kĩndũ kĩnini #19

(small thing): new years 2026 in kenya, palestinian jesus, and black church

Jan 02, 2026

wa Ngamĩro, meaning of or from Ngamĩro. Ngamĩro, a gourd used to hold milk and my maternal great-grandmother's name. an ode to vessels and also my grandmother who was of - from Ngamĩro. this is a space for exploration, curation, na meciria makwa (and my thoughts). wa Ngamĩro is a monthly-ish newsletter.

0. Upcoming poetry reading in orange county

motherlands - a book release & celebration for Anaheim’s poet laureate Camille Hernandez, featuring a curated community open mic.

Saturday, January 24th 2026 4-7pm
1150 S Bristol St. #A3 Santa Ana, CA 92704
In-Person & on IG Live via libromobile

1. And the missionaries told my people Jesus was white and that we were sinners.

They came Presbyterians, Catholics, Anglicans, and more. They came with administrators and men with guns. They came wanting our souls and land. My grandmother was called a prayer warrior and she woke up at early hours each day to pray for all she knew and the world.

I used to pray in public places as a child, out loud and with intention, and I was good at it. Poetry in another form. I stopped going to church in my teens and moved away in my 20s. In my 30s I am back to places I thought I could not heal, be loved, or grow in.

On new years in Nairobi, I am dancing with my aunt at her church in Nairobi, to praise songs in Kiswahili and Gĩĩgĩkũyũ. I don’t know all the words, but in my 30s I feel free enough to jump with my might and sing along with strangers to songs of my Sunday school days. The Jesus I know is Palestinian. The God I know is the one of my grandmother. She has been gone since 2008 and I am still dealing, I am still aching heart.

Black churches remind me of her. We praise in an African way, still. They could not take out our spirit even when they told us to cover our heads with kitambas and to leave our traditions behind. I went to Mathaga on new years eve, before church, and got a Kĩembu bible. My grandmother, a Mũembu, used a Gĩĩgĩkũyũ bible. Close but not the words of her heart.

I will learn all the language(s) and learn the bible. As Palestinian Christians teach me about the religion and it’s origins, about justice and love. Cũcũ, my grandmother taught me so much too. She spoke to me in Kĩembu and I would respond in Kiswahili. I understand and care because of her influence. I love and feel hard like her.

There are no white men I pray to or ask forgiveness from. Jerusalem is in Palestine and I am in Kenya praying freedom. I pray in parking lots and go up when folks are asked to be prayed for. I am the making of the prayers of the matriarchs in my life. I want to heal enough to pray again out loud. I want to pray over the children, the detained, the bombed, the occupied, and for me.

I want 2026 to be different. I have no new years resolutions. The word is still “steadfast”. Still an aspiration. Still caring and devoting to liberation. I am my grandmother’s grandchild. She, wa Ngamĩro, me wa Muthanje. My Kiswahili and Gĩĩgĩkũyũ teacher says I can learn and that there is no shame to be had for starting where I am.

I and a friend joked about going home early in the year, her Palestine and me Kenya. We are both here now, one hour apart planning and forcing photoshoots with our cousins and living the joys and griefs of home. I wear my Palestinian map necklace now with a cowry shell one.

I don’t know if I am ready for a new year but it is here. I have never felt ready for beginnings, mostly nervous and anxious as a creature of rituals and habits. I have not prayed in a parking lot since arriving in Kenya but I can still pray. I will whisper them into my phone and listen to them loud. I will shower myself and the world with hope, grief, and love.

The world is worth believing in and so am I. I have felt uncertain and embarrassed many days of my life. This vulnerability is not something I am used to. Sometimes after I press publish I feel faint, but I think trying and sharing and reaching matters. I want more of the world. Many are praying and working towards it. When I get back to orange county, I will pace on pavement once more and while here in Kenya I will pray and poet when possible, towards life and love and liberation.

2.These pictures with my maternal grandmother |left: mid-1990s in Orange County,California & right: 2025 in Embu, Kenya

3. Munther Isaac Sermon in the Liturgy of Lament: Christ in the Rubble | December 2023

4. Afro-Palestinian Media List | compiled in 2023

5. This brochure on Christian zionism written by Christian Palestinians | pictures from April 2025

Christian Palestinians Debunking Christian Zionism

6. This poem i wrote in orange county, california in 2024:

in my childhood,
African migrants gathered
in yorba linda, anaheim,
fullerton, buena park,
garden grove, orange,
at nduati park, at church
always chai, chapo, chatter
got Congolese & Nigerian cousins
got cops called on our house parties
got plates of food to take home
saved you some samosas to show my love
used to think i was ugly on the weekdays
at school, one of the only Black kids
aunties always made me feel loveable
called me kairĩtu and mrembo
in my childhood,
got baptized at friendship baptist
wanted to be an usher on sundays
to catch the Black people who
got the spirit in them real deep
got to play Mary at the christmas play
got to hold Black baby Jesus
forgot all my lines
wished i got to be a Black angel
and dance instead
in my childhood,
enjoyed time in Kenya
to blend in and maybe be beautiful
for my forehead to fit in
to take a break from being among
a tired 2 or 5 or 12 percent
still tired but it felt different
to be a black speck in a vast black universe
usually made to feel like a black stain
in my childhood,
Black folks gathered on the weekends
and how i loved it
on the weekdays
used to think i was maybe ugly
maybe there are worse things to believe
maybe i was just a Black girl growing up in the oc
gonna write about this place, here and now
gonna write myself into believing
that Black girls get to be free

7. This playlist I made this past easter 2025:

Jericho - Sister Rosetta Tharpe
NAZARETH - Luna Lubany
I Wish I Knew How It Would Feel to Be Free - Nina Simone
Jailer - Asa
Simba Wa Yuda - Kiji Choir
Border Ctrl - 47SOUL featuring Shadia Mansour & Fedzilla
Act Like You Know - LaShun Pace
Asli Ana - zeyne
Equal Rights - Peter Tosh
Shouting At The Wall - MC Abdul
Sorrow Tears and Blood - Fela Kuti
Go Down, Moses - Paul Robeson
My Homeland/Mawtini - Gaza Youth Choir
Kama Sio Wewe - Dan Em
Woke Up This Morning - Fannie Lou Hammer
HIND’S HALL - Macklemore
Yaffa - Fairouz
Nkosi Sikelel’ iAfrika - Lady Black Mambazo

`8. My Kĩembu bible`

9. This poem about prayers I wrote in 2025

parking lot prayers for me and mine and you. pray pacing on pavement for abundance to be all we know, for endurance and hope. pray for deep conviction and clarity, for liberation and love.
pray for strength and tenderness of spirit. solid ground under my feet and breaking open of my heart. so wide and vaste it’s hard for my lungs to understand how to be, but they try. as do i.
across languages and lands, i love you, me, us. i am yours and you are mine and this planet is ours to share, care for, and protect. see and pray myself into action, out from under the grips of shame, despair, overwhelm.
it is an honor to be a neighbor. to be kin. to be on this side of global freedom struggles. see the connections everywhere. see my face and those of people i know in those i have yet to greet, in those whose lives were destroyed by the institutions and agents of worldwide destruction.
see empires crumbling. see an end to oppression. see opportunities to continue to fight and resist. see lessons everywhere. see prayer as a tool. see a new world coming. gonna pray for everything we deserve, and even more, with these parking lot prayers.

wa Ngamĩro

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