This journal has a new home, All the old pieces are over there too - yes ummm all four of them - plus there's some new stuff too! is derelict. This is now actually a blog, as explained in the next post. Hopefully it will keep updating. It may still have some fiction in it from time to time too, who knows.

Multicultural Visit
A Visit

Karibu, Usikae kwa mlango
Mi Casa es su Casa
May I take your coat?
Fadhal kursi

Kujeni salimia mgeni
Tal Hassan, mata kwaf
 James, bring our guest some water.

Shai wala boon?
A bite to eat?
Ni Njeri alipika

Sika kef?
How’s everybody doing?
Woiie, nitamwombea

Belel gerib wosulu, mus inta ge akul inii?
Oh of course, you can’t miss Jonathan's special dinner
Mpelekea mandazi, na usisahao kuchukua yako

Au Revoir
Take care
Jee nke oma
Mata doru belel
Hasta la vista
Salimia akina Omondi

English Translation

Welcome, don’t stand in the doorway
My home is your home
May I take your coat?
Have a seat.

Come say hello to our guest
Come Hassan, don't be afraid
James, bring our guest some water

Tea or Coffee,
A bite to eat?
Njeri cooked the food

How was the road?
How's everybody doing?
Woiee, I'll pray for her

It’s almost dusk, will you eat here?
Oh of course, you can’t miss Jonathan's special dinner
Take him some donuts, take some yourself too.

Good bye
Take care
Safe journey
Don't walk in the dark
See you later
Greet Omondi and his friends for me

Leaf in the Wind
Leaf in the Wind

The wind blows
A leaf flutters, cuts loose and floats
A mother grabs it, tickles gently
Her child laughs, tears forgotten
The leaf is saved, pressed in a book

The boy is grown
He opens the book, memory tugging
Finds the leaf still, aged and fragile
Slowly, afraid to touch, he reaches out

The leaf flies in the wind again
And falls to the ocean, broken by the waves
But the boy keeps it still, a golden sparkle gently floating
Plucked by the wind a moment ago, flying free forever

Despair Not

Despair Not

Despair not the lack of choice
For within you lays

All the worlds of possibility,
And impossibility
Your imagination is the key


Despair not the lack of a path
Close your eyes
Open your mind

See the path

Be not distracted by empty visions on the way


Despair not the lack of a torch
Feel your awareness

Do not grab

It will light the way

If you let it


Despair not the constant interruptions of life
I will watch for you,

Interrupt the interruptions

And keep the hard edge of reality at bay

Will you watch for me?


Despair not the lack of a destination
It is but the journey

Your soul is waiting to travel

Will you do it today?

And tomorrow as well?



This is a small piece of fiction that I wrote last night. The story unfolded itself as I wrote; it is completely spontaneous unlike most of what I write, I usually meticulously plan all my writing, imagining every little detail before even touching pen and paper. There isn't much of a plot here, its just a description of a scene and its conclusion, but that's what you get when the title of this journal is Random Bits of Stuff.

John moved swiftly down the corridor. It seemed endless. There was row upon row of doors, all the same. He might have said he was trapped in a maze, but there was really no maze. It was simply one long corridor, there were no turns to get lost down. Still, he was completely and irrevocably lost. He had long since lost track of which door he had come out of. By now he could not even tell if it was in front of him or behind him. He was running only to stop himself from panicking. If he could move his legs fast enough then he might be able to stop himself from thinking of what he had come to realize not long after entering the corridor. All the doors were locked. At least all the ones he had tried to open. There was a time in the distant past when he was still calm, when he went down the corridor more carefully, checking each door in turn for the one that would take him outside. With all the doors in this place, at least one of them had to be an exit. He would only have to find it. He slowly came to conclude that this was only desperate optimism. All the doors were well and truly locked. He did not know what door he was at when his hope turned to annoyance, then anger. In his rage, he had lost all sense of himself and it was only when he finally woke on the floor some time later and realized from the blood on one of the doors and his clothes that he must have been throwing himself at it. His entire body was throbbing, and crusted blood was everywhere.
That was when he got up and started running. He realized he was in no fit state to move at all, much less run, but if he stopped, he would start thinking about his predicament and he couldn't allow himself to do that. Finally he stumbled and fell. As he watched the floor rushing up towards him, he only felt joy. He had tripped on something, some imperfection in the floor, and if the floor was not a featureless flat surface that meant he was getting out of here. One imperfection meant there was another, probably nearby. Yes! That bump on the floor must be the sign that the door above was an exit. He would be out of this hellish corridor and back in the sun again. The fall opened up his cuts and made a few more on his knees and elbows, but he didn't care. Slowly, and painfully, he turned around to look at the bump that had brought him down, that signified his getting out of there. But it wasn't there. The white floor was as flat as it had ever been, the only difference was the trail of blood he had left in his wake. He screamed his rage and cursed his legs for bringing him down and feeling a bump where there had been nothing, for bringing him hope in this wasteland. There was nothing he could do but lay there and wait for the blackness.
He awoke much later in the dark. It felt cooler and he knew he must be back in his bed. He made a note to tell Mary about the nightmare in the morning and turned over to go back to sleep. But he was on a hard surface. Had he fallen out of bed in his sleep. It was a long time since that had happened, so he felt around for the bed but only felt a wall. Funny. His room wasn't that small. As he hauled himself up, he became aware that it was pitch dark and he was in what felt like the corridor. Slowly he felt around for a door and tried the knob. He was still in the corridor. The doors were still locked. But what happened to the lights? No, what had happened to his eyes? Did it matter any way? He felt himself collapse and he knew this was probably the last time too.
Later, much much later, a door in the corridor swung ajar. It was the one he had thrown himself against and the person that entered saw the dried blood. Looking down the corridor, she saw John lying there. “Here's another one”, she called. One of her companions came to hold the door open as she entered the corridor to investigate.



Log in