Transition

Am back again. Its been a while. And it starts with irony. Only when my arse is about to be laid off does my stupid office mac finaly accept to let me blog without issues. Sad. In a little while, if things dont go my way, I will soon not be able to blog again because I will be out of a job ergo not able to access affordable internet. But that aside.

This morning, a thought came to me. After my internship at the Nation Media Group, I told myself that I was not cut out for journalism. In that short time (3 months) I had been taught that a journalist should not have a heart. I had a heart.

I would go to murder scenes and feel like throwing up. I would go to tragic accident scenes and feel a rush of tears (which I always held back) as the dead were mourned. It was an emotional rollercoaster for me. So naturally I concluded that journalism was not meant for me.

Today, I realised I was wrong. I can be a good journalist. I can be a damn good journalist if I let my emotions free, trying to hide the emotions used to get in my way. I want to go and interview the mourning with tears in my eyes, I want to confront the unjust with anger in my breast, I want to interview the successful with admiration in my heart, I want to talk to the poor and downtrodden with empathy in my heart. I want to be like that cameraman who was crying during the funeral ceremony of the late Kijana Wamalwa.

When this thought crossed my mind, I saw the larger picture. Emotions not expressed cloud your eyes, put poison in your heart and put grand stumbling blocks in your way. It is time I let my emotions flow freely, so I can enjoy the pleasures and pain of all the emotions that run through my heart.

PS: As I was going through some of the things in my computer, I came across the poem below which I had written a while back. There are few poems of mine that I still love after they grow old. This is one of them. Enjoy.


I beat at my breast
And scream loud to the skies
Lord hear me! Lord hear me!
I have sinned against you,
But Lord do have mercy on me
Save me from my hell
It has been too long Lord
Take me out now, wash me
Cleanse me, make me fit
To dine with you
At thine heavenly table!

The Lord does not hear my cry.

I sprawl myself upon the ground
I tear away at my clothes
And scream: Lord where are you?
I have no more pretences
I lie naked in front of you
Listen to the cry of your child!
Lord where are you?

The Lord does not hear my cry.

Lord I curse your name!
If you shall not hear my cry
Then Lord hear me curse you
Take this life of mine
It is thine from the beginning
I am tortured and battered
The world has thrown me out
Lord you have thrown me out
My recourse lies in my death
Lord I curse your name
Take this life away.

The Lord hears my curse.

Child rise from the ground
You shame me so
Where is your pride, child
Where is your faith, child
You curse my name?
Have you the power?
Child, rise and be strong!