When the air of Mombassa coiled around my loins,
I lay lost on my thin strip of land near Rung'ei railway station and stared at the tarmac which ran through Thabai to Nairobi and all my heart yearned for was Mumbi.

Her laughter, her little arms trying to grab my hair,her voice so tender, saying words she could not comprehend, the melody behind her life almost drowned the soloist of life "poverty".

I adored my child, she was growing like a young maize plant opened with its leaves spread out to the sun, the hot parchment of land around me seemed covered with greens ,at the thoughts of Mumbi, things seemed easy.

Each sound of my hoe kissing the soil spoke of a different era, it spoke of a time in which nothing existed beyond hardship, bound by the unending toils that leaves one asleep in the cool shelter of the shamba.

My little girl Mumbi, like a good harvest, she kept my expectations up,watching her little feet imprint upon the muddy soil made me smile, little beads dancing upon her little waist. She always smiled not bothered about what the world was turning into or that we stood right at the brink of total oblivion and deprivation, not to mention starvation.

How love could plant little maize grains of hope in one's life should be likened to the miracle of life, the counter action of everything that exist having its balancing halve, as hard as poverty hits and hunger prevails,love creates its miracle of adding a little water to dilute the thirst

Mumbi, the reason every morning starts with a purpose,every day ends with fulfillment. Her little tugs at the tail end of my wrapper says in its little way,mummy it would be ok..I wish I would take her to the white man's school. So she could learn about the world,be a lawyer or a doctor. I wish she would not end up like me... (To be continued here
http://livingandsharinglove..com/2013/08/mumbi.html

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