Aki Vitu Nimeona

Tag: NonFiction

  • [asking of name]

    [asking of name]

    —

    by

    Kuruga
    in

    When I asked for your name I did not know that questions have force-full answers,  I was yet to comprehend the power in knowing a name the powerlessness in being swelled by that which introduces being or the powerful-ness; it is hard to tell I was still in the pre-knowing-you era and was unaware,  looking-back-kind-of-ridiculously…

  • crackling peace

    crackling peace

    —

    by

    Kuruga
    in ,

    Have you felt the wind rush through your armpits making a parachute out of your baggy t-shirt as you ride atop a bodaboda, Or, with cold hands, after you’ve trudged the rain outside and cucu hands you a steaming cup of dufia after you’ve changed into dry garb, the feeling of your shivering fingers furling…

  • roslindale

    roslindale

    —

    by

    Kuruga
    in ,

    In this topography where convenience is sold en masse, past the carwash, and past the big rectangle-ish block of building that has a thrift shop where you got a yellow jacket that will brave a hurricane for an hour before succumbing, past the fastfood one where they messed up your order, or fastfood two that…

  • Enroute

    Enroute

    —

    by

    Kuruga
    in

    12/22/2020 Enroute The probox is traversing the dirt roads that snake their way through the thickets and bushes and the wind is blowing in my face, a cool wind – atypical to the usually scalding weather this part of Kenya is used to. Next to me are two other passengers, one sleeping through the bumpy…

  • Gharama ya passpoti

    Gharama ya passpoti

    —

    by

    Kuruga
    in

    “Mtoto wetu alikuwa huko… miaka kumi na mbili aliishi huko” “Haishi huko tena?” “Aaaaaaa, hata alikuwa keshakuwa raia. Passpoti anayo” “Na?” “Tikiti ya kuenda huko kusoma kalipa yeye. Tikiti ya kurudi nikalipa mwenyewe.” “Mmmm” “Huko alienda kusoma kama wewe tu. Kisha akaanza kazi. Lakini hata uwe raia, bado wewe huko ni mpitanjia. Hawakukubali.” “Aaa nadhani…

  • our ugly half*

    our ugly half*

    —

    by

    Kuruga
    in ,

    Have you ever set out to search for the missing half? …The half that’s misshapen. Ugly, itchy, heavy, abrasive. Awkward to the hand, gritty on the tongue, platypus of history – stage of how we got here that we’d all prefer to ignore. Have you ever feared what the missing half would reveal? Shailja Patel

  • and rememberings

    and rememberings

    —

    by

    Kuruga
    in

    a body is running in rain: between the hanging lines sparse with uniforms and garments that will find their way to new owners every week. A body is being rained on, young, years ago, in gumboots running from school to a mother’s warm tea.

  • Mimi na Berlin

    Mimi na Berlin

    —

    by

    Kuruga
    in

    Mimi na Berlin[i], I, and Berlin[1]  I with the nostalgia of recent flailing with the wind, the weight of my body on two spinning wheels past Feld Tempelhof, and the traffic lights greening me on, swayed, bobbed, sprung to the beats so loud they seemed to come from the deepest recesses of the stomach, the…

  • even in another time

    even in another time

    —

    by

    Kuruga
    in

    What remembrance lies beyond what the ear hears, what the eyes see, what the senses feel?

  • Nuvole Bianche

    Nuvole Bianche

    —

    by

    Kuruga
    in ,

    Domodossola; read the big, dilapidated sign -precariously hung over a similarly decrepit bench at the train station. I sat below it, basking in the knowledge that I had a long, good hour before my next train with limitless options: go to the café, read a novel I was carrying with me, go to one of…