Fanani Flava Poetry Club
FANANI FLAVA MOOTS MARCH 2011
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
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
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
Dalalas
Daladalas of Dar
Are the champions by far
Of the rush-hour crush
The commuter mayhem.
Oh, I know,
Delayed trains, all that pointless waiting.
In
So that seats for 3 can fit 5 or 6.
In
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
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.
Paralysis
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.
IMMORTAL
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
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 in
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
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 in
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
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
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
April 2009
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
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
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