It is so hot over the day in Samburu.
If you try to take a shower,water dries off your shoulders before you scrub.
I take my showers at night,under the open starry skies.
Around here,we have baptised this practice as “shower of gods”.

I like to do weird things in the
shower, like drink my coffee,
brush my teeth and drink a
smoothie. It’s good time
management,I suppose.
This is all possible now,under the shower of ‘gods’.

But my favourite way to blow off
steam after a busy day is to sing
loud in the shower.(Pity that my friends tell me I sing so off key,it kills all the love they have for good songs!)

Listen to what others tell you
about your voice. If you’re only
singing to please yourself, you
might as well just sing under the
shower. But if you’re singing for
others, you are reliant on them
to ask you to sing.

I have the soul of a singer and
do splendidly in the shower but
the world will never hear it.
Basically, I’m the only Kenyan Soul(sole,I think!) singer
person who can’t carry a tune.

I always sing Adele in the
shower. But everyone should
know you never sing an Adele
song in public because no one’s
better than Adele.

I’d love to sing it proud and sing loud.
But I’m embarrassed I might draw a rude crowd.
So in public I’m dour,
Though I sing in the shower.
It’s the only time singing loud is allowed.

There’s no half-singing in the
shower, you’re either a rock star
or an opera diva.

Singing in the shower is all fun and games until you get soap bubbles in your mouth, then it just becomes a soap opera.

I really enjoyed staying at an
encampment at the top of a hill
in the Samburu Reserve.

You reach it through hard climbing; there is no electricity, no city noises and you sleep and
shower under the Milky Way, with moths fluttering around a kerosene lamp, knowing that there are elephants and lions
roaming free in the valley.

This is all a good experience for the budding-sorry-bathing musician in me.

So I wrote this poem; Shower of ‘gods’ in the shower;

Walking down the crooked street,
Throwaway culture around his feet,
Not one eye dares to meet
The man who sings real loud.
He is of the reactionary kind
The one they label “out of mind!”
One they’ve always tried to bind.
The man who sings real loud.
He swings his bags without a care
Trots around on an invisible mare
You can’t hurt what doesn’t care
The man who sings real loud.
You will hear him before you see
His voice and mind are loud and free
A man you wish that you could be:
The man who sings real loud.

Bernard Wainaina is an Independent Agribusiness Advisor and CEO at Profarms Consultants®,Nairobi,Kenya.

He mainly works with Agribusiness Youth Groups in Eastern African Region.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®