It is only 8 in the morning. I slept late last night, and have just been awakened by the growling noise outside-amplified by the surrounding musical cacophony emanating from my neighbors tin-and-wood shacks. This is typically how I begin my day here in one of Nairobi's most maginalized slum, kawangware.
I peep outside the irregular window. It is all filthy and chaotic ; numerous crazy activities, congested and almost suffocating. Today, I have to write a winning story that I have been planning for months. According to my diary, It's now three months and the only step I have managed so far, is a mere frail paragraph. Stuck. But the deadline is soon approaching. Only three days to go, yet I am totally anxious.
After taking my humble breakfast in haste, I am soon out from my rickety ramshackle shack. With a small, aging leather bag and without any particular plan, I stroll down the crisscrossing meanders of the overcrowded dusty streets. Occasionally, I am greeted by an old man, a dreadlocked youth, a cobler…a reckless damsel…a village madman..they all know me…
Minutes later, my random walk takes me a kilometre away. Indecisively, I survey my environment and everything seems altered. No more chaos, no reckless music, no shouting…only serenity. Gosh..I am beginning to regain my equanimity.
Steps away, there is a little dirty river, separating the ghetto from the quite unexplored forest. I wonder why this little forest, as usual, has never been grabbed and utilized by greedy landlords for selfish gains.
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With it's high towering trees and natural ambience characterized by midget thickets, I wonder why this place has remained like this for a long time. Although I have in the past occasionally passed by, why have I never thought of visiting this place for all the years I have lived in Kawamgware slums, yet it is only 20 minutes walk away?
I cross the dying river and venture forth within. This is my first time here and it is dead quite, yet I am not scared. Few steps further and I am sitted under a huge old tree. Up above, the beautiful canopy looks down at me with a blank smile. Down at my feet, little insects are busy in their purposed endeavors.
I here the birds whistling melodiously around my ears. Jumping from tree to tree with pride. The fresh scent of wet earth and leaves feels nostalgic, familiar and assuring. The wind is brushing over the trees, producing a rhythmic humming choir. I close my eyes, open my mind and relax. I am not certain how long I do this, but when I open my eyes again, I am confronted by the harmonic voice of nature. Suddenly, I feel inspired, energized and revived.
A rapid rash of vague creativity washes across my being. With my timy brown book on my laps and eyes in the sky, I scrible down something. It feels smooth and effortless. Like the flow of the river whispering musically behind me in the background. In this rare mood, I trace my way back to my shark.
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Few days later, instead of the usual morning noise, I wake up to a surprise message. My story has been accepted by a leading international publication, to be featured on their prestigious website. I am definitely elated, but lost of words. Then strangely, everything becomes apparent. The forest. I think I just found my creative voice.
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