As a boy me, my mum and dad shared a game,

We played it every school morning till I was six,

My mum would come to wake me up,

And I would pretend to be so asleep,

Then she would go and call my dad,

Who would come to me saying these words,


I’d pretend to sleep till he got right close to my bed,

Then I would get up, and jump right into his arms,

Roaring like a simba, and then say to him, “good morning papa!!”

He would kiss me on the fore head and tell me how much he loved me.

We all shared a game


This was no any ordinary roar

More than a simba’s roar

It was a roar of faith.

Until that day when the ROAR never came

Then my uncle wakes up one morning

And takes me on a never ending ride past sugar cane plantations,


Until we reach a place with a great number of people, with long faces.

A confused of a boy I entered the compound’s gates with my cousins.


We reached a hut with too many elderly people

Seated in a fashion like lions in mourning


Then I saw my mum seated sad and ran to her

Before I got to her I saw my dad’s pic

And diverted my ran to a different direction towards it,

Only to be confronted by this big box,

I climbed onto a stool to see what was in,

And it happened to be him.


I said hoping that he would wake up and hold me into his arms


I said hoping that he would wake up and kiss me in the fore head


I said hoping that he would wake up and tell me how much he loved me

Then my mum pulls me away before my papa even says a word

And for years he hasn’t said a word,

And so 16 years later I write these words

For the little boy in me who still awaits his father’s SIMBA ROAR

Papa come home ‘cause I miss you

I miss you waking me up in the morning and telling me you love me,

Papa come home ‘cause there are things I don’t know and thought you could teach me

How to shave,

How to play table tennis,

How to talk to a lady,

How to walk like a man,

Papa come home, ‘cause I want you back and I want to be an engineer just like you.

And 16 years later this little boy cries in me and so I write these words

And try to heal

And try to father myself,

And dream like a father,

 Who says the words my father did not live to forever say


For every lesson I fail to teach here

Remember these words

Shave in one direction with strong deliberate strokes to avoid irritation,

Thus you stay focused in your faith

                                 Dribble the page with the brilliance of your ball point pen,

Thus you work hard and smart in your walk of faith

Walk like Joseph and your Mary will come to you

You be good and you will meet good people in your walk in faith.

No longer will I be there to roar for you

So you must learn to roar for yourself,

ROAR ROARdown the doors of tribalism and poverty that I could not,

ROAR ROARon doors of opportunities for your friends and family,

ROAR ROARon diligence for the sake of your children,

ROAR ROARfor you not for me as long as you are free these cave can’t contain my spirit

The best of me still lives in you

ROAR ROARwith the knowledge that you are my son and you are my daughter

But you are not my choices

Yes we are our father’s sons and daughters

But we are not their choices

But despite their absence we are still here


With the God given power to change this world to the better,

One little boy and one little girl at a time

We will always roar

And so I Say


Who’s there?

We are!!!


By jnr Patrick Steven Maunda

Enjoy the Knock Knock Video


The Freedom Writters.

When I lost my dad, people said I would never make it…the funny thing is that all this began at the graveside even before the burial was complete. I was too young to understand all this but this later came to make meaning in my life as I grew up. My dad’s time was up and he had done his fair share of raising me up; He’d taken me to a good school, I had a stable foundation in English spoken and most of all left me a loving mother. Situations made me understand that life had it bitter part, but that didn’t stop me from believing that it was indeed possible to grow out of it and establish a better life that will in turn be appreciated later on in the years to come. Yes I was born of the rich but was raised in the slums of Mathare, but I didn’t let that really get into me to really affect my life even though it too had its fare share of influence in my life, but some people helped me choose better, and I will live to forever appreciate this individuals: God, my mum and my preschool teacher Mr. Masaku.

The slums of Mathare was into different sections…Area one, Area two, Area three, Area four, Mathare four A. In this areas were a group of young boys and girls. Belonging to one of these groups could either make you become safe or unsafe. There was no room for betrayal. Safe in the sense that when you are in your area you’d feel secure and you would enjoy all the benefits of being a member; like playing ball, the girls company and many more, and unsafe in the sense that once identified as a member of a given group you could not find your way into a different area even when sent by parents. Our parents weren’t aware of what used to happened at the ground level, we were the once who felt the heat, when bruised during a fight we would find a way of hiding the truth from them. We could say we got hurt playing ball or just come up with something depending on the type of hurt. Every season and situation had its own excuse and we knew how to structure our words to fit in. It all Started like this, characters being natured and this would lead to a greater form of diversification in the conflict groups. I remember at some point I had issues with my members, Men!!! The world became too small for me, there’s nothing I could have done without anyone following or bugging me. They were all over. We used to live in a three storey building and it had one gate, which was the entry and exit point. I couldn’t use it otherwise I faced the risk of having being caught and being beaten. A onetime thorough beating never meant It all ended there, nope, every time they’d catch you they would do the ‘good work’ on you, for this reason I had to find my own way of getting in and out of the building unnoticed…Mum used to get back from work so tired and had to run some of her errands, so electric poles and balcony rails served as my gate. I knew that was against the regulations and if the watchman found me I would have a beating but I would rather go for his as compared to the gang. More will be talked about in my book yet to be released ‘My testimony’ please like my Facebook page and sign up for our monthly news later to be updated, and as bid you I leave you with below videos.

Freedom writters movie


English: A view of the Mathare Valley slum (ph...

English: A view of the Mathare Valley slum (photo by Claudio Allia). Italiano: Una veduta della baraccopoli della valle di Mathare (foto di Claudio Allia). (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

English: Erin Gruwell

English: Erin Gruwell (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

English: Actress Hilary Swank at the 83rd Acad...

English: Actress Hilary Swank at the 83rd Academy Awards. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)