Celebrating East African Writing!


This month we got so many amazing stories that the editors had a very hard time choosing just one, but it had to be done.

The WRITER OF THE MONTH: JUNE bragging rights award goes to Brenda Midamba for her wonderful story:




This was  my  Aunt’s  library.

On  this  shelf  lies  some  rusty , some still  very new  layers  of  books.

All  genres  but  mostly  historic, the  kind  that  releases  atomic  feels  of  Melancholy, of  strife between  blacks  and  whites  and  insubordination  that  cut  across  nations . Unsettled   race issues  and  even  slavery.  Wasted  lives, Untapped  potentials  born  to  serve  and   comply  and  forced  to  gag  on  chocking   mask  tapes . They  yarned  freedom,  to  one day emancipate   from  their   locked  shells  , to   blossom  like  a  beautifully  natured  rose.

Others   evaluating   and  studying  human  fossils. My  visceral  sense  disagrees  whenever  I  reach  for  these   books. They  have  a  way  of  keeping  me  up  at  night. Not  in  a  good  way. There  is  nothing  beautiful  about  studying  my  fellow  humans’  remains.  There  are  the   ones  unveiling  the  evolution  theory   showing the   transition  of  man  from  Aegyptopithecus, Dryopithicus , Homoerectus , homo Sapiens  to  homo Sapiens  Sapiens. Contrary  to  the  biblical  creation  story , she was  a  history  professor. So   what  better  way?

Some   are   religious books, outright radicalization. Mass  murder   in  the  hopes  of  spending  eternity  with  some  mysterious  scepter  holding  ‘god’.  Very   religious   she  was   but  absolutely  not  radicalized.

Then there  is  the  kind  that  tackles  gender  inequality  and  violence  against  women. Exactly  who  she  was. Came  around   as  a  feminist, hated  patronizing  acts  of  male  chauvinism. Books  that  showered  mind  boggling  conundrums, more  like  rhetorical  questions  really.

‘Why  should   I  bear  the  child?’’

‘’Why should  I  spend umpteen  hours  in  the  kitchen  while  you  cross  your  legs  firmly  clasping  a  remote  controller ?’’

‘’What  if   we  both  wore  suits?’’  Hypothetically speaking   I presume.

I   agree  with   these  specific   books, openly. Void of   fear   of    sounding  obnoxious. If I  were  a  bee, I  would unapologetically   transfer    pollen  grains  of  information   to  emphasize  more  on  equality.  More like   pollination. I  have  to  say, I   do  not  agree  with  wearing  suits    though.How  else  will  I  flaunt  my  flawless  African  curves?  But   I  concur with  most  of  it  and   I  call  upon   both  men  and  women   around  the  globe  to   support my  notion.

‘Women   are   not   gullible. Women   are    not   to   be objectified.  We   too   are important’

They   say  we   defy  the  status  quo.  I say   we   are protecting  our kind.  Like the Diurnal flowers, we engulf   to   protect   our  nectars   from   sucking    insects   and  manipulative  beings. Yes, we  are  intentional.

Some  are   pure   beautiful  African  literature , highly opinionated  and  politically incorrect. Describing   my  aunt’s   vocal   personality .  Migration  of   humans   and    their   livestock   in search   of    pasture. Reliving  the  coup  d’état   attempt in  Kenya  in  1982,  and  the  Rwandan  Genocide  in  the  90’s  through  a  book.  Political  hierarchy    and  leadership  being  passed  on  from  generation to   generation. Also, a  painted  picture  of  how  colonization  happened  in  the  19th  Century. An  Epiphany  of  a  stinging  bloodshed  that  occurred  as  a  result   of   atrocious  inhuman  acts  of  violence  . One  minute  your  home  is  your  safe haven  and  the next , it  is  an  intruders  infested  land . Luckily, with   resilience   came   independence.  We reclaimed   what   was   rightfully   ours   to   begin with.  Our   ‘Shujaas ‘   fought   a   good  fight  and  their    withered   petals   fell  in  honor.

Then  there  are  the  American  books, an  overflow  of  some  sense  of  humor, romance , most  of  which I  want  to  read. I   mean   can   you   blame   a   hopeless   romantic?  Anything  for   that   extra   dose  of  Euphoria. Weird   things   like   apocalypse, zombies  and  mummies  coming  back  to  life  with  an  intense  crave  for  human  brains.  Peculiar aliens   ambushing   earth, dethroning   POTUS   and    enslaving    humans. Sentimental   teenage  boys  and  girls  kissing  in  a  booth  and practicing  premarital  sex   on  Valentine’s  day.

Shakespeare,  that  I  will  hopefully  get  to  enjoy  someday  before  dusk. Who does  not  want  to  get  into  the  head  of  the  greatest  English  Playwright?  Not me.

I   want   to   read   all    her   books.  Maybe  even   acquire   half    the   knowledge   she   siphoned   from   them. More   like   her   protégée    through   her   books. To  blossom , to  shine  and  to  paint  the  world  in  optimism.   To  stand  out  like  a  rose  amongst  lilies.

Remembering  Milcah   Amollo.







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This entry was posted on June 30, 2017 by in Writer's Blog.
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