AFRICA IN TEARS

The hidden beauty behind Seme plains
The land or rich African heritage
The long unfading beauty of ages
The aesthetic heart soothing beauty
Is what I want to wake up to
After a long unpredictable night
Nursing pangs of pain, untold pain of injustice

The bright light of the morning star
Shining bright at shows of Nam_Lolwe
Near Jaduon’Okwiri’s home
The star is the only hope left
To give back the lost grace
Of the beauty tainted by inhuman acts
So I cling to it like a tick on a cow’s tail
And draw lost happiness in its shiny light.

The morning dwindling dew
Shining bright like white specks
On the long Olenge-grass of Rachuonyo
Is the ‘herb’ that heals my bleeding heart
Bleeding profusely, longing for long lost beauty
The beauty of faded African culture
Now corrupted by the white man’s magic-civilazation
And raged the beautiful ‘tero buru’ ritual
And the sweet Nak-removal of teeth rite

The rippling waves of Nam-Lolwe (Lake Victoria)
In the land of the learned men of Jok’Owiny
The spectrum formed by water in late evenings
As the sun goes to sleep in Ugwe-West
Is the only hope left for me to see
As I meditate on restoring the African beauty
To regain its lost Glory
Africa will be built by Africans
Only if we see beyond our noses.

©Ayieko Jakoyo
(Sebby The Poet™)
2nd August, 2018

/Photo credit: Sky_V Media/

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GREED KILLS

#NyarAlegoTales
Another story, a tale from the immense sweet, scintillating sacculent tales from my first wife(Grandma). Today I hurl this stimulating and heart-soothing tale from the subconscious part of the grey matter of my brain to edutain my readers and the lovers of African tales. Those whom reading is their opium. “Treasure what you have more than diamonds, more than gold” Nyar Alego, my granny used to tell us these words every time we visited. She was on her ninenth decade and she couldn’t walk as fast as she did when she married Obuoro Ja’Karungu though her voice was still very clear. She had deep clear and commanding voice that we couldn’t ignore her tales. That was my mikayi(first wife) ageing and greying gracefully. Her body had already appealed to the force of gravity and she walked while leaning forward, a sign of graceful old age. Indeed old is gold because the delicacy in her educative tales doubled. The tales were sweeter then the Brazilian mercury sugar.

Nyar Alego struggled to make ends meet after her King, Obuoro Ja’karungu bed a goodbye to the cold of Seme hills and the sweet, warming breeze of Naam Lolwe. His heart defied the normal beating one chilly morning when he was hit by the deadly Juogi(spirits) while grazing his cattle. It was belived that the spirits were brought by a certain family during Tero buru ceremony(Mourning their relative who was killed brutally). According to the old Luo chik(culture) some ritusls were performed at the place where a person was killed brutally. This was done at the middle of dark midnight, when the moon had hibernated to the Bed of Naam Lolwe, and outside was as dark as the devil’s house. The first person to pass by that spot would curry the roaming Juogi and if he/she don’t get manyasi (concoctions) immediately, death would follow. Obuoro met with the spirits and that was his end
“Treasure what you have more than diamonds and gold, because greed kills”. Nyar Alego told us as she served the brown ugali of Nyauganda cassava(cassava from Uganda) with osuga-the bitter traditional vegetables. Aunt Atwech used to call them bitter herbs. This is what made your fathers to be who they are. “I couldn’t afford meat for them because even the small, ever seeing fish(omena) was a luxury in my family. Troubles built a castle in my house immediately after your grandpa died” Nyar Alego said as she gave us the portrait of my kwara(grandpa). I never set my big oval shaped, succulent myopic eyes on Obuoro Ja’karungu. I only saw his portraits and heard his stories told by the kinsmen. From the black and white, ground general view photographs taken when the sun was still pregnant with shiny light, kwara was full of life. With well build strong body, American height(cherished by nowadays slay queens) and well trimmed moustache. Nyar Alego must have married him because of all this.

It was during the December holidays and we had visited Nyar Alego to teach us the old golden luo chik(culture). Our parents never had time to do that because they were obsessed by the digital spirit where parents leave children to be suffocated and overfed by the white magic in soap operas and telenovelas in the name of civilization. It happened in all households in our Mwembe tayari estate. The children were left with remotes to watch the fictions in the movies which added no value to them. I was deeply rooted in my culture and was eager to learn more of it. I always visited rural home every holiday. The weather was calm with sweet breeze flowing from Naam Lolwe, cooling our thirst and refreshing our bodies from the daytime sunburns. Daytime was hot and the shiny rays irritated the eyes. We instead saw with our teeth in replacement.

“Nyikwa Ramogi”(grand children of Ramogi) greed kills. Never allow greed to rule over your life”. My Mikayi begun her usual edutaining tales. The story revolved around otoyo(hyena) though it sympolized the greedy people in the society. Hyena is depicted as the most greedy animal in most of the luo tales to warn people on the dangers of living a life of greed. Nyar Alego paused for a while, cleared her husky voice and irrigated her throat with fermented chak(sour milk). She looked at at me directly and continued with the tale. The tale about otoyo-the hungry and greedy hyena.

It was on a bright morning and the sun had just risen in the east with all the beauty acquired from Naam Lolwe. Its golden shiny rays added anaesthetic value to the dark land of the energetic black people. Siaya Thur gi Obama(land of Obama). The land of the learned people, the land of great literati Margret Agola of the River and the source and Grace Ogot, just to mention a few. There were two mega feasts around. That was the day Odera Kang’o was being crowned as the paramount chief in Bondo. The whole village was to be hosted in Jaduong’ Odera’s home. It was indiscipline of the highest order to miss such a mighty inauguration. In the next village the villagers were celebrating the initiates of Nak(removal of six lower teeth). Nak was one of important luo rites of passage just like Birth and death.

The sweet aroma from the two villages robbed the greedy Otoyo’s peace. Otoyo was caught in tenderhooks-a dilemma of the season. How could it miss the delicacy of inauguration of the paramount chief? What about the sweet luo dances and feasting, drinking and eating in Nak ceremony? The greedy Otoyo stood at the junction to the two villages for a while and made up minds to attend the two functions at the same time. Otoyo decided that the two left legs attend the inauguration and the two right legs attend the Nak cerememony. The celebrations were at peak in both places and people were singing and the sweet sounds of Nyatiti and Raombo(Luo musical instruments) hit Otoyo’s ears. The greedy hyena felt so betrayed and decided to stretch, two opposite legs in opposite direction. Otoyo stretched…. Stretched and stretched. It was painful but kept the spirit up to a point where it could not stretch anymore. A point where students of science call elastic limit. It tried one more mega stretch but couldn’t succeed. Otoyo burst into two pieces and that was the end of greedy Otoyo. Greed kills.

©14th July 2018
Ayieko Jakoyo
Founder: ELITES EDUCATION CONSULTANCY
elites.edu@outlook.com
+254706651385
(Contact academic mentorship for schools)

AYIEKO is the writer of the most read MERCHANTS OF FLESH, TEENAGE LOVE and THE MEAN WILL BURY THEMSELVES available in PDF formats

THE MEAN WILL BURY THEMSELVES

It is now twenty seasons since I was told this scintillating tale by Nyar Alego, my first wife(grandma) who is now sleeping eternal sleep under the great Siala tree in the middle of her homestead now a gunda(ruin). Her eyes defied the normal twinkling and her nosetrils went dump and numb eighteen seasons ago, when I was still a young boy with smooth chin and fair face. I still remember everything as if it happened yesterday or the other day. It is among the many tales that have stood tall like seme hills in my minds and shows no recent evidences of fading away. Something precious can’t be thrown away that easily. I cherished Nyar Alego’s tales but loved this one most. A tale of mean people burying themselves.

We were around fifteen grandchildren sleeping in the round grass-thatched muddy house which was the grandma’s “palace”. The brown soil used to mud the house gave it an aesthetic value and as a true African woman, she would struggle to decorate her house every Christmas season. “A Warm way of welcoming Christ in my house” Nyar Alego told us every Christmas season when she re-mudded and decorated her house. Those of use who used to sprinkle our bedding with the magical midnight rains(urinating on bedding) would have it rough that season. She would clobber us and remind us how our lazy mothers didn’t help her mud the house. We had to keep it to ourselves in order to get refuge in her house the following night.

We never slept earlier than 10:00PM. After meals grandma would assemble us for the night tales in her big round house to give us long lectures on the African tales. Tales that she told us was to teach us the luo “Chik” (culture). She could tell us the stories of Luanda Magere, the great Luo legend the magical stories of Naam Lulwe( Lake Victoria) Simbi Nyaima and the Nyawawa(the magcal spirits associated evils). She kept promising a tale on “The mean will bury themselves” and I waited. To me it seemed to be a good story because I was eager to know how the dead would bury themselves.

It was a chilly night and the silly long rains of April were raining heavily. Outside was as dark as a thousand midnights and I could not step my foot out of grandma’s house which was nothing but another dark dungeon. The small,weak Nyangile lamp made of a metallic can had already “succumbed” to the violent heavy wind storm that penetrated through the balangewa (ventilation) at a threatening speed. Atieno, one of our cousins hit the door and entered. She had been rained on and was “raining” profusely. Nyar Alego looked at her with a scorn on her face. Sighed a sigh of disgust and escorted her with the eyes as Atieno sat on her sleeping mat. She had some groundnuts which she didn’t want to share. She could wait when everyone was concentrating on stories, scoop some groundnuts from the pocket and swallow. Nyar Alego noticed that and told her, “Nyakwara( my grandchild) you will bury yourself when you die. You are so mean”. We all looked at her and laughed.

Nyar Alego sat on her three legged stool, swallowed saliva and cleared her husky voice ready for her daily tales. “Nyikwa Ramogi( the grandchildren of Ramogi) today I will tell you a story of a mean man who buried himself” I pulled my stool closer and leaned forward to listen to this story I had been waiting for so long. It was a long lecture of tales but we looked more energetic and ready to listen and hearken to the sweet words of my first wife. Oduol Wuod Mireri was the name of the man. His agemetes called him Thuon Chuor Mon( cock the women suitor). He left the village to the islands of Rusinga to search for life. He worked with the white settlers for about a decade before he came back home to guard over his tyranny of lands. He then settled to enjoy the fruits of his labour and plant the seeds of life in full co-operation of his four wives. He managed to reproduce three football teams plus the substitutes(thirty eight children).

Oduol was wild. He never allowed people to mingle freely with him. His mean nature kept him away from his kinsmen and prefered sitting in his mansion which was juxtaposed from the other kins grass thatched muddy houses around. Oduol will always be remembered for what he did to his mikayi(first wife) when he realized that she had given food to Rabuor, the village elder. He rained on her with canes and hurt her leg to almost amputation. People feared him and no one would go to him for help. The villagers would rather starve than getting help from the “kettle handed” man.

Five years later, he begun growing thin and his future grew dim. It was a strange disease that the villagers knew nothing about. The few who visited him said it was chira but for me it looked like chir-a (courage departs). He was weak and could not “bark” as he used to do while he was full of life. Villagers avoided him like a plague because he had cut connections with them due to his mean nature.

One dark evening when the sun had just rested in Ugwe (west ) and its golden beauty lost behind the tall Siala tress and the misty steams of Naam Lolwe, we heard a loud gweyo(wailing) from Jaduog Oduol’s home. The elder was no more. The female children wailed as the sons chanted their father. The villagers still looked through the fence as they sighed. No one could invade Jaduong Oduol’s home. “He will bury himself.” One of the middle aged woman said as she passed by, looking not to be concerned. During the burial only close friends, and I repeat “close friends” attended, the other villagers went on with their daily chores. Leaving Jaduong Oduol, Thuon chuor mon to bury himself.

© 10th July, 2018
Ayieko Jakoyo
The founder
ELITES EDUCATIONAL CONSULTANCY
elites.edu@outlook.com
0706651385
AYIEKO JAKOYO is the writer of the most read “TENAGE LOVE” and “MERCHANTS OF FLESH” available in PDF formats.

LAST SENTIMENTS

LAST SENTIMENTS
Oyatsi my only son,
The one I named after chief Odera
You are approaching your thirtieth season
Your chin is rough enough
To be called a man, to man a family
And sire an heir to your kingdom.
So listen, and listen with an inner ear.

Don’t marry a woman for beauty
The beauty fades like a cut water lily
Marry not by looking at her hinds
Don’t be deceived by the weight above her legs
Don’t be blinded by the ridge and valley “landscape”
Marrying for that is being silly
Marry a woman of substance.

Oyatsi my only son,
You know we, Jok’Okwiri are choosy
Don’t marry from K’Opere clan
Women from that clan are lazy
A good example is Nyoremo the clown
Spreading rumors daily, ever busy
So my son before you decide to marry
Get a lady who is worth your clan

Oyatsi the pride of my manhood
The first son of my Mikayi-first wife
I beg please do me good
Choose a woman full of life
Don’t bring the bow-legged mouthy woman
Light skinned with red lips like fresh wounds
She will cause you ulcers for no reason
She will fall prey for the hungry Jok’Okwiri vultures
And bring incurable Chira in our clan
Bring a dark, daughter of the soil
A woman who will give birth to a twenty kids
To be named after all our departed heroes.

Oyatsi, son of Nyaimbo
Be a wise man and listen once
When you marry don’t count pieces of meat
In your wife’s cooking pot
Your wife will run away my son
You will die misumba-bachelor like Obong’o
You know the consequences of that my son
Treat your wife like a queen
You will be the happiest king my son

©Ayieko Jakoyo
Founder: ELITES EDUCATIONAL CONSULTANCY
A Poet and a novelits
ayiekojakoyo@gmail.com
+254706651385

*RUMOURS HAS IT*

Rumours has it that I Rateng’ Wuod Mireri
The grandson of Otoyo Rabuor
The true legend of our Kaliech village
The third son of the fourth wife…….
Rumours has it that am marrying Nyadondi
The brown village clown
With pliers like limbs
Rumours has it……….

Rumours has it that I am paying her dowry
That I bought her father a patila of local brew
Ignore it please it isn’t true
In fact I am not in a hurry
To marry the brown village clown
Ignore the rumours spreading like flu

Rumours has it
That she was seen near my simba-cottage
Weeding the flourishing flowers at noon
They say am marrying her very soon
That soon before noon she will be the next of keen
Ignore the rumour, I won’t marry soon

Hasn’t it been rumoured that her sacred plot
Is the playing ground for open tournaments?
Hosting both home and away matches?
Friendlies and competition games?
Ignore the rumours spreading like summer forest fire
That I Rateng’ wuod Nyar Alego
Is marrying a mother of three.

© 8th May, 2018
Ayieko Jakoyo
(SebbyThePoet™)

CHASING DREAMS

Like an eagle spread wings and fly
Through mountains move and soar high
In the mud pass as you try
Keep going, work and never cry
Chase your dreams day by day

Brave the cold, rain and sun
On toes, search as you run
Go far, try the much you can
Brave the sun, fear not its burn
Chase your dreams day by day

Like the eagle harden your claws
Work hard, always on course
Follow your heart, reclaim lost days
For they say, hard work pays
Chase your dreams day by day

Give up not, knock as you pass
Brave the morning dew on grass
Grow in hope, work as day goes
A day shall come, your morning will dawn
Seize the blessings, that is your pay
For the dreams chased and achieved

Debby_The Poet™
All rights reserved
©Jakoyo_2018

IF I MUST DIE

If I must die in this war
With my heartless enemy spraying the bullets
On my young innocent chest
Let me die the last.. And don’t kill by bullet
Kill me last when you are tired

If I must die in the line of duty
Don’t kill me in the broad daylight
So that I don’t curse the young generation
Soldiers don’t die in the afternoon
Kill me in a chilly morning
Let me rest with the melodious songs of birds
Kill me last when my body is still numb

If I can’t survive in this fight
If am counted to die in your filthy palms
All in the line of this precious calling
Kill me last after liberation
Let me die when the generation is smilling
Proud of the second liberation that I brought
Kill me last after peace has prevailed

If I must die…
If I must die in this peace keeping mission
Kill me during the rainy season
For the rain will wash away my footprints
And if you insist I must die
Kill me with the last bullet
Then hang your boots and rest
Kill me last.. After I accomplish the mission

Sebby_The Poet™
All rights reserved
© Jakoyo_2018

TOMORROW WE AWAIT

Sebby The Poet™
In the blue sapphire skies of the day
I think of the untold day
The day after today I say
I won’t mind what it holds
But life still goes on
Like this is the last day to live

Caren Kimz
I will wait for tomorrow
with the whole me not narrow
with plans on my diary
on how it will be not like daily
I want it to be much special
for tomorrow is crucial

Sebby The Poet™
Though tomorrow is untold
I will wait on it like a precious diamond
In it my hopes I hold
I hope the day will be brilliant
In the dawn I will wake
Walk on the morning grass
I won’t fear the dwindling dew
For tomorrow holds my destiny
Though untold.……

Caren Kimz
with hope for tomorrow
it being better than today
I will hustle early at dawn
in the hot scorching sun
in a harsh or cool environment
with everything and anything
for tomorrow must be great

Sebby The Poet™
Finally when tomorrow comes
And all my dreams achieved
I will bask in the moon’s rays
Feel the romantic whispers of the stars
I will stretch my tired numb feet
And enjoy the fruits of tomorrow
This tomorrow…. The untold day

© Sebby The Poet™
Ayieko Jakoyo
© Caren Kimz

All rights reserved

I WILL STILL WRITE

Sebby The Poet™
On my sick bed
Sorrounded by several pity souls
Praying for me the last prayer
Wishing me to fare well
With an extension of oxygen pipe
Tied strong on my nose..
On the life support machine
I will ask for a pen and a paper
To write my usual nice poems

Tear gas Poet
I’ll snatch a paper from the hospital diary,
Steal a pen, whenever the nurses carry,
For in the drips my heart will be absolve,
For i want to die doing what i love,
I’ll walk in the dark period for miles,
Just to paint my dying face with smiles,

Sebby The Poet™
Before I gasp for the last breathe
I will snatch the doctors phone
Log to my poetry WordPress account
And publish my last piece
The advice piece to mankind
To live in peace of our Lord
And embrace the needed brotherhood

Tear gas Poet
I’ll put the signature at the beginning,
For if i die before i complete,
Then the source is established,
The river will flow, to form deltas,
And the message will reach the world in water,
I’ll write on the political regime,
I’ll write on abortion that it’s plans need to be aborted,
I’ll write on oppression,
Before my life fades away,
I’ll write to my lover,
I’ll say bye with tears of the stolen pen

Sebby The Poet™
And if my soul fades away
Before I complete the piece
I won’t rest in peace
My spirit will hover around
Like stubborn hunger in summer
From the darkest corner of the grave
I will sing the poem in fine tunes
Until the message reaches the world

© Sebby The Poet™
© Teargas Poet