Silva Chege

I came looking for love… and I’d found heartbreak instead. Showered by twinkling stars and serenaded by the whir and burr of nearby restaurants, we sat by the harbour in total silence; our attentions ensnared by the reflection of the moon shimmering upon the river. You called it the water moon. I called you beautiful under the glow of moonlight. Seduced by the romanticism of the moment, I allowed myself the folly of imagining a future life well lived and enjoyed by your side. It’s funny how when you become infatuated with someone, every  quirky  thing they do or say somewhere proves they’re the one for you. She still buys records; we’re soulmates. She takes photographs of the night sky; we’re kindred spirits. She only wears vintage clothes; we’re meant to be. Now, in the long run, such pretentiousness would really tick you off. But, in the magical haze of infatuation, it  proved  that the two of you were destined for true love. Completely caught up in fant...

I’ve been trying my hardest to feign interest in my book. In truth, I’ve been on the same sentence for about ten minutes now and yet, I still couldn’t even begin to tell you what it’s about. But, in my defence, it’s hard to pay attention to mere ink on a page when you have an alluring goddess in a skimpy blue bikini, gliding effortlessly through a swimming pool before you. Accentuated by the shimmer of water – as much as I try – I can’t help but caress every inch of her curves with the periphery of my vision and fantasies about running my hands over them. Finally, as if to torture me further, she draws to a halt at the shallow end of the pool and casually saunters up the steps. I watch transfixed as water droplets trickle from her long hair and slide, seductively, down her supple and flawless body. So hypnotised by the pulse racing scene, I don’t notice – until it’s too late – my book tumble from my slack grasp and drop into the water below me. Realising this, I lean over and wa...

                                  28/01/19 What is documentary journalism? News journalism is all about reporting on the facts and informing people of current events. While Documentary journalism always aims to peel back the facts and look beyond the headlines, in search of the real human stories hidden beneath them. A good documentary should have the ability to raise awareness and bring about social or political change. It needs to be a disruptor.  A destabiliser of the status quo. An empowerer of the marginalised. As Jane Chapman stated in her book, Issues in Contemporary Documentary (2009), "Documentaries are often about the powerless in society. Since the days of Grierson, housing, health, welfare, education and nutrition have provided an almost limitless source of documentary material." Fundamentally, every documentary needs to have a message. Failing this, a documentary with no ...

The sky is blue. The grass is green. The sun is yellow. Except they aren’t. Not really. Are they? Sure, in their perfect forms they may appear as such. But, how frequently do we ever see anything in its perfect form? The world is a patchwork of blemishes and stitched together imperfections. To say that the sky is blue is to disregard sunsets, and the cacophony of beauty that the setting sun orchestrates. Fuchsia, boysenberry,  tangerine… the sun sings to us in the only language it knows – colour. While in winter the sky is a collage of lulling whites, foreboding blacks and all the shades of greys in between. Life is full of different shades of grey. Life… we are obsessed with finding that one word or emotion to summarise it neatly. To condense all that we see around us into grains that can so easily fit in th...

If teardrops could be bottled, there would be an ocean of bottles with nothing but tears, because of you. I’m drowning in the love I have for you, and it’s killing me. Yet, you would never reach your hand out to save me…

I keep looking through old photographs, trying to recount the moments we took them in. Sheened by nostalgia they take on golden hues and sepia tones. I miss what happiness feels like. Time hasn’t smouldered the candle I still hold for you in my heart. In fact, it’s only stoked it to a blaze that no amount of alcohol can ever put out. My heart still bores the scares of your lost love. The pain is unbearable. If sorry was enough to get you back, I would say it a thousand times and more. Until I was blue in the face and my lungs had run out of air. But sorry isn’t enough. It never is. Sorry wasn’t enough to stop you walking out of the door, and taking the best part of me with you. Now my world is fading to grey and everything in it is turning into ash.