I live in Moshi,Tanzania,
As a child,one day I got lost,
A maasai took me to his home.
He lived at the foothills of the majestic Mt.Kilimanjaro,
His home was a kraal (hut)
made of  stone,sticks and cow dung.
I cried for my parents,
So he fed me milk and blood from a cow,
He pierced a hole in the cow's neck,
He put a bamboo and told me to drink the blood,
It was warm but I vomited,
Gradually, I got used to it.
The maasai's  way of life is communilism,
Hunting,gathering and raiding neighbours cattle.
Theirs is an age set system for men,
The children look after the herd,
I joined them having fun,
No  school, no lessons or homework.
Then,there were the Morans,the youths,
They wore black **** cloths,
Carried a spear in one hand,
Their faces were painted with white ochre.
They protected the clan and the cattle,
From predators and other tribes.
They lived in a circle of huts called manyatta.
After being circumcised the Morans were taught the art of warfare
The bravest warrior got to wear the feathers of an ostrich.
The senior morans could marry and settle down,
The Moran who jumped the highest got the best girl.
The Laigewenanis trained the morans to be warriors,
My maasai was a laigwenani,
Like all maasais, he was tall and lean,
He wore a bright red shuka cloth with black stripes,
A red tartan blanket was slung on his shoulder,
He always held a long bladed stabbing spear,
His long hair was tightly braided,
He had ochre painted on his body,
He had no children and treated me like his son,
He would take me to teach the morans about warfare.
But,he had to take the permission of the chief, the Laibon.
The Laibons were the chief religious leaders,
They settled disputes,
They decided when and on whom to attack.
Luckily,after two months my maasai and I had gone to a game reserve for hunting,
A game warden found me.
He alerted the police and I was taken home safely.
But,I missed my maasai and their pastoral way of life.

Still I yearn to find a name
A new name for my mother
A name that would give her more respect from her neighbors
A name that would give her dignity and purity
Struggle after struggle, pain after pain
Now that the British are gone, why is mother still having her old name?
She needs to move
Paces ahead
However, something still holds her back
Her capabilities will never be recognized
Because…she has not yet gotten a new identity
To lead her to prosperity
To give her a home to call home
And children to call children
Mother is still a developing country
Why? Why her?
Why has the likes of U.S.A defeated her once again?
Yet, something still tells me to cling to mama
Even when she clutches at the last straw
Love her, be with her,
She has constantly told me
“Worry not child, darkness shall surely give birth to the first break of dawn”
Mother gave birth to presidents and ‘leaders’
They failed; they did not kiss the noble sand of mother’s roots!
They brought in corruption and poverty
Poor management and misuse of power

She is still innocent
The sons brought about poor leadership, economic instability and unemployment
But the sons of my mother did not try their level best to give her a new name
Infact, they pushed her down
Forgot how much her dignity meant to her
Her eyes held craters just like the moon
Enough to make you write poetry in every crater she fell into
Her roots had soothing temperature and a great view
Not forgetting a whole pack of creatures that invite
Yes, invite, even the most prominent people around
To come take selfies and pictures that they take back to their lands
But mother, with all this blessings from Nyame or Juok or Otomankoma or even Nyasaye
Why is mother still crawling?
Will mother have a new name?
A new identity?
When will she possess angel wings that dance with her?
Is victory still oceans and oceans away from her?
I see a light, light at the end of tunnel
Light that I only see when I look at the youngest sons of mother
Yes, the youth!
They have seen unemployment, poverty, education and drugs
They have also seen industries, businesses, money and success
Why is the youth the beloved of mother?
The youth have hopes and visions
They have it in their minds the ability to give mother a new name
A name that she can honor forever
A name that suits her standards
They are not a ticking time bomb; they are the pride of mother!

However, mother needs to shape their success just like any other mother
Not with garlands or with kisses
But by programs that will help this sons secure jobs
By offering start-up finances for growing entrepreneurs
By promoting talent and innovation of her sons
Mother will get her identity through her own assistance in shaping this light!
Education has always made her neighbors defeat her
She needs to take care of her children’s’ education
Seek means to let all her sons go to school
Get empowered and be the faces of change.
The youth should be led to be leaders
And only mama’s elder sons can do so
The owners and teachers
Preachers and sisters
They can help the youth be leaders!
Poverty and hunger
A big catastrophe that always seems to hit mother’s Manyatta!
The youngest sons can cater for improvement in health care facilities
Water and sanitation, economic security and child participation
How will they manage?
The impossible can only be possible if they learn the ways of their land
If they train themselves to be leaders
If and only if, they really want to give mother a new name!
Mother has accepted the fact that the old sons could not do much for her
However, today, while I send you this message from her
She wants the elder sons to urge more investment in agriculture and tourism
Construction and businesses
Projects and activities that will favor the dearest sons of mother

By providing them with employment opportunities that will help them
Yes, help them create positive change for mother and us, the children.
60% of mother’s youngest sons are unemployed!
Mother yet has the largest number of the young generation
How will mother adjust to a new name?
The eldest sons need to stop whichever activities that hinder the growth of this household!
They need to realize that they are the eldest and they should lead the young by their actions!
The youngest sons have convinced me that even if mother is far from the sea’s view’
The night sky shall still carry them in it!
Today, as we await this new day that mother always craved for,
She remarks “I see a new name coming pretty soon”.

The night was quiet except the sound of the night owl
Sniffles in the main room of the manyatta
Where the chief of the masai lay
Covered in the familiar cloth clad by warriors
Of this hermite tribe

Tomorrow morning he will be laid to rest
His body covered with cuttings from trees
With a skin of a cow freshly killed
The wild animals will smell it from miles away
Soon to shred the body and gorge themselves
You see, there are no graves to bury the dead

Ah! The memories of growing up as we moved
From place to place, seeking fresh pastures for our herd
And new experiences for everyone