Growing up, I wanted to be a journalist. To protect the weak and the vulnerable and take on the bad guys. As far back as I can remember, I had this burning desire for justice. At school I confronted bullies if I saw them picking on the smaller kids. If they didn't back down, I would fight them. You can almost guess I lost more times than I won. In spite of all the beating, I knew I could never give up. I was too much of a believer in the old adage; evil triumphs  when good men do nothing. The only advantage I had was my voice. it was deep and quite commanding. needless to say that I was  a toothless dog. But really it's genetic. My father is quite stern but he is thunder without lightning. Joram, my small brother, and I used to guard ourselves more tightly when the walls trembled but feared no harm from errant bolts. You can almost guess, then, that my mother was the Big Punisher.

I am really not sure why I told you that but hey, am bored. Am surrounded by this deathly silence and sleep ditched me long ago and doesn't seem quite interested in a truce. My keyboard is all I have. I would have loved to get all passionate and intimate with her but my thoughts just went numb. They are rushing but they refuse to form a row. I have never been a strong believer in the writers block. I am however acquainted to the fright that stabs ones heart when there is no sound to shape sense. But I am aware of another terror, a larger one than that, that even after molding, mustering your thoughts to form a row, thought might remain numb, still! Words have always been my loyal friends I can turn to for comfort. They never fear the mind's inciting acts. However much we struggle-and am beginning to fear their disobedience-they always allow me the final mastery, which I consider some honour. Their power is stupendous. Words give breathe to thought, and life itself. With them we shape the world and taste immortality.

At the time of my birth, my mother was a teacher. I bet that explains everything. I was born in Macalder, somewhere in Nyatike constituency before we moved to Kabuoch. Oh yes I have travelled the world. My travels have shaped my ideas and character. The childhood memories remain. She used to teach Home Science and I used to look forward to my knitting sessions with her every Saturday.She was one hell of a strict woman and that was about the only thing that brought us together. She used to travel a lot and in those days that she was gone, the house was always looking windswept, with some forgotten feel to it.The merest plate awaited her return for the imposition of its former order. It was some curious sensation because her absence gave our spirits greater freedom. There was less wrath to risk! But I always looked forward to her return. I would be lying if I said any colourful displays marked her return but I felt the joy she could not express each time she saw us run to welcome. But perhaps I could feel her absence because we two are similar. Seeing ourselves in each other, we feared to bring the mirror closer. We both wore a vail. But while I hid from the world,mother-who confronts the world-hid from her own soul, and from the family that would define her. She holds back her affection and I follow her in this, for the pattern was long set. But though our lips are silent, hearts speak quietly.