Feminist Complaint

“How is she heard? We learn from hearing. We learn from how we are heard. Which is to say: we learn from how we are not heard. That is the basis of my feminist equation.”


I have offered a feminist equation

Rolling eyes = feminist pedagogy.

I want to make sense of this equation, or to show how this equation makes sense.

I first came up with this equation – not necessarily in these exact terms – as a sense of something. I realised how much I had learnt from how eyes roll when I open my mouth, when I was listening to a diversity practitioner. It was an interview. My ear was open; my mouth was shut. She was telling me of her experience of meetings at the university. These are her words, delivered to me with force as well as wit.

She said:

“You know you go through that in these sorts of jobs where you go to say something and you can just see people going ‘oh here she goes.’”

How we both laughed when she said this; we both recognised that each other recognised…

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Beware The Falling Man!

Where is this?

Where am I?

What is that?

Falling Man

Something is whimpering in the darkness, shrill like the wheels on a rusty shopping cart,

I glint at sad eyes far off in a corner,

The place is eerie cold,

The whimpers intensify, slight howls break the monotony.

As i walk to the eyes the farther off the voice trails,

What is this?

Where am i?

There is no ground, my feet stomp on darkness,

My hands grasp at darkness,

How can i see?

Dazed and confused the ground opens up beneath my feet,i reach out…


I scream out!….I scream for help, but the only audible voice i can make is the shrill whimper; cold and sad.

The fall seems like forever, tumbling around the vacuum, embracing myself for the imminent fall, the forthcoming ground seemingly fore-staying its welcome for me with its cold cemented hands.

My eyes shut,bracing for impact

My heart pumping through my veins, i can hear my own heartbeat at my throat in this dark void,the only other solace beside my whimpers. I am scared, scared to open my eyes, fling out my arms, enjoy this ride till it lasts no more. The only lucid thought going through my mind is that huge ‘SPLAT!’ that waits for me.

I ride on the high adrenalin that is pumping through my system and squint open my eyes,the light is dazzling at first, so bright yet no light source no sun, no big bulb.

I stare into the image of me on the rows of buildings i fall past. This renewed surge of confidence allows me to glance around, nothing around me but a field of buildings. This particular one that mirrors my fall seems to be quite the crop, so Tall. I glance down, expecting any moment to kiss the ground but no i am saved the pleasure with nothing but darkness beneath me.

I dont understand. What is the meaning of this?

I glance up back again maybe my mirrored image will offer me companionship.

Wait! That’s not me.

Face weighted with age, dressed for a funeral, eyes riddled with sadness….There is something familiar about those eyes…

My His hands are shaking…those long slender fingers..something so familiar about them..

I try to scream out, but all that’s audible is My His whimper; that cold shrill song laden with death.

WHO am i?

I wake up!

Beads of sweat rolling down my face, the matatu conductor is vigorously shaking me.

“Boss umefika stage!”

Dazed and confused i try to gather my senses…

Where am I? In a bus (not that answer does much to assure me of The Where) all i know is, i need to get out first then figure it out as i go along. I have to wait a bit though, there is some old guy still hesitant about getting off the matatu, so I use this time to try to figure out what that dream was all about.

I alight off at the stage,sun shining, the dream slowly shimmering back to the recess of my subconscious. Oh yeah! I was heading in to work..tsk “Saturdays” such a task.

I make my way to the bridge, safe haven for all those seeking to cross this busy highway.. such a task though.. going up those stairs, but i am in no hurry still early by 45 minutes i can jog the weird dream away.

Half way up, loud screeches below, smell of burnt rubber on tarmac, some lady screams…i shake my head, make sure this isn’t one  of those inception moments..NO! very real.

I glance down,a trailer has ground to a halt, behind it a small stream of oil darker than usual; but for all its worth no serious car crash, hence i am confused about all the screaming and commotion, being the curious Kenyan, i venture forth to the accident scene; i know morbid but hey this makes up for morning conversation, so got to have my facts straight.

Everyone seems to be peering under the truck, that’s when i see him, that oil was no oil, blood streaking from something under the truck. That funeral suit, those long slender fingers protruding under the hood, those motionless sad eyes staring into forever. I know that man!


It’s the old man who was seated next to me in the matatu.

It’s the old man I was looking at in the mirror. It’s HIM!





Fantasy And Africans

Give it a read..Download!

will this be a problem?

Will this be a problem has been silent for about a month now but, and here’s the good news, it was an interesting kind of silence. You see, it wasn’t the silence you’d get if we were neglecting you, our dear readers. It was not even the silence you’d get if we were tired of you or awkwardly avoiding you with nothing to say. It was the busy, wary silence of someone who’s planning you a surprise birthday party.

Ok, maybe it’s not a birthday but there is a surprise.

I’m happy to say that we finally (and very sneakily) started working on one of this site’s pillars a few months ago. It was always the plan that WTBAP would be concerned with art and literature and now, we actually have something to show for that besides intentions. I present our first short story and poetry anthology.

jpec edition

You probably have…

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My Book Collection

So i was tagged awhile back to state the books that i have read…i’d rather list the books(though some borrowed & stolen) that i have in my current modest excuse of a collection 😀


Letter to Myself


Dear Rabid Cur

Rabid because I detest the sickness that has plagued you

You have become a pathetic shallow husk of our former self,

Degraded to be a mere leech of sadness and loneliness,

Ever pawing at the past when there is no loop just “Press Play”

Addicted to wallowing in ifs and sorry,

Daydreaming of what was, could and would have been,

Your morbid humor now soggy and as tasteful as oats,

No more she is ,no more will ever be,

Just ever present as the bright blue sky and just as unreachable,

Cast down your hopes as Icarus when wax met heat,

No more I dare say, no more…

Scream no more of such fallacy as;

I can be,

I will be,

I should be…for You ARE!

You are the beast,

Just like one, hide in the shadows,

Back whence we came, away from hope’s light

It’s not for you…it is not for US,

Only for those that are worthy…

Cower and hide with Me where it’s safe,

Safe to be the beast,

Safe to be wrong,

Safe to wrong rights,

Safe from that “maybe” light

For only in strongest light can there be strong shadow…

We were once friends, let us be brothers once more,

Raise arms with the mob of voices,

Let us guide you in the safety of the dark,

We will stand by you now and forever,

We will be your joy,

We will be your strength,

We will be YOU!

Just YOU and ME….

(Insert mob laughter)


Never again be quick to forget who YOU are,

Never again be a burden,

Never again be weak,

Never again be quick to silence us…

Steel yourself with the past,

You have learnt from it.

Worry not for your future,

For WE are part of it!

P.S Don’t make US more pathetic than you have already made yourself.


The Grammar will kill you if the humor doesn't (O_O)