to the huge rock

Is the hut I desire

To take all my goats,

Ferment my maize

And brew muratina na ushuru wa mukio

For the father

To lend me a hand in marriage

With his Wanjiku.

So beautiful

Brown like the pumpkin,

Her teeth whiter than a young maize comb

And if you see her on munyu,

My friend, you’ll droll,

Thus my haste

Though from beyond the valley

Her father fights away

Every suitor,

Asks for injudicious sums

His panga at hand,

Ready to machete anyone

Who bellows louder than he.

At other times

He’s formal to the tie

Welcoming in every aspect

Even letting you sample his ndare,

Seat under his acacia

And lets Wanjiku serve you.

As she peacocks around,

Lets your eyes feast

On the glamour well hidden

Underneath her shuka.

Yet on broke days

The wives are bullied,

By the man himself.

Nothing comes well cooked

Wanjiku also becomes garbage;

Not the oil yet to be drilled.

He breaks all the pots

Shouts down every suitor who approaches,

Chasing them down to the river,

Whinnying with every step

His chest in rhythm like an inflating balloon.

But still he is the charm

Of us all

Wishing to court his Wanjiku.

He has a golden heart,

Edged with diamonds

Making him the perfect father.

©Samuel Mwangi 2012