Sandra Mushi Akusanya Vitabu Kwa Ajili ya Watoto Muhimbili

Muhimbili Hospital Childrens Book Collection


G’afternoon happy people!!

Thank you so so so so so so much for the books, toys, exercise books, colouring pencils. Crayons etc that we collected for MOI kids – and which I dropped today.

I am so proud and happy to say that we collected about 6 boxes. Thank you ever so much!

I have taken some pictures of what was collected ...
I was asked to go see the kids – and maybe take pictures of them too – but I didn’t have the heart to. So I am sorry that I didn’t take pictures of the kids.

Sarah Clittero and the Novel Idea team, thank you and God bless you! This should not be the end, but only the beginning – there is so much more that we can do and that is needed from us. Pamoja tunaweza na pamoja tutafika.

Thank you all!
Regards,

SANDRA MUSHI

Tumpigie Kura Da Sandra!

Hadithi aliyoandika Da Sandra Mushi imekuwa shortlisted. Tafadhali mpigie kura!

Sandra, You Go Girl!

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There are seven of us now. Please do vote for my short story – Jasmine – and ask your friends to do the same. Please go to http://www.dailywritingtips.com/short-story-competition-2-tenth-round-is-open-for-voting/ and vote!!!!

Meanwhile, do visit my website - http://www.sandrasden.com/ –where you will find more short stories, waiting to be published. Do visit the forum please and post your thoughts please.

Thank you and have a blessed day!!

Regards,

Sandra.

Kitabu Kipya cha Da Sandra Mushi

Hivi karibuni, mtunzi maarufu Da Sandra Mushi, alizindua kitabu chake kipya, The Rhyme of my Rhyme, huko Dar es Salaam. Ni kitabu cha mashairi.

Hongera sana kwa kitabu chako kipya!

Da Sandra pia amewahi kuandika vitabu na mashairi kuhusu haki za akina mama na mila za WaChagga.

Chagga Series

Kwa wanaotaka kujua habari za WaChagga, ni lazima msome stories za Dada Sandra Mushi.

Kuna habari muhimu sana kwa wanaotaka kuolewa au kuoa MChagga. Kwa MChagga pesa ni muhimu kuliko ngono.

Kutoka Chagga Series:

"There is something else you should know before getting married to a Chagga - especially one from the village, kuku wa kienyeji, as vijana wa mjini would call them. Chaggas are generally not taught about sex – not like our Zaramo cousins who are taught how to gyrate those hips or as Waswahili say - kukata kiuno mpaka jamaa anahonga gari. Chaggas are taught how to make money and provide for their families. Kyasaka women get married to Chagga men because they can provide – not because they are the Don Juan’s in bed. "

Kusoma Chagga Series BOFYA HAPA

http://saharasoulfood.wordpress.com/2007/10/18/chaggas-first-time/

UGALI

Mwandishi Sandra A. Mushi ametoa hadithi mpya. Hadithi hiyo inaitwa ' The Plate of Ugali' (sahani ya ugali). Hadithi hiyo hasa inahusu mambo ya kunyanyaswa kwa mwanamke na mume wake (domestic violence). Imeandikwa kwa kimombo (English).

Hivi karibuni niliandika blogu kuhusu Sandra na bidii yake ya kutunga hadithi na mashairi. Mnaweza kusoma hapa: http://swahilitime.blogspot.com/2007/06/mjue-sandra-mushi.html

Pia tembelea Authors Den:

- http://authorsden.com/sandraamushi

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The Plate of Ugali

By Sandra A. Mushi

Read more stories by this author

It was one reason after another – as long as I was his punching bag – and almost always it was a plate of ugali that started it. Yep, his source of strength. Like the hair on Samson in the bible. Maybe ugali makes one mad. Maybe it had a drug.

My mama used to say a real African man doesn’t eat chips or pasta. That’s food for a mzungu man who gets his nails manicured, his face scrubbed and his lips conditioned with lip balm. A real African man eats ugali, my mama used to say. With their calloused fingers with rough nails he would mould the stiff porridge into little balls, dunk each ball into a stew then dunk the stew covered ball into mouth with chapped lips.

I would sit at the corner of the room watching his Adam’s apple bopping up and down as he swallowed a ball of ugali and meat stew. His jaw always moving in super-human speed as he chewed, making the vein on his forehead pop out angrily.

Ugali would make your man strong, my mama used to say. Strong enough to take care of you and our family, she would add. What she didn’t add was that ugali would make him strong enough to beat me black and blue. But maybe she was always right, because it was a plate of ugali that gave me strength today.

It had started with his plate of ugali not being warm enough. Then the following time he beat me black and blue it was because the bowl of stew did not have enough meat. The other times before that it was the disciplinary slap, as the elders called it. Married women needed the slap every now and then, they would say, to keep them in check.

Then he beat me again black and blue when I failed to pound his kisamvu the way he liked it. I had been vomiting the whole day; infact even getting up was a problem.

“My mother dug a whole farm the day she was giving birth and you say you can’t cook for your husband?” He had bellowed. “What kind of a woman are you?”

“But mume wangu, the doctor said …” lamenting, I had tried to explain before I was interrupted by a slap. The room started spinning around me.
“Has the doctor married you?” He gave me another slap which sent me reeling to the floor vomiting blood, “is the doctor your husband now? Or are you having an affair?”

My baby did not make it. I almost did not make it too. I broke a few bones and I almost became blinded on my left eye.

After that I became numb to the pain. It was one reason after another – as long as I was his punching bag – and almost always it was a plate of ugali that started it. Yep, his source of strength. Like the hair on Samson in the bible. Maybe ugali makes one mad. Maybe it has a drug.

Today he broke my two front teeth – after breaking four others last week. I laugh madly as I looked at four year old with his milk teeth missing. He grins at me nervously showing his gums.

Today he beat me because I refused to serve his mistress a plate of ugali. Like my body numbing to pain, my heart had numbed to reason. Maybe it was my fault when the plate of ugali wasn’t warm enough because I had run out of cool to warm the food; maybe it was my fault when I didn’t negotiate with the butcher to give me more meat than the money could buy; maybe it was my fault that I was too lazy too pound cassava when I was due; maybe it was my fault when I had used to the last of the flour to cook my baby porridge for lunch instead of cooking him his ugali; maybe it had all been my fault. But how could this be my fault? My mama told me my husband came first, then my children.

I had put some food aside for my husband, the fed the remaining to my children. How was that my fault? I never said anything when he brought her and moved me out of our marital bed. I said nothing.

He kicked his plate of ugali when there wasn’t enough for his mistress and made me eat from the floor after beating me black and blue - wounding the scars that had no even healed. On all fours I bent down and ate like a dog. As I lay clutching my stomach I see the mouse that I have been trying to catch for a while, rushing to the last crumbs of ugali on the floor. No amount of rat poison seemed to kill it. Rodent. Maybe I had been giving it the poison with the wrong food. Rodent. Rodent. I should have mixed the poison in ugali. Rodent. Or is it rodent and man. Rodent man. Kick. Rodent man. Kick. Rodent man, I think.

I feel humiliated when I hear her cheering him on. It was okay before, as I probably needed disciplining. But it’s not okay now. She is not supposed to be here, cheering on. But the ugali gave me strength.

“Stupid woman! Go make another plate,” he had kicked me on the shins as his mistress laughed again, louder this time. “And make it enough to give us strength for the work ahead of us tonight!”

Ugali has given me strength too. I look down as I limp to the back yard. I don’t want them to see my face. The smile on my face. Yes, ugali has given me strength.

Quickly I grab a khanga to hide my new scars, covering myself I dash to my neighbour to borrow me some money from her. Just as quickly I send my oldest to the market. Flour, kisamvu, coconut, curry powder, peanuts, nyanya chungu and some powder that will kill that rodent. Today I will make the best plate of ugali ever. The kisamvu will have peanut sauce and the dagaa will have coconut milk and nyanya chungu. Today I will catch that rodent with a plate of ugali for sure.

Mjue Mtunzi Sandra A. Mushi

Sandra A. Mushi, ni mwandishi na mtunzi wa kiTanzania. Anajitahidi sana kuandika mashairi, na hadithi za kusisimua. Pia ameandika novels.

Hii ni moja ya mashairi yake:

THE MOMENTS

Remember all the moments for two ...

Attraction

Relaxation

Communication

Stimulation

You used to be my masseuse

You used to be my boo

And much more

But after the diamond ring

You stopped lighting candles and using oils too

Can’t remember the last time we had a hot thing

You used to be my fashion model

You used to be my beauty queen

And much more

But after the white veil on the aisle

You just wear a bath robe and drinking Gin

Can’t remember when you last used a nail file

You used to be my madam

You used to be my whore

And much more

But after the baby

You locked away the toys

and I’ve become a bore

Can’t remember when we last touched, now an ice cold lady

You used to be my dance partner

You used to be my date

And much more

But after the buying the house

You now only get me a beer, TV dinner and a cold plate

Can't remember the last time we went out, a subject I can't rouse

You had that feminine thing going,

Smelt like wild flowers from the Serengeti,

It would turn me on just to see you

Walk into a room

Across the room

Out of the room

Soft, round and proud

You had that serene thing going

Tasted like nectar from the Zanzibar,

It would put a smile on my face just to hear your voice

Speaking

Laughing

Smiling

Fiery, sweet and exotic

The girl next door, with me she has been flirting

My secretary, to me sexy jokes she has been emailing

Your best friend, to me she has been listening

Your sister, with me she has been smiling

The girls next door, wears black like you used to

My secretary, has ginger dreadlocks like you used to

Your best friend, wears the perfume you used to

Your sister, wears the ethnic jewel that you don’t wear

no more

Remember the moments for more than two ...

Hesitation

Attention

Temptation

Situations


Copyright © Sandra A. Mushi All Rights Reserved

http://www.authorsden.com/sandraamushi

http://authorsden.com/visit/viewpoetry_all.asp?Authorid=28003

http://sandiesoulfood.blogspot.com/