HARMOLISA:the sketches of a petrohead.

Teacher asked what the whole class would want to be when we grow up?Now what do you expect a young clueless girl brought up in the outskirts of the city to know about what they want to be when they grow up?


This one did know what she wanted in life however,I mean,with the planes flying up above the trees and into the grey and blue sky every other morning and evening and yet in rare cases during the noon time,this however mostly found me gazing blankly into the dark chalkboard.”Yes teacher,I want to be a pilot”.She smiled and nodded in affirmation as the other kids looked at me as if I was the class genius.


Years down and that dream has yet to be hit as the whole point of wanting to be a pilot was to travel the world and the seven seas but with it the pockets had to be dug deeper into,a feat looking quite gleam to achieve for this little Thika rooted lady.But hey,who said to travel the world we all needed to ride high up into the sky when you could ride low and soar higher in gloves,bolt boots and a jar head,no I mean a helmet upon the back of an a 1000cc bike,I mean even a 200cc could still hit the dream but for a petrohead,more is always juicier.


Did she have to own the bike though?I mean there is nothing much of an impossible fete when you put your heart to it.It only needs the spirit of intimate desire and the blessing of the universe for one to attain their dreams.And yes,with little to no resources and the passion of a thousand waters and blaring horsepowers,Harmony could kill the winds and blur the air with smoke and thrill right out of Highschool.


A passion hence grows from a tender innocence and coupled with loss of a mum and a business to run but hey,a man,sorry a woman has to be whatever they want to be and with her focus to the horizon and all deterrents to her back she is now set out on a path to the South African WIM(women in motorcycling) track.


Do you at this point wish she was you and you was her?Oh wait a moment,not too fast treader,I mean PePa treader,it looks all juicy on the outside but truth be told here lies no rose bed,oops,they call it bed of roses,I mean,ain’t English hard enough to muster it all,huh?What about the likes of us to who even our own mother tongues twists as a challenge?A friend even recently retorted that the English themselves should strive to learn our indigenous languages and not us breaking our backs making there’s a universal dialect,if only it were universal in  essence….MMMHHH,you think it is?NO my treader,you are wrong,if you thought it was then you know no language yet save for your mother tongue and the language of dependency.You need to find out the universal language,that which needs no words nor expressions let alone signs and gestures….learn that and the whole universe yet again conspires to your own good.


I guess in my opinion this is where our friend Harmolisa is thus set to head towards at this prime juncture.Prime…mmmmh,prime,I even wonder what this initially meant but looking at this petrohead right now it all comes to form right before my vision.She is slowly learning the language of the universe and delving into the soul of the world without even her knowing it.


The perils set against her head are the same omens driving her towards her ultimate purpose.A purpose driven from pain and grown into resilience and though marred by endless pitfalls can by no means succumb to popular down-roar to failure.


now if you was anticipating or looking forward to the art of  perfection or definition of virtual beauty then here my dear treader is where you take leave of travel.What I am setting before you just as previously hinted in my sketches through November is the  uncanny depiction of Julius Gaius Caesar only in this stance without a machete or political aspirations to match.Rather what we have is a tales of rugs to glow dome in a wave of unprecedented outrage and boos,the world her arena of dismay yet the track her focus of discovery.


to be continued……

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