Dear Music,

Dear music,

Am pissed off! I know you like India Arie, but you could always be in my head too, there’s lots of space here. Seriously, there’s a huge comfy vacuum you could occupy, I’ve been in told it has something to do with the brain or shortage thereof!

Cry and smile and dance with me, like you did with Judith Sephuma. Help me ascend, just like Maxwell did. Am searching for ndawo yami, the place you took Zamajobe, because these glitches that afflicted the Roots seem to be contagious.

Or if that’s too much to ask, could you at least show me where to get some sexual healing, it seemed to do Marvin Gaye a lot of good. You see, I am looking for my lover man, just like Billie Holiday. And if I find him, maybe he could help me count the steps to heaven, I’m not sure they’re seven as Miles Davis insinuates.

Now am flashbacking like Fat Freddy Drops. Ohh, the joys of back in the day. Hehe, Erykah Badu wasn’t the only one who used to hope that the dogs wouldn’t bark when she got home. Yes, things back then were laid back, Najee style, it was pure Norman Brownesque west cost coolin! It felt almost like being in love. I wonder if that’s how Nat King Cole felt. I’m sure that even Raul Midon would confess that that was truly a beautiful state of mind.

But those days are gone. I won’t wallow in the memories of yesterday like Frank Sinatra, even though it’s tough these days, not just for Ayo, but for me too. I won’t look back, I have to move forward, mambo ni Twende. Urm, Eric Wainaina, could you please give me the map you used? You know I like the way you move.... foward... reminiscent of earth, wind and fire.

Anyway, music my love, I have to get going now. I feel floetic headache coming on, and I can hear Urban Knights’ South African jam beckoning me. I just wanted you to know that Dwele isn’t the only one who gets a kick out of you. I do too, despite the fact that I’m a village girl, Valerie Kimani’s neighbour.

Don’t be a stranger, feel free to Jaguar Wright me a dear john anytime. Next time you come to visit, we’ll take a long walk around the park after dark, yes, me, you (music) and the night, Chet Baker will be jealous. I might even invite Jill Scott to come along, and we can imitate George Benson and Al Jarreau’s Breezin’.

Yours with more respect than Aretha Franklin,
Twenty Something Year old (Just like Jamie Cullum),
Child of the earth (I think am related to Hugh Masakhela in some way)
Dee.

PS: Do send my love to your cousin Theatre, tell him that I shall write to him soon.