Fanani Flava Poetry Club

FANANI FLAVA MOOTS MARCH 2011

2011-04-24T21:44:00.005+03:00

Golden street lights washed the entrance to the ‘A Novel Idea’ in Slipway, inside the riveting display of books in two floors with open walls called in for another session of Fanani Flava on the 29th last month.
It was around 7:30pm that I arrived with a friend who has been a very once in a while member. I was a little nervous as I looked at the attendance. As usual, Laurent was in the shop, a bit later there was Cuthbert and I thought here we’ll have another small session. I was wrong before I took a calm breath there was a swarm of new friends in Fanani Flava. It was really refreshing…
We began with the customary introductions; there was Daniel Kimaro he noted he loves poetry, Ahmed Ali first time in a poetry session…Almat Hometo with her colleague Jasmine Fernandez from USA currently visiting. These two aren’t new to poetry or art, at the time they were helping the build of a poetry club in one of the secondary schools in Dar.
Other ‘newbies’ included Alex Hartman who wasn’t sure if he was ‘into poetry’ but awaited to see as he thought he was dropping in for a play. Also there was Laila Kanumba. Marc Mkono. Britney Urasuah, Patrick and Mariam Silas in this category it was great to have a full house.
Other members we know were there, Cuthbert Swai, Bakir (he disappeared halfway). Upendo Hartsuiker, Irena, Laurent and Caroline Uliwa…these were privy to the session’s theme which is ‘Money’. Soon we were onto the meat of the session where we digest poems and other Fanani treats….first up was a new member ‘Jasmine’
‘Broken’-Jasmine
Her poem which had quotes the like ‘Heart bleeds….walk too freely.” Was delivered with real passion. Standing up this red head reminded many of member Maya Wegerif in her delivering style.
I’ll add the distinct difference with the two poets lies in their content. While Maya’s poems lend on direct and lyrical, Jasmine’s poem extends in the imagery descriptive especially in her depict of the human emotions.
The ladies loved this piece it talked of a woman’s broken heart in real terms hardly captured in this theme. The guys were mayhap a little stunned for words…
“Love it…..very relatable” Upendo Hartsuiker
“Very Feminist…” Patrick
“Very assertive” Cuthbert.

‘I give you my senses’ Upendo Hartsuiker
This poem recited calmly whilst sitting down had quotes like “Sun….raspberry..You really worked the senses”. Had the sensuousness of a lovers talk sprinkled with undeniable shared surrender, it was much appreciated for its pierce to the heart and really warranted not much discussion as it was a sweet straight dedication to a love.

I bet your wondering who brought a poem on ‘Money’ as this was the intended theme. The next poet did.

‘Money’ Cuthbert Swai
This was perhaps one of the shortest worded poems we’ve heard here in Fanani. With quotes ‘Small Big Weak Strong…Car Love…..You’ve got to have it” It provoked much discussion. Everyone at first was a little flabbergasted as it was words with one sentence at the end.
Still in talking ‘money’ it was soon realized the connection. And everyone got into thinking or talking on money and its importance in our lives.

‘……..Oh my God hivi napelekwa wapi?’ Laurent
Laurent read us a piece that could well have launched his literary career…so emotive yet illusive it displays a candid experience in the prisons of our country. So moved was the audience, with such quotes as “Oh my God 13 days to go…’GODORO YA TATU KWA SITA’ That’s roughly 6 years.” Had we all moved to think on the larger issues pertaining our social justice…

The next poem was by meself titled…

‘Money’ Caroline Uliwa
With quote going “The choice to taste of Earth’s sweet bricks…One day like my birth right…” It was met with a bit of perplexity from the audience.
“Whaaat?” Alex.
Still after re-reading it, it was to get general feedback veering towards two fonts. One that the persona in the poem is still without personal family and looking at the world for freedom and opportunity, the other that it was relatable on that Money=Choice.

Our last poem was from Irena…we hadn’t seen this member for a while….

‘Money’ Irena
With lines echoing “The mother and child, On the red dirt below the billboards….The kid cheers. There’s money here.” This poem was easier understood, with comments flying on the experiences of many with street beggars. With some sympathizing as well being annoyed by the lack of imagination in such a line of finding a living..

Well that was FANANI FLAVA March’2011 this month the theme decided was ‘BABIES’………

February 2011 Moots

2011-04-04T12:53:00.000+03:00

Fanani Meet Feb’2011
Fanani’s meet for the first time in 2011, was small and sweet. We met at the Novel Idea in Slipway, there were six of us. Lawrence our host from A novel Idea, had all the chairs moved and ready in a circle fashion for a sweet night of poetry.

After we all streamed in, there were the traditional introductions, none the more interesting than Bakir who came last. With his personal inauguration of “I am co-founder of Fanani”. Well certainly we’ve had Bakir as long as we can remember lol. Only one new member tuned for this first year session her name being Bahati Mandago, and we had an oldie but goodie Ms Lilian Kasezo on the scene. The rest were Cuthbert Swai, Caroline Uliwa, Bakir and Lawrence.

Our first poem was read by Cuthbert…Not his own composition titled ‘Back to the Front’-Mphutlane wa Bofelo. In response to it Lilian said this was a poem “That begs for the rising of a new consciousness.” The poem truly gave reason for taking some deep look at our actions and their consequences. “To the front comrades No more slinking behind slogans Noe more hiding in rhetoric…” It was also felt within the group that the poet in question was “All over the place”-Bahati; as the poem touched way too many themes.

The second poem to be read was by Lawrence which we later came to realize was his own composition a fact at first he didn’t wish be known. It had no title it begins “Nasema Hivi…” So we’ll call it that for now. It was short and expressive. Some felt it should have gone on further as it beckoned for more illustration. Still somethings were clear, it pressed on the issue of slack pertaining to our politicians and civilians.

The next poem was by Caroline titled 3/5. Responses to it were boys v/s girls. Where the boys seemed a bit surprised Lawrence in particular that sadness could be reached by this poet. While the girls defended that well, just because challenges are passed doesn’t mean it’s reason to feel like a victim.

The last poem of the night is a poem from the late 2Pac to Jada Pinket. I’ll quote “You’re my heart in a human form…You bring climax without sex and you do this with a regal grace.”

Well ladies and gents you can imagine the comments, it was a lovely night we sipped some wine while reflecting as always laughing in Fanani.. The next theme is ‘Money’ hope to see you there with a poem and loads of quirky thoughts to share…

Tata-cococococo Caroline Uliwa

Daladala

2010-09-04T18:35:00.000+03:00

Daladala

Should I be gone and live
or stay and die?
this dry sorrow drinks my blood
slowly sucking the life out of me.

We use to travel our route together
I never left you
you never led me astray
we were inseparable like sickness and its cure
like day and night
like cold and heat;
until you changed our route
for your strange route
that I never knew before nor expected to go.
You lie to me, O daladala
remember when I trusted you to carry me
through that smooth route
of quiet road and promises of tomorrow,
but where are we now?
why passing me through this route so endless and rough?

O daladala tumeshapoteza njia yetu
sasa si marafiki tena
nimeamua kuachia ngazi
sitaki tena kupelekwa nisipotaka.
And although I keep wishing to trust you again
the truth is I do not have the hope..
for it has forsaken me.

O daladala wewe ni mwendo wa kasi
Polepole nimejitoa nikuachie nafasi.

Ezekiel Kihali

August 2010 - Daladala

2010-09-03T10:13:00.000+03:00

Dalalas

Daladalas of Dar
Are the champions by far
Of the rush-hour crush
The commuter mayhem.

Oh, I know, London’s tube is suffocating
Delayed trains, all that pointless waiting.
In Kigali they have bum-squeezing tricks
So that seats for 3 can fit 5 or 6.
In Tokyo, tube-pushers push you inside
But everyone is sooo polite.

But
Have you seen a well-dressed mama
Kick her leg up,
Thrust it through the open bus window
Pull herself in
Arse last
And launch herself giggling into a backseat’?

Have you seen passengers push and slap — and laugh at the fuss —

As they wrestle their way into a 12-seater bus?
And the last ones that stand hanging out of the door
Power fingers like crampons keep them safe from the floor.

The laughter isn’t kind, it’s hysterical
The passengers, not individual but numerical

No recorded - or live - voice saying, “Let passengers off first”

If you don’t barge out, delayed impact is worse.

It’s the rainy season. The hurricane’s daughter.
Roads pot-holed and deep in water.
Dalas splashing and soaking the roadside sellers,
Inside them, wet commuters with wet umbrellas.

I hesitate to climb aboard, but politeness won’t pay off
I try to ease myself inside without being too rough
Don’t want my aggressive side to fly
Until some sod — laughing — kicks me in the thigh.

I’m squeezed, standing, head bent, shoulders sag,
Damp, one hand holding a rail, the other my bag,
Too many feet and no space to stand straight,
Bum in my back, bus drives off in full spate.

We are full but the bus squeals to a stop.
Through the web of arms one - no - two heads pop.
Next, the two wet bodies force their ways in.
Re-contorted, we lurch, as the bus sprints off in a spin.

A disembodied arm reaches through
Clinking coins so we know our fares are due
And the hand takes your piece and then is gone
Then finds you out again somehow with a ticket twixt finger and thumb.

“Shusha” I call, and bus swerves to a stop
I labour to extract myself and am birthed in a pop.
Now on the wet street, the dala splashes away
And I think, let me just walk for the rest of today.

Daladalas of Dar
Are the champions by far
Of the rush-hour crush
The commuter mayhem.

Irena Pearse Aug 06

Poems Read in Aug2010

2010-07-28T09:38:00.007+03:00

TITI LA MAMA

Titi la mama litamu,hata likiwa la mbwa,

Kiswahili naazimu, sifayo iliyofumbwa,

Kwa wasiokufahamu, niimbe ilivyo kubwa,

Toka kama mlizamu, funika palipozibwa,

Titile mama litamu , Jingine halishi hamu.

Lugha yangu ya utoto, hata sasa nimekua,

Tangu ulimi mzito, sasa kusema najua,

Ni sawa na manukato, moyoni mwangu na pua,

Pori bahari na mto, napita nikitumia,

Titile mama litamu, jingine halishi hamu.

-------- TRANSLATION --------

One's mother's breast is the sweetest

Canine it may be,

And thou,Swahili,my mother- tonque,

art still the dearest to me.

My song springs forth from a welling

heart, I offer thee my plea

That who have not known thee,

may join in hormage to thee.

One's mother's breast is the sweetest,

no other so satisfies.

The speech of my childhood ,

now I am fully grown

I realize thy beauty and have made it

all on my own

And though refreshest my spirit like the

scent of the roses blown

Through desert and o'er ocean may I

thy praises known.

One's mother's breast is the sweetest,

no other so satisfies.

By By Shaban Rorbert, from Jahadhmi's anthology of Swahili poetrythology

Paralysis

Heartbeat

Pulsating, sweating

Screaming

Silence!

A choking sob

Tears flowing

Painful howling and yelling

A dark room

Silence.

Bloodshot and tear stained eyes

Looking up and looking out to a dark and cold world

Tear streaked face and hoarse voice

From all the pain endured.

And yet am still here,

My hear full of query as to why I am

Fear, gripping me, holding me,

Too scared to leave.

By Glory Seruhere

IMMORTAL

Take a trip with me then

Down memory lane

Where it's all plain

For you to see

You were there

And so was I

Perhaps I am a lit'l selfish

Wanting to hear all again

But you face lights up when you share

I cannot sway

When I begin to listen

As if caught up in a trance

For nothing else comes my way

Oh that it would stay that way.

I find myself wishing upon a sky

This pleasure that we make,

None can take,

For when we are together,

Nothing maters,

Nothing interferes,

I find myself invincible to anything else,

I think I am IMMORTAL.

By Glory Seruhene
-------------------------------------------------
Watching

the Flowers withers
and roses wilts
It never crossed my mind
That the feelings I have for you
Is also mortal!
Our love, strong as it is
Is breathing its last.
How can special One
Cease to be
How can a divine fondness
Cease to be felt
How can a cherished bond
Be no more
How can loyalty
Betray

Immortality,
was a song I used to sing
praising our everlasting love
a song which now
is a distant forgotten echo.
my heartbeats no longer
plays your favorite song
someone stole your melody
and I cant stop
this sweet crime
and this poem
mark the beginning of an end
and it’s time
to get rid of tattoos
and
cry, our last drop

Jinory 2010

February 2010

2010-03-22T11:47:00.002+03:00

Hate or Love

What is hate

What do I hate?

The dictionary definition is–

“An intense dislike of person(s) or thing(s).”

Hate is not the opposite of love,

Ask anyone in love, they’ll tell you.

Love’s opposite is indifference

But should I ever hate- is this a valid emotion?

Maybe, but never, never be without love

Some say love and hate must co- exist.

If I don’t hate, can I prove I ever love.

If I don’t hate injustice, can I truly love justice.

If I don’t hate war, can I truly love peace

If I don’t hate pride, can I be humble?

If I don’t hate wrong, can I value what’s right?

If I consider someone worthy, will I treat them poorly?

Won’t I hate unworthy treatment of any other

If I love good sense, in some way I’ll hate non-sense.

If I love family, must I not hate infidelity?

If I love my country and country men,

Won’t I hate the misuse of funds for selfish ends?

And if I indulge in this – my love must surely be in question

Yeah, in some sense true pure hate can be good

But never, never, without love.

Can give up some of my comforts for what I believe?

If I don’t can I really love another

As much as I love myself?

How about forgiveness?

Does it mean I tolerate all ill

No, its about my own rights

Though I know I’m owed them,

I can give them up

Here too, never be without love

I will fight and even die for something worthier

But for my defense, my acquittal

I must await a higher judge

For my heart is deceitful

Don’t the Scriptures say, above all else

And does experience not bear this out?

For in the name of nobility

I can act selfishly

If I hate all ills, I must have a higher love

A higher call

A high and lofty cause

Such as one for which Mandela lost his freedom

For which the Christ lost,

No, rather gave his life

As the ultimate act of love

The heart knows an ultimate sacrifice is made

If one hates something more than life itself

Hates selfishness, idolatory, hates injustice,

Hates oppression, hates all ills

To hate these, one must have a higher love

And for that give up ones life or freedoms

Yeah, in some sense true pure hate can be good

But never, never without love.

For love is gentle, patient and kind,

Not self-seeking or envious,

Not boastful not proud

It does not even notice others doing it wrong

If I do even noble things without love,

They will be worth nothing at all

So never, never, be without love

....Annie Forester, Feb 2010

November 2009

2010-01-19T12:15:00.001+03:00

Choices, Habits, Tabia

What are the choices that make me,

Make you?

Choices to do one thing

Instead of another?

I procrastinate..

How do I know if I chose the best?

Or will I feel

once the choice is made

that there is a better way through?

Could my choices define me?

What do they reveal

Will I do as I feel?

Or is there more

If my choices define me,

My character.

Do I listen to my mother?

Or brother?

Or father?

What choices reveal who I really am?

Those everyday choices?

Yes, and some others

Those made in the dark

These choices can be stark

To love, rather than hate my brother

I make choices everyday

Through the things I do

Through the things I say

The times I play

And these add up

to who I am

Yes and those choices in the dark

When no one watches

Those choices reveal

What I really believe

Not just what others perceive

Those times in the dark

Determine the real me

When feelings feel unreal

Is any choice good?

Again I procrastinate

Its hard to stand alone

But if I don’t

I’m not the person that I could be

Then on that final day

Will I stand?

Will I fall?
Will a test determine this

Before the judge of all?

Yes I believe I will

Though my strength may be small

For there is another

who helps those who fall

So I will make those choices

Some large some small

And on that final day

Before the judge of all

As he determined to help me

By giving his all

With his help, I know,

I will stand tall

Annie Forester, Nov 2009

August 2009

2009-09-15T10:47:00.000+03:00

EMANCIPATION
By Annie Forester

To be the person
I was meant to be.
love must rule in my heart.
It comes from knowing I’m beloved
Made, created unique
Exactly as the creator intended
Free to grow, to develop, to work
Exuding hope and purpose
With nothing to prove
I don’t have to be something I’m not
I can be who I am – without fear.
This is the gift of life
One in which we all share
None asked for it
The gift was freely given
Nutured and developed,
to lesser or greater degree
And now I am free
To be me

June 2009

2009-07-22T18:47:00.004+03:00

Some old, some new faces .....

April 2009

2009-05-21T12:28:00.005+03:00

I missed You All

Hey literary fellas
And you, young stars
Blossoming warriors
Born of literature wars
Boys and girls
2nite am so happy, tis been long,
And I have missed you all

Hows life treated you?
Cant remember, with my old-youth
When I last saw you
And the person next to you
Is he new?
I’d like to tell em
“Karibu mkuu”
2nite am so happy, tis been long,
And I have missed you all

So bring on the literary dances
Play on the poetic samba
Let em words, do the twist
while some, shake down the rhumba
cos this bunch even has the audacity
to squeeze life out of sindimba
2nite am so happy, tis been long,
And I have missed you all

Lawrence, where’s that magic cocktail?
The one you mix so well
Neema, my share of popcorn
As you chair this lunatic “poetico”
With Cuthbert’s help yo!
Carol, Ginory, Maya, Elsie,
Asha, Demere, Bakir, oh! who else?
What mischief have you been up to?
Let it out, share it all
Cos 2nite am so happy, to see y’all
It sure is great to be back!

by claraswai@hotmail.com April 2009

******************************************

Only time

Everyday we sleep
everyday we awake
but who can say where the old go
or what will tomorrow bring;
only time.
We couldn’t know the past
until it came
we don’t know the future
until it comes.
In life we learn to wait
for time to decide a fate.

By Eziekiel

****************************************

Roses leftovers

A cold rivulet runs deep
down meandering of rocks so sharp;
like the hate and hurt which break a loving heart
shall cause so much grief and weep
that turns into phobia
a reason to die lonelier.
She said he broke her heart
now she feels for no one no more;
it’s like blossoming red roses
that were suddenly tramped
and scatter into pieces
which can never be mend
that’s how her feelings are.
There on the thin pavements of her heart
lay broken leaves and crushed remnants
of roses leftovers
a memory of dead-love-feelings.
So all that remains in her is
roses leftovers.
Love has ceased to exist
in her cold and sunken heart;
a phobia it has become.
She fears love as death
alone is what she is
and so alone she will always be.
Love is the reason she can’t be with me
though I’ve fallen for her
but I understand; coz will never forget
the way she says
what she says when she says
about her roses leftovers.
A reason for her phobia.

By Eziekiel

March 2009

2009-04-14T19:22:00.006+03:00

Last cry

Love is the flash of firefly
in the night
It’s the breath of the buffalo
in the winter
It’s the little shadow
that runs across the grasses
and lost in the Sunset.
Love is no guarantee at all.
Dear only tonight
I’ll make my last cry.
I know only underneath
is a hideout of pleasure
Like a gemstone in the earth
is a hidden treasure.
Have tried to dig your love
beneath your heart
yet couldn’t find it
So I give up.
Dear only tonight
I’ll make my last cry.
My heart was broken before
I thought you would mend it
I put my feelings so open
thought you would love me,
I’ve been lying to myself.
Now my heart is broken again.
A double-broken heart
can never mend.
Dear only tonight
I’ll make my last cry.
It’s a lonesome life to live
with a thought that
You could have been here
to keep my dreams alive;
Yet the truth you’re not near.
These tears flow upon my cheeks
shall drown all my feelings
that I have for you.
So only tonight
I’ll make my last cry for you.

By Ezekiel

******************************

I am Happy and Happy

I look at you. Scruffy hair managerial air
I look at you I could swear
In another lifetime bare
A scruffy diamond, you sear
A pathway to me, like no other
Linked with hands, simple bother
A shared meal or roads further
You scruffy diamond, you mother
A guiding lamp, a light
Waking me slowly to fight
For what’s always been my right
My scruffy diamond, in sight
I am happy and happy with you

By Caroline Uliwa

August 2008 "Words" - Composed & read by Maya M.

2008-09-04T18:26:00.003+03:00

Words
Words used as bait

For the fish who know not their fate

Words that pretend to relate

To ur situation or state

Of mind.

Words that were meant to be kind

Yet only leave behind

Scars. That no medicine can heal

Neither can apologies seal

Words that seduce

You. To produce

Results

Words that give you false power

Make you stand taller than a twin tower

Those words make you feel like you’re in heaven

Only to collapse on 9/11

Words with false motivation

Am I correct in saying false motivation could be

someone’s occupation

Words rehearsed so much they sound fake

Words so dramatic they could be a script for ricki lake

Words that give not yet take

Everything at stake

By purposeful mistake

Words full of ammunition

Damaging words justified by good old ambition

Words of inquisition

Words that need to be answered seeking a

knowledgeable position

Words that trip

And slip

Out, like they hadn’t tied they’re shoelaces

Skitsofrenic words, 2 timing, with 2 faces

Bias words that degrade those of different races

Words with facial features, stick their noses in people’s

spaces

Words of habit, said without being planned

Repeated words, sold spat out and bought again for

second hand

Words of uprising, go hand in hand with a lifted fist

Words that would not take no for an answer, words that

persist

And insist

On knowing more. Even when authorities tried to resist.

Words with no shame

That claim to know when all they know is to claim

Words said in prayer to relief life’s stress

Lord tame our tongues so that they don’t get us into a

hurtful mess

And words that hurt make them hurt a little less.

And Lord, instead of curse, may these tongues bless

Maya W.

May 2008

2008-06-05T11:28:00.011+03:00

FananiFlava members were invited to hold their May 2008 session at the Residence of the Palestinian Ambassador, H. E. Amb. Yousef Habbab. (This happened on 27 May 2008). Well, we were all VERY impressed by the kind hospitality, not to mention the delicious, scrumptious, romantic, tantalizing food, all Palestinian cuisine, which was all cooked by the Ambassador in one (1) hour!

The company was great, honorably graced by the Country Director of UNESCO - H. E. Mr. Cheikh Tidiane Sy, who is our NEW FF member. It was indeed a relaxed, poetic atmosphere.
This evening gave birth to the theme for July poetry session “POETRY, FOOD AND FAITH” or along these lines. On food, we all agreed the food was great. On Faith, after a heated discussion, it was agreed that Faith is a very personal ground between the believer and his/her God, and it should not be imposed under any pretex. The theme for June 2008 session remains Hon. Seif Khatib – The Poet.

March 2008

2008-04-12T11:09:00.000+03:00

African love

The angels are singing and dancing,
While their tattered attire make fun of they,
They donʼt seem to notice the joke,
Because heaven has too much to offer.

The mamas are pounding the grain,
While their sagging breasts dance frantically,
They donʼt feel the blisters burning,
Because the love is too great.

The men are cutting and digging,
While the sun bakes their backs,
They only thinking of the angels and mamas,
Because they all that matters.

The grandmas are resting on their mats,
While days and weeks unfold,
They indulging their memories,
Because it was a journey well traveled.

The grandpas are smoking their pipes,
While farting freely and fairly,
They proud they taught them sons and daughters,
Because everyone is in love.

The love is true and sincere in Africa,
While the rest of the world is acting,
They understand not the meaning,
Because they caught up in the curse.

By Fahari, March 2008

March 2008

2008-04-12T11:04:00.003+03:00

Red to Black Roses.

Now on death row,
déjà vu she has had him there before,
In his mind, that bitch had to go,
Looking straight with no remorse,
Surrounded by walls,
Little light penetrating through the cracks,
Of these molded wallsShe drowned his soul,
Broke the only happiness he ever worn,
That’s why he put two
Three
Probably fourLeft her soaked on her own blood,
As she choked,
He recited her the poems
Now we both mourn. I
bet in her mind,
She thought she could crawl,
Rush to the door, Too sad,
It was all too late too cold,
Angels already all around to take her home.

Yours,

Bahati M.

Book extract, Feb 2008

2008-03-05T11:04:00.000+03:00

Ms. Koenings as she read an extract from her novel - "The Blue Taxi" during poetry session on 26th Feb 08.

Prose - read by Elsie Feb 2008 session

2008-03-03T13:13:00.000+03:00

Excerpts from “ My wish: That every day is Valentine Day”
By: Salma

I feel compelled to speak about love for two main reasons. First it is because of the controversy that Valentine Day increasingly causes globally: Only recently Saudi Arabia banned any Valentine celebrations in the Kingdom. I wonder if it is because of religious considerations or a deeper unwillingness to address its significance. I also know that nationally there are raging debates about observing Valentine less so because it has become a money spinning scheme and less so on account of its significance in our human relationships with those we are most intimate with. I ‘zoom’ on love because it is subject, or rather a condition that causes many of us much distress, heartache and heartbreak as soulfully stated by Tina Turner, and thus warrants serious exploration.

Love, this mysterious word, used sparingly after a relationship has been formalized, but abundantly when it is just sparkling and we are still in hot pursuit of that which makes the heart flicker. Love, a word that is used to explain a range of emotions and feelings but at the same time a word that is used to justify a range of actions and indiscretions. Love, a word so potent in effect that it can cure chronic problems and conditions- heath or otherwise- but prove equally fatal.

My philosophy, which I shared with him, was to love freely without expectation, condition or obligation (in the sense of compulsion or feeling the other owes you a debt). Love is not just about the butterflies and the giggly feeling we have when we remember the name and the face that makes us glow inside and sing off-key without a care; it is also about tolerating and even respecting the individual traits that make the other so attractive and ultimately delightful to us. Surely, love should not primarily be about changing another to your image: If you want an image of yourself, by all means go and clone yourself! But if it is another that you love, then you have to be willing to accept their imperfections and their differences- not just physical but also intellectual- as being integral to their identity just as it is integral to the soundness of the relationship. You love another for whom they are and for what they make you to be (which hopefully is empowering and happy) and achieve. Perhaps more of us need to appreciate that if love is about giving then it is also about receiving, not just taking.

Alas, many relationships remain that- shows for the benefit of others. You won’t leave an abusive partner for fear of what others may think or say. You won’t date someone who makes you feel so good and alive because of what others may think or say because it is not what would be expected of you. And, although you love and accept your partner as they are, you may feel compelled to pressure them into changing to fit the expectations of others e.g. your parents or friends or Lord forbid, your boss... We thus enter into relationships full of show and pretense of who we are, scared to show and be who we really are. Then you wonder why you wake up one day and ask yourself- who in the heck is this person sleeping next to me, whose face I am looking into but I can’t seem to see or feel?

Although I write for the romantics and the foolhardy in love, I think this philosophy of love applies to other types of relationships we have with others. My description of love in form, substance and feeling is captured in Chaka Khan’s timeless My funny Valentine. It is a song of few lyrics but with powerful effect. It captures love that is expressed selflessly, with surrender. Ultimately, love is about a freedom that allows one to bask from and in the radiance and energy of another. It is the freedom to find pleasure even in that which others may find amusing without a care in the world. It is appreciating that each one of us, as are our experiences, are unique, aspects that make us whole and endearing to one another. It is about finding oneself in the spirit of another and appreciating that what you reflect in terms of feeling towards the other is in most cases the feeling you have towards yourself.

I share of the priceless sonnets that delight me so much with the hope that those who own the copyright would indulge me in this rare act of chivalry to human kind motivated by a need to advocate for sensible and compassionate romanticism on this Valentine Day:

My funny Valentine, sweet comic Valentine,
You make me smile with my heart
Your looks are laughable, Unphotographable
Yet, you are my favourite work of art
….
Don’t baby, don’t change your hair for me
Not if you care for me
Stay little Valentine, baby stay (undoubtedly remain they way you are)
Each day is Valentine, each day is Valentine’s Day

Recited Feb 2008 session

2008-03-03T12:35:00.000+03:00

Valentine, My question

Valentine
Who are you?
Are you for real?
Or Just in our hearts.
Do you come to stay?
Or just to pass.
Are you for the young?
Are you for the Old?
Are you for the rich?
Are you for the poor?
Are you new?
Or are you old?
Is red your colour?
Or do we like you in red.
Is February your month?
Or do we like you in February.
Why are you slow to come?
Yet so fast to leave.
The things you leave behind
Who is to care for them?
Valentine
Can you hear me?

By: Cuthbert, Feb. 2007

By Email - Feb 2008

2008-03-03T12:30:00.000+03:00

REKINDLED

She yearns to share her soul’s secrets like a little sweet child would long to tell all their experiences,
Innocence as naked as the truth, bold and visible as nature’s vast wonders.

I am warmed by my affinity to wanting to explain my very existence, my vanity, inhumanness and feelings for her-do I hesitate? Not in the least, my instincts like a deep-sea diver compel me to take the plunge and navigate my growing feelings thereon.

As humans we were built to have others witness our lives in parallel to our own vision of our journeys.

Society’s inhibitions time and time again remind us why and how not to trust others and fall short of enabling us to trust oneself.

We chat away like we were two swans that have always puddle the pond together- alas we are miles apart, but the distance no longer exists because we feel REKINDLED-mind, body and spirit.

By Sunday N. Kapesi

January 2008 Session photos

2008-02-04T13:05:00.000+03:00

Neema..."This is serious stuff!!"

The group...with poetic attention...

Neema... "This year's resolution..."

"Cheers...to 2008.."

November 2007 with Fanani's Ode

2007-12-04T11:34:00.003+03:00

November 2007 session was graced by H.E. The Palestinian ambasador to Tanzania (center)

Something New Something Old…
Don’t we all, always feel gold.
Come the last Tuesday of every month,
Or a poetry sesson just gone past.
We are going to have an exciting evening either way
And that’s what we have to say
FANANI FLAVA

Colors of our beautiful world,
We represent as its gracious citizens.
From the Chair to the Orators,Always shedding guiding light
We sing poems spanning generations
Whether old school or new School,
We relate to songs of praise, Sorrow and more praise. FANANI FLAVA

We are traditional chefs, Cooking up local authentic lessons.
We are contemporary artists,
Drawing on culture to break regressive myths.
We are painters, Placing on canvas
Directions to our lives for tomorrow FANANI FLAVA

We laugh, we play, we eat, we sip,
We are anything and everything that’s good and positive.
We exist and co-exist anywhere.
And everywhere prior to and after our sessions,
Because we carry with ourselves a loving smile,
The kind that extends a mile of support,
Joy and reflection of that positive change,
We all desire to see in our world FANANI FLAVA!

By Sunday Kapesi.

Recited on 2nd Birthday Party - Elsie

2007-11-14T14:21:00.000+03:00

A STAR IS BORN

Started writing poetry in high school,
Terrifying but fun,
Part of English curriculum;
Climax was winning, a Merit Award,
Of the National Secondary School Poetry Competition,
Organized by British Council,
in collaboration, with the Government of Kenya.

Thereafter, had stints with writing,
Co-editor of Yearbook, at university of undergraduate,
Personal Finance columnist,

For local Tanzanian newspaper,
And, loads of writing for Daily Bread;
Creativity shriveled, in recess of fond memories,
Writer's block arrived.

Driven to unleash creative energy,
Pregnant with unborn dreams,
Driven to making a difference,
Decided to start weekly salsa parties,
Loving Life Living Love campaigns,
Inspired by dance as poetry in motion,
Compelled to flag cancer cause,
Bringing people together, having a good time.

Six months later, high on friends,
Stressed by DJs, never ending demands,
Struck by the reality, of "more sweat than fun",
Knew it was time to move on,
When a "Balozi" called me the Mayor of Dar es Salaam!

Along came Neema, call out of the blue,
"Elsie" she said, "you've been going on and on about poetry;
I've been to an impromptu poetry evening,
Of writers and publishers,

And have been tasked to do this again;
I'm much too busy, Can you help me organize it?"

Thrilled by prospect, of Walk the Talk,
Bumped into Sarah and Paul of the Novel Idea,
Impulsively asked, and they thought it was a good idea;
Roped in fellow Rotarians of the Bahari – Dar es Salaam,
Off we were, poetry jamming,
On last Tuesday of every month.

Two years on, hard to believe it's been that long,
Stand here before you,
Humbled by the talent,
That's been hidden for so long,
Under 13 to 60 plus,
Stunned by awesome beauty,

Of heartfelt passions and revelations,
Immensely grateful,

For the Community that we have become,

This Family of poets,

FANANI FLAVA.

- Elsie Kanza, 2nd Anniversary, 3 November 2007

Recited on 2nd Birthday Party by Shani

2007-11-09T14:06:00.000+03:00

The key to my heart
By Shani

Let me call you the nearest to my heart
Let me call you from
The loveliest thing designed not by Art
That even through eyes
Dreams can be a part
Carried on endlessly from start
In ways that even I cannot for see

Beside love
And the one a above
Whoever knew we would ever meet
Don’t you see it my love
You have made my life complete

The pleasure you give
No matter how small it comes
It keeps flowing boundlessly so ever sweetly

I am so glad I got a lady like you
Who understands my ways?
And brightens my days

With you I am filled with light
That even without wings I take flight

By Shani

Recited on 2nd Birthday Party - Bakari

2007-11-09T13:45:00.000+03:00

MZEE. UNTIL FINALLY .......... UNTIL LATER!
for Mzee Godwin Kaduma [1938 - 2007]

By Imruh Bakari

There is luggage
to be collected
with well shaped
words and dancing

choruses that bring light.

There is luggage
to be collected

everywhere the fragments

in between the ruins
and the rain

And so the story is told

unfolding like a flower

Mzee, the way you

moved each stone

solidly into place
taking the time to build

where crumbling
will not visit.

And so the story is told

laced with moonlight

and other mysteries

woven solid
against the changing
winds and the carelessness

that comes
with a hangover.

And so the story is told

there are new emergencies

in voices persistent
as Bagamoyo's dirt roads

there are new summonses

worn calmly around shoulders

stern as the Iringa hill
..... a refuge ..... a memory

Now we must sigh

as the bell sings
a slow march.

Now we must sigh

as the stoic smile

offers gifts of fire.

There is luggage

to be collected
with discerning touch

no flags or fickle

monuments of vanity.

There is luggage to be collected
for the worker bees

a job of sweet

vocation calls
enduring until.. .... finally

......... until later

Imruh BAKARI
30 September 2007

Recited on 2nd Birthday Party - Asha

2007-11-09T13:29:00.001+03:00

What I will do
(Tribute to Lucky Dube
By Asha.D.Mtwangi

I play your music
with the rising of the sun
and sing the melodic passages you drew
time after time line upon line .

I promise to live
life into your rhythm

of unforced reality

true responsibility

clourful fraternity

sketched peacefully.

I shall bury my pain

bury my loss
Not in your grave

But in my living

your message

your rhythm.

Your verse
full of consciousness

envoking feeling
of wanting to do something

leave imprints

soundly fine.

To move humanity

ever shifting like sand dunes

like memories
like time
like rhyme.

Who am I
to question the answers

that question the keeper
of answers.

Are questions not what you led
us to ask ourselves
our being
our reasons.

Our prescence

shall be your prescence

captured in rhythm

Rhyme
Verse
time after time ...

Recited on 2nd Birthday Party by Angela

2007-11-09T13:24:00.000+03:00

The TRIALS in my world ....
By Angela Kasamala

I asked for friends,

I was given enemies that I may show them love;
I asked for a lover,

I was given betrayal that I could strengthen my heart;
I asked for forgiveness,

I still suffered the consequences that I could be tested by faith;
I asked for love,

I was given hatred that I may know the difference;
I asked for strength,

I was give weakness that I may learn to depend on God;
I asked to pass my trials,

I failed that I may review my life;
I asked for the future,

I was given my past that I may learn from it;
I asked for self-confidence,

I got fear that I may learn to respect others;
I asked for freedom,

I got trapped that I may try to imagine freedom;
I asked for peace at heart,

I got problems that I may appreciate peace;
I asked for joy,

but I received sadness that I may try to make the best of my situation;
Basically,

I did not get anything I asked for,

but I gained much more and I learnt....

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

My Dying wish was ...
By Angela Kasamala

(Let me go for I am the chosen one this time)

My eyes wandered across the room
All the things I had once longed for seemed useless to me now

The fresh air from the window revealed the atmosphere outside

My breathing echoed inside my heart causing a resonant...
I longed for yesterday.

Yesterday, I knew I had a full day ahead of me

I knew I had the strength to live on
I knew I would see tomorrow's sunrise

I knew I had the time to laze around

Now, I longed for that time.

The time to say my last appreciation
The time to tell my mother how grateful I am,

for standing by me ever since the day,

I first let out the words, 'Mama!'
The time to repent and let God know that,

I was wrong to have waited till now.

The time ... the time to say,

'Thank you' to all who took me for a friend.
Now, I long for the truth!

Why am I dying?
Why didn't you ever tell me that AIDS hurt?

Why didn't you prepare a better life for me?
Why did it have to happen to me now,

at a time like this,

when I have people depending on me?
Why didn't you ever tell me about AIDS?

TO YOU ALL OUT THERE. ..
You have the chance now to know about AIDS,

so don't fool around ....

It may be too late!!!

Memories that live on…

2007-11-01T14:23:00.000+03:00

Memories that live on…

By Angela Kasamala

It is five years now since you left me
It took just a second and you were gone
It is you I long for when I wake up each morning
It takes a love like mine to keep growing strong,
Even after five years…

Your breath was all I needed to make a smile
Your laughter still echoes in my heart
helping me to believe that we shall be together again someday
Your touch always seemed to release enough love to keep me alive
Your eyes still seem alive to me,
Even after five years…

The dull, grey morning was the morning
I knew would change my whole life forever
That presence of yours that always seemed to fill my world was gone
That feeling of waking up each morning because
I knew you would be there was lost
That day when death snatched you away from me….I still love you,
Even after five years…

Now, as l lay back on your favourite chair,
I feel as though you are back
I long for the days we used to be together
The days when we shared everything that made our lives a complete cycle
Even after five years,
I still remember everything about you as though you only left me today.

I can’t wait to see you again….someday!!!

I Gazed at the moon

2007-10-01T11:41:00.000+03:00

I GAZED AT THE MOON

I gazed at the moon last night,
got lost in my thoughts a dreams,
Experiences gone past,
experiences yet to run past.

I smiled at the moon light,
so far away on object yet so bright,
I shed a fear
Not out a fear of recollecting the pain
I been though but rather
The joy of having come this far.

Any man,
any woman must have a goal,
should have a life of hope,
Why not has that life line
represent everything that’s positive …….
Not worm colors that smooth the heart?
……… not challenging thoughts that stimulate the mind?

Lets all breaks that habit of swimming
vigilantly towards air from deep under water.
Lets all stop cutting through negativity
only to graze one drop of that love,
success fulfillment.

Lets us all gaze at every object animate,
Lets all gaze at every thing in animate
provided u’ fill that space
with all that’s hopeful & positive & get
engulfed in warm winds
hope & clear rays of the sun’s

Reflected rays – identify each
of the 7 colors with 7 attributes
that streamline to that one goal
– my goal to keep positive,
to keep smiling
& not to keep crying pain.

By
Sunday Kapesi

Erik Faxgard

2007-08-30T12:17:00.000+03:00

Happiness is a house

Well the moon is broken
And the sky is cracked
Come on up to the house
The only things that u can see is all that u lack
Come on up to the house

All your crying wont do no good
Come on up to the house
Come down off the cross
We can use the wood
Come on up to the house

It's a long time since we drank champagne
That wasn't even made for us
Come on up to the house
The world is not our home,
we're just passing through
Come on up to the house

There's no light in the tunnel
No irons in the fire
Come on up to the house
And you're a singing lead-soprano in junk-mans choir
Come on up to the house

The seas are stormy and u can’t find your port
Come on up to the house
And there is nothing in the world that u can do
Then just Come on up to the house

Erik Faxgard

Gladys Fahari

2007-08-30T12:10:00.000+03:00

Happiness

Could I really be?
Rest assured that I am
Is that the ultimate end?
What next after
Is this a human manufacture?
A mode to console ourselves
Keep going

What is happy?
Who is happy?
Is it a fceling?
A thing
Or just a person

How do I know I'm happy?
If I don't know what happiness really is?
Is it satisfaction?
Joy
Gladness
Achievement
Content
Or just nothing at all'?

Maybe I am happy
Or I'm I not?
When will I be happy?
How can I be happy?

Are you happy?
When did you get there?
How docs it feel to be? S
hould I be green?
Or, have I reason to bawl

Can be Only if
Let yourself
Don't look too far
Closer
Plain things make

Gladys Fahari

Clara Chamshama Swai

2007-08-07T13:21:00.001+03:00

WHO AM I?

Like a shadow
Dark, Mysterious
Eyeing the hunted
Patiently waiting
For my time
Ready To pounce
Hard on The West
For when diminished
They Will quench,
My burning thirst

I prowl At night Hidden
In the shadows Though
they scramble To tell
My story
Not at bedtime
But "breaking news"
Ain’t it funny
Cos I am hiding
deep down
In the burrows
Calculating my next move
Next Target Known
but secretly hidden
and yet they know
that when I strike
A sure victory
Will I achieve

Patient, Focused
Steady,
Ready
The weary Watch the night
Strange though when I sneeze
They scream and shout
"it's a bomb" they call out
As I smile
and wonder
Who then,
Has power
Cos when I sneeze,
You splinter and shit!

My voice,
in the wilderness
I observe
I prophesy
Many and countless
From north to East
Are ready I see
To take on My task
For this fight
Is as wide
as the widest sea

Fear not,
panic not
Were you to die
Today or not
Would be Indeed
A holy cause
This life because
Will end anyway
Your belts tite Therefore
You who lust For justice

Believe it or not
Many have fought
For such the lot
For the morrow
Their reward
Will they reap
Once we wipe
Off the smile
From their wrought
Wrinkled so called
Faces of the West

Who then, Am I?
Would you scramble
To tell my story
As breaking news?
Or are you the type
Who hunger to watch
On your coach
As they continue
To lie
About Who
lam?

By Clara C. Swai

Demere Kitunga

2007-08-07T13:21:00.000+03:00

Siasa gani hii?

Jicho limefumba
Shavu limevimba
Mguu unachechemea
Michubuko mwili uzima

Kulikoni ndugu rafiki?
Aah! Utelezi
Jana usiku gizani
Maji yalichuruzika sakafuni
Nikateleza nikaangukia kisiki!
Siasa gani hii?

Jicho limefumba
Shavu limevimba
Mguu unachechemea
Michubuko mwili uzima!

Ah! Kisiki ndani ya nyumba?
Uongo mwingine ...
Nyuma ya paziajembamba
Ningesemaje?

Juzi nilipobururwa hadharani
Hamkuingilia!
Ni ugonvi wao wa ndani
Niliwasikia wengine mkisema
Nilijiona dhalili!
Mlipoishika midomo yenu
Ndani ya viganja vyenu
Mkinicheka ...

Leo mwanitaka niseme nini?
Wacha nivumilie vitendo vyake
Niifunike aibu yenu na yangu
Ndani ya ukimya huu
Pamoja na uongo huu Tunaouishi!

Hizi ndizo mila zetu
Na utamaduni wetu
Na maadili yetu
Lakini niambie ndugu rafiki ....
Mila na utamaduni wa nani?
Na hayo maadili?
Yanamlinda nani?

Siasa gani hii ...
Inayoyatenganisha Mambo
ya ndani na ya nje Ipate
kuhalalisha ukatili!

By Demere Kitunga

So, what is Poetry?

2007-08-02T09:50:00.000+03:00

Poetry: An Invitation to Dance
- Imruh Bakari

Judging by my own experience, the most likely question to be asked about a poem is, what does it mean? When this question is posed in relation to my own work I am usually speechless. A poet at a loss for words is a paradox. But strange as it seems that is usually my reaction. I am always caught off guard by the question. What I do become aware of is that the motivation behind the questions assumes that there is a hidden or essential meaning to a poem. The presumption seems to be that the poem is a kind of code that has to be cracked.

In my view a more interesting question would be to find out why was the poem written? An assured answer to this question is more likely. After this, it is possible that a more comfortable approach to the question of meaning could be revealed; not as a definitive or absolute statement, but in relation to the sensibility of the person who asked the question.

The Sufi Sheikh, Inayat Khan says, “the distinct work of the poet is to prepare the heart to receive […] light…”. If this is taken in the widest and most ordinary way, the question of meaning is not foremost. The underlying idea seems to be the presence of a sense of submission, adventure and receptivity. It is in this way that I would suggest that essentially, poetry rather than saying something that has a meaning; is an invitation to dance!

This may sound idealistic and the question of meaning will no doubt still persist. This is so because of the confusion about art and its function. Suffice to say that all works of art have multiple meanings. Sometimes different meanings can be contested all at the same time. Equally, accepted meanings can become irrelevant and obsolete. The case of traditional African art in European museums illustrates this very clearly. In other circumstances a specific meaning can gain prominence depending on the occasion or the time.

In poetry there is the case of the poem “If we must die”. It is known that during WWII, Winston Churchill used this poem in one of his speeches to rally the British people against Hitler. It was effective. Little did they know that this poem had been written in 1919 by a Jamaican poet of the Harlem Renaissance, Claude McKay. The poem has its origins in a response to the lynch mobs that operated in the USA against black people. This was not the reference point for its importance in the utterance of Winston Churchill. Still, the reputation of this poem makes it clear that as an evocation, as an invitation to dance, it served the same purpose.

The invitation to dance is an invitation to a mutual feeling. It is an invitation to an exploration, which is inevitable in any encounter with the unknown. It is only through this that the idea of meaning can become apparent. Dancing as would be appreciated is dependent on hearing. On what is heard. That is why people of different cultures dance differently even to the same music. Of course steps, movements and styles can be learnt, but the meanings will most definitely be as personal and varied as the perceptions and personalities involved. However, if the dancer has an understanding of the context and motivation of the act, dancing can indeed become an interesting dialogue or conversation. In fact the dance can assume a poetic quality which is present in all facets of life. Poetry expresses this quality through the use of words in language.

Language is the material of ordinary speech. Poetry however, is by no means ordinary. In its use of language, its evocation, its dramatisation, words take on a new poetic quality. The invitation to dance is the encounter and the exploration that is encouraged by poetry. It may be understood as an act of trying to speak the unspeakable. Where this succeeds, it is here that the heart is touched and prepared to receive light! And if Pablo Neruda’s confession that “poetry arrived in search of me” can be taken with sincerity, then there is the assurance that meaning will be revealed without any presumption or precondition.

Dar es Salaam
16 June 2007

Cynthia Hamadi

2007-07-26T13:59:00.001+03:00

This girl I know

There in this girl I know
And don’t be amazed
If you’ve met her
Because everyone I have met
When I ask
They say they know her

She is a girl which
Can cast a spell on you
With everlasting friendship
Just for you
Pity her simplicity
For she is an average girl
Her only power
Is the gift of her work of magic.

She is a girl who is confident
Who follows her own dream
She doesn’t leave her dreams lying
But I tried to reach that star
So if you don’t know
Try to find her
For she will cast that spell on you
That gives you everlasting friendship

By
Cynthia Hamadi

Hunter and the hunted

Again, reaching out to unreachables
You, present in my life
Waiting, my achievement
To flyaway, into the bright future
Elusive, you remain

Long days, and sleepless nights
Always, thinking, wishing Then,
waking, walking, working
Again, reaching out to the unreachables

I, building, renovating, breaking
Mostly, starting, finishing, giving up
Stressing, depressing, healing
You, present in my life

Like, a shadow
Following, looking, mocking
Saying, you just a step away
Waiting, my achievement

If only, I could reach out
Touch, feel, squeeze you
I, stretch my arms
To fly, away into the brightfUture

Tomorrow, may better
A day's work, worth a lifetime
Sweet, dreams, dreaming on
Elusive, you remain

By Gladys Fahari

Sunday Kapesi

2007-07-26T13:59:00.000+03:00

THE WAY AHEAD

You sit back and reflect…
Analyse your intellect from outside yourself.
We always give our hearts, we always put in over and beyond in the hope,
That one day it may all lead to an elope.

Matters never seem as they are, time a factor very relevant to the relativity of affairs.
We moan, we get distraught, we look to the power above
And curse at why the love was swept away on that fateful day.

You sit back and reflect…
Analyse your emotions from outside yourself.
Here you are, in Dar Es Salaam
And you realize that you did over come that distinct period of prolonged pain.

You smile, you shut your book, you lay it on your lap and understand that the pain was part of the way ahead…the way to understanding you, your limits and expectations
To dealing with others, and above all you did overcome the HEARBREAK

***********************

THE ROAD I WANT TO TRAVEL

Some say that good things sometimes happen to people.

Some people are like grain in a thorn-field,
they sprout but get chocked.

I believe that good things happen to everybody, every time and furthermore,
that great things happen all at once, sooner or later to all of us at some time in our lives.

I feel as though I am seed on good soil, rich in minerals and moisture germinating strong roots and patiently waiting to sprout and reach for the sky with branches wide enough, strong enough to hold me steady and keep me firmly balanced on the ground.

You hold ideals, practise values that are now the benchmark I look for in all of mankind,
young and old, male and female.

Some say that education without knowledge is like being on
board a boat on dry land.

The lessons you have taught me, the confidence you have instilled has
lead me to where I am, at this moment in time.

Success to me is no longer a destination, but a journey,
a journey that lead me to you and all those around you,

And the road you have travelled has shown light and clarity
on the road I want to travel.

Bon voyage

Madam Ambassador

8th September, 2006
Sunday Kapesi