I dedicate this book to the memory of my beloved daughter, Njeri, whose young life was claimed by bipolar in 2004. May the peace, love and joy, which the disease and the sometimes cold and apathetic world denied her, each be multiplied five hundred trillion-fold.
Njeri!
Njeri!
Njeri!
Where are you
my second born child—
where are you?
Where’s the little girl
that was attached to my hip—
the last born for twelve years,
before my mother, Wanjera,[1]
re-opened the womb?
Where’s the child that came out of the
womb speaking without stammering—
the little girl who wrote stories and
poems before she could spell?
Where’s Waithera’s jewel—
the child whom some said
would become a judge or lawyer,
the girl with petite form
and a lot of brains?
Where is Waithera’s genius?
Where’s my good-hearted daughter—
the woman whose smile made men’s knees weak,
she, whose dowry I’ll never see—
she, who’ll never get to name me?
Where’s the child
that I affectionately called Princess?
Where did she go,
taking with her
the humor,
the compassion and creativity—
gifts so generously bestowed upon her,
then taken away by jealous gods?
Where’s my beloved daughter?
Njeri!
Njeri!
Njeri!
Njeriiiiii!
...
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