Salt shaker

I’ll write you a story; a good story.

I’ll throw in similes; as sweet as honey, a dark as night, as proud as a peacock and watch you become as gentle as a lamb.

I’ll paint your days dark and color your nights yellow.

I’ll write you a story, yeah, you bet I will. When you hold your phone closer to your face in the matatu, or scroll down your computer screen…you’ll know that it is about you.

Your laugh, smile…how you cross your arms above your chest, how you look at me when I am not looking at you. How you have been trying to decipher me. 

I’ll write you not one, but two stories and watch you shed your worries. Is this real? Are you for real? What are your plans?

I’ll write you a story, because I’d rather write than utter,

For I fear I might falter and stutter,

But…but…but, here’s the deal, I’ll write and you’ll read.

You’ll read and these words would sink in,

You’ll read and these words will get you thinking that maybe, just maybe I’m talking to you.

You’ll read and a part of me will be shaken, shaken like a salt shaker,ready for some seasoning.




You look great. I love your hair.



I love your shoes.



Wish you’d have a worn black, it’d tone down the colors.

Have you ever thought of having a nice weave?

Is it not a chore combing your hair everyday?

Wait, and have you tried some facial cream?

I know this great soap that helps with rashes.

I also don’t take lots of dairy, it messes up with your face you know!

How can you eat fries every day and not have a pot?

What? Ati you weigh 53kgs? Do you workout?

How come you don’t have a guy?

Don’t you get lonely, like what do you do for fun?

Wait, how come you like motorbikes and X-Men? Guys are into such stuff, I never thought a chick could dig that stuff!

Do you write using a ruler or something? How come your handwriting is so neat?


Walk away…slow steady steps away from the dark to the unknown…slow, steady steps.

Give an eraser time to delete the pencil work before they catch up to the ink.


When you lie down, think of what it was that you felt when you closed your eyes.

I heard you say, “drifting,” as though I was in Africa while you were in Antarctica. 

You said we were not connected, and I thought of an electric grid that none has ever understood its complexities;neurons,synapses, memories,motor skills…I drew a Map of us, a map that was a blank as the look on your face when you finished talking.

“So, what do you have to say?”

I drew a map. 

I am certain of it. I drew a very good map. 

Tonight as I drift to sleep, I stare at my finger, I cannot seem to close my eyes for this piece of silver might disappear and I may just wake up to “Congratulations,” and that, my beloved, makes me want to have a deep conversation with my shadow at 2A.M.

If I Were

​If I were a scent how I’d love to be Jasmine, something exotic and sweet.

If I were a drink I’d be Scotch in the morning, Water in the afternoon and Coffee in the evening.

If I were a color, I’d be just as your eyes view me and so much more: Red, Blue, Green, Orange, Black, White, Brown but not Purple, please not purple!

If I were a book, I’d come plain, a canvas awaiting a creation, no ruled lines,so you can never tell where your scribbles go and how much I can take.

If I were an experience, I’d be Fanta Orange and crank up the Bamboocha in you,

If I were a flavor, I’d be ice cream, Vanilla flavoured.

If I were a letter, I’d be Q, so you know I’m a Queen…

If I were a song, honey you’d love me a melody, sing me a feeling and tune me a rhythm.

If there’s this, then there’s more.

If I were anything less than this, 

If I were anything,



Thoughts at Three

It is 3 A.M.

The sky is charcoal, glistening like the speacks of yellow and orange you see when you light the jiko. I heard that epic things happened at 4 A.M. Constitutions were written, babies made, drunkards sobered up,books were written, calls made and music composed.

I heard.

Oh, how I heard how evil prowls at 3 A.M by windows waiting to pounce on wicked children who refused to obey their parents. Sharon,the one from house number sixty three,not that house,the one with a dog that looks like a goat. Yes, that one! The blue house with no steel door. Aha! Now you get it, kwa akina mdomo pere! Yes, she comes home at 3 A.M and sleeps until 6 P.M then leaves at 8 P.M. She never completed her studies, but she returns when I’ve run out of sleep.

She knocks on her mother’s door just as I step out of my bed and set my eyes on the sky. Why I look at the sky first is a mystery I would not be interested in solving.

Now that I’m here, isn’t it odd how conversations after 2 A.M go? 

“Hey, did I wake you up?”

“No, I couldn’t sleep, what’s up?”

“I just wanted to say hi, it’s been a minute.” (Pause )

Side note: It’s past 2 A.M and you called just to say hi? And it’s been a minute? It’s only fifteen seconds, the mobile provider can even confirm that and what’s with did I wake you? Dude! Who is awake past 2A.M? Even the guy we pay to stay awake is snoring at the security office! I just wanted to say hi! Eish!

Are you there? You kinda went quiet for a minute.” ( Pause, no actually continue writing and just say you dozed off the next morning!)

The thing with waking up at three is that the most refreshing ideas come out of nowhere. They are the best company you’ll ever have and trust me, if you don’t jot them down, you’ll forget them and worse off if you do, you’ll wonder which fool took them down come morning.

So be smart,like me, read some poems by Nikita Gill