I just come here for the music, I get lost here in the sound, I ain’t looking for nobody but can I buy you one more round? I just come here for the music, how about you? …Don Williams.
Words I’d mimick for a special swampy place, I spent lots of time in while growing on the slopes of the mountains. From grazing to fetching water for washing classes and pouring on the earthen floors so as to keep away fleas as they told us. This place saved entire generations.
We also picked reeds to make dancing costumes to entertain the DO’s of them days. DO’s were big people back then. CBC dates way back. ‘Wahurumuka ūtuku…..woe Bible na tawa…’
But above all, I remember the games we played while grazing. I’d hide so well that I almost wound up in the Guinness book of world records. Hhmmh, you had that right, at least our very own edition of that.
Stirring the still waters to watch the leeches swim towards the shore, then cutting them to pieces and watching the pieces get a life of their own, before returning them back in the waters. Mahn, those things were diabolical. If one got a hold of your leg, wueeh, story for another day.
Then at night, the sounds of the frogs croaking, especially during the rainy season, coupled with the fireflies display of their natural fireworks not forgetting the beauty of the Colorado (kūrora andū) skies emphasised by the Southern cross and Gemini.
Ooh I’ll say, ‘I just come here for the memories, I get lost here in the sounds, I just come here for the memories, how about you, where do you go for your memories? To Thiba maybe? Enjoy. Dear rains, please restore this place once more.

Published by Nyar Kaheti

Born and raised on the picturesque slopes of Mt Kenya, Nyar Kaheti is your girl next door vibe kind of girl. She enjoys reading, writing, hiking, and listening to country music among other things.

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