Mad men Laughing; Cows and Dogs Talking; Eugene Replaces Mutula

(Curtains open)

Two mad men standing by the road are looking at grazing cows. The shepherd has a dog and a walking stick.

 

First mad man: See those cows talking over there…

Second mad man: Cows never talk…dogs do…

First mad man: Fine. Look, the dog has moved closer to the cow.

Second mad man: Now you can say there is a conversation going on there!

 

Eugene Wamalwa is a pointed minister for Justice and constitutional Affairs?  Really? Eugene, really? Let’s pretend those who made this appointment think Kenyan’s believe them. Pretending is impossible since Kenyans don’t believe them. Ok, another route. Let’s imagine Eugene Wamalwa will discharge his duties well. Well, he will, according to the needs of the people who put him in office. There is no need of imagining. Last route. Assume Eugene Wamalwa is the best man for that job. Yes he is, in the early eighties, he would have made a good minister for Justice and Constitutional Affairs. Did that ministry exist then? And, we are in 2012 today.

Eugene is wrong for that job

I am at loss on this. Any explanation that can be said in a place where there is light on how this young man came to replace Mutula Kilonzo does not make sense, making his appointment look so curious and inappropriate.

 

The appointment must have made his speech writers a hard time crafting his acceptance speech. Their involuntary reactions must had been pushing to write things like; ill advised, ill intentioned, ill motivated, ill meaning, ill timed and the like… But then I digress.

 

 First mad man: What could they be talking about?

Second mad man: That Eugene Wamalwa is the minister for Justice and Constitutional Affairs

First mad man: (Irritated) There is grass growing on your head.

Second mad man: Get serious man!

First mad man: I thought we were talking about things that don’t make sense…

Second mad man: (Scratching his beard) Ummmh…Wait a minute there genius… (Moving closer to the first mad man) That actually makes sense.

 

The appointment reeks of a plan to keep the state of some affairs in a particular form or to sway the direction that those issues might take unlike what would have happened  if they were left on the hands of another man-capable or not.

 

The fact that Eugene is a lawyer is best laid with the fact that he is the brother to our late former vice president. A man, who like Eugene’s profession inspired confidence and was accorded respect at any given time in any part of the world that he happened to have been. Probably it was Michael Wamalwa’s stellar performance or his flamboyant English and dazzling smile. Probably, he knew what he could do and what he could not and delivered on his promises. Probably, just probably, he actually stood for something, though I am not sure what. BUT Eugene!  No one can say what he stands for, whether he even makes promises, let alone keeping them, and that smile of his… Save us.

 

His appointment was a shocker. Piecing up the mental process of how the two principles arrived at him replacing Mutula Kilonzo is so disturbing that it better be left to the historic records of shame.

Wrong…even the cows know that

 

First mad man: What makes sense?

Second mad man: That the cow and the dog are talking…

First mad man: And Eugene was sworn in on Tuesday

Second mad man: Replacing Mutula Kilonzo

First mad man: Stupid sense

Second mad man: Cheated sense

First mad man: Red ties and under the table deals sense

Second mad man: Stupid mass sense. I give up.

First mad man: Do you even know Eugene Wamalwa?

 

There is very little we know about the work this man has done. Sabaoti… Saba what?  Yes, he represents them in parliament. He also a lawyer whose records are known to all or unknown to you depending on who you are.  He campaigned for the new constitution but right now is in an alliance with the leaders of the team that opposed the same constitution that he now wants to be faithful to. So should I GIVE UP?  No…

 

Second mad man: Who doesn’t?  Si he is that man with Elephant ear lips?!

First mad man: Right on…Right on.

Second mad man: Do you know that his middle name is Ludovic?

First mad man: (Laughing) I know, means famous warrior.

Second mad man: Not fitting at all. They should have called him Luigi; as in Abbot Luigi, a talking statue in Rome.

First mad man: Man, man… We got to leave. That man with the cows is coming to us.

Second mad man: He thinks Eugene will be faithful to the constitution and its implementation…

First mad man:  Mad man! They all are crazy to believe that.

(Laughing)

Stage closes as they leave as they leave

 

ODM Mental Institution

This must be how conversation within ODM goes on.
Grrrrrrrrrrrrr…Grrrrrrrrrrr…Grrrrrrrrrrrr…“ You need to make up your mind, if you want to leave ODM, go ahead and leave.” Mmmmmh…Mmmmmh…Mmmmmh. “Get up and leave if you want instead of grumbling and mmmhing in here!” Mmmmh…Mmmmmh…Mmmmmh.  (He gets fired or demoted.) Grrrrr Gugu…Woof! …Grrrr Gugu…Woof!…GrrrrGugu…Woof!
Now, maybe members of the Orange Democratic Movement (Mp’s, party leaders, councilors, youth wingers, hatchet men, day people, night people down to the hired thugs) have realized a trend by now; they grumble when in ODM, rebel a bit but won’t leave. Then they get fired and they all go Woof! Woof!
Whatever it is that is happening within ODM is known only to those who sleep within its door. But I know what those who get kicked out into the cold night say of the ODM.
To a high degree, ODM  reminds me of a mental institution that houses men and women who have been figured out by other men and women as unfit for normal living. People who have something that need to be fixed in them. So they get chained to walls in small cubicles with tiny windows close to their roofs. When in there, they get fed, and given daily doses of some unknown drug.
These captives yell. They scream and call out for help but the doors to the mad house remain shut. The ‘doctors’ administering the treatment walks around with masks on their faces and threaten the patients with their silence or a fully filled syringe. Or even worse a shotgun used for injecting baboon and rhino’s when they are being treated or being sedated.
 

When the patients get out of the mad house, the first thing they do is to hurl insults and talk about the ills of the mad house and its wicked doctors. The normal people will pay them little attention and in most cases think that they are overcooking up their stories. They will vow to bring down the mad house to rubbles and ensure that the future of the doctors in there is ruined forever. But do they ever?

Back to ODM, So Balala is the latest man to be kicked out. He has found himself a lone, the first unit of a nuclear family and is now all warfare and nuclear weapons. He follows Ruto and his gang of miscreant MP’s and councilors, and the man who barked so loud it was heard in the moon-Miguna. When Ruto got out, he went on a murderous verbal riotous rampage. Threatened to bring down the party into bits by some great political calculations and activity. I am still waiting or rather he is still either calculating or still shopping for the right activity through which to execute his threats.
There is nothing to say about Miguna. Probably, he finally realized that suing the Nyayo era is more profitable than writing ‘the book’ which was to lay all misdemeanors of ODM and its leadership bare.
ODM sounds worse than a mental hospital, it sounds more like Guangzhou-a pal of mine says that’s a city in China, or the only Kim-do (o) m existing on earth. It sounds like one place where dictatorship is not only observed but also taken with utmost seriousness. The kind of seriousness that one takes his life with when he goes beneath the water surface and swims down there while holding his breath. 

 

The joy at coming out, is heard in how they gasp for air and how the sight of freedom (the sun) makes them feel safe against the just ended nightmare of having meters of water bearing them down.
It sounds, (since I have only heard from those who have been ejected out of it) like one place with the ultimate general, whose word is law and the law is him. A man whose line you cross only if you are willing to leave your to toes on that restricted area. A man who does not keep an iron first on the party issues, he keeps an alloy first over his party issues. An alloy loyalty and punishment over the party and its issues.

Lets us say ODM is a democracy. That it is open and growth is encouraged. That you can have a stand that does not sit well with its top leadership but still be in the party right? Right! ODM is indeed a demo…

That Politicians are Pigs is no Doubt

There are few animals that can be compared to a Kenyan politician or should it be that there are few Kenyan politicians that can be compared to any animal? Well, luck favors us since we have most of the animals that one can compare anything to so let’s have a go at some, shall we?

A hare. The master of trickery in African fables. Small in size but very smart, in fact it was the solution provider in most African society problems. Its major downside was that it is lazy and loved to reap where it did not sow. The similarities include; trickery and trickery. The differences include; the Kenyan politician being big, fat and oily like a slob, and diminutive brain.

A  monkey. A close look alike of man, fearful but with an intrinsic ability to cunningly wade out of trouble. Formed part of the crowds and only did anything when its life was on the line. The young ones have longer tails. Similarities between the Kenyan politician and the monkey; close look alike of man, cunning and only does anything when its life is on the line, young and upcoming politicians make the loudest noise. While the differences include; the politician being brave, the politician being self full and self absorbed he cannot form a crowd, he has to be on the stage.

 

Hopping..from here to there...

 

 A hyena. One of their kinds is fabled to have died trying to follow two roads at a time while others eat themselves at times of hunger. Greedy to the core, they also have been blessed with stupidity. The similarities between a Kenyan politician and the hyena are greed. No need to say more.

 

Eating themslves...they can

 

Especially the part where they eat each other. The differences are not so clear but one thing for sure is that the Kenyan politician at least does something to get whatever they want to express their greed on, unlike the hyena that is too lazy to hunt so waits for other animals to die before they can eat.

 A lion. The king of the jungle. The ideal leader in form and action. The similarities between the Kenyan politician and the lion are few and far between. They like and know how to protect their turf. They have a hereditary kind of leadership style where the son inherits the throne from the father. The differences; the lion is a leader, the Kenyan politician is not.

A goat. Trouble. Willy and has a tail with no use. Take my good political friends and those sycophants hanging on their tails. Enuff.

A pig. Dirty, senseless and greedy enough to eat its own pooh. Has this wickedness that was biblically endowed and does little to change that image. The Kenyan politician has no senses at all. Otherwise how would you explain their constant call to increase their salaries, their adamant refusal to pay their salaries, their disgusting refusal to take responsibility after misusing the office, their treasonable corruption activities?

 

Fat..Ugly and Disgusting

 

The Kenyan politician talks today and refuses tomorrow. Says this here and denies the same thing a few paces away. Like poohing and eating it again. There is something fat and ugly about the Kenyan politician, there is something fat and ugly about a pig.

 

Rolling in the mud

 

There is something disgusting in the manner that the Kenyan politician goes rolling on his words and rolling on people. There is something disgusting in the manner that pigs roll in dirt. There is something wicked and disturbing about pigs, something that makes the pig think it can cheat the whole world while it sits in there in the sty.

George Orwell had the pigs in the animal farm, pigs who thought they were better and saw themselves as better than the other animals. There is something pig-like, wicked and disturbing about the Kenyan politician. A pigsty is one place that many find tormenting to visit. Aside from the pungent stench that reeks out of the place, a stench that can knock out a buffalo, the image of pigs in many peoples’ minds is that of an evil, ugly and untrustworthy animal.

That Kenyan politicians are pigs is no doubt.

 

Baod Cymmetry

Where political friends turn foes and support turns to criticism

The grave yard of politics is filled with tombstones of men who fell by the swords of sheathed with love, friendship, undying support and loyalty. Men brought down in blood and a thick saddening sound of a skull crushing against the rocks of betrayal and revenge.Quit literally and symbolically, political deaths have more often that not arisen from a friend turned foe and the Kenyan political scene is no different.

Baod Cymmetry

A few years ago, Martha Karua shocked the nation, probably even the whole world. The post election violence that followed the disputed 2007 elections had hit bloody heights and country men were dying. Martha Karua on her side was busy earning the nickname of ‘The Iron Lady’ by defending Kibaki in the six man negotiation team meeting at Serena Hotel in Nairobi with Koffi Annan.

Her loyalty, and support for Kibaki was unquestionable. In fact at one point she was being considered a stumbling block to the negotiations by her pro- Kibaki hardline stances that she took.

Iron Lady...turns the fire on Kibaki

Fast forward to ten or less months later, she walks out of PNU, resigns from the position offered to her as a reward for her undying support at a time of need and becomes a fierce critic of Kibaki, poking holes at every decision he makes.

The same valour that she was defending him with, poured out scorn and disrepute to the man’s actions. Kind of makes you wonder; Madam Martha, what really changed? Did your ideologies suddenly begin to conflict? Where did the love go? At what point, did the love tip and become hate and more importantly at what point did you realize that the man was actually a stupid buffoon?

In the recent past, there has been some loud mouthed man who wears a Muslim style cap and tells himself that he has made a name for himself and can no-longer be taken lightly. Funny man, he looks like a dog barking at the moon. Miguna Miguna.

The man barking at the moon

A personal friend to Raila Odinga. His former advisor on coalition matters. A man who has been with Raila in the thick dirt of politics. A man who by his own account flew across the globe on his own expense to accompany Raila to meetings and conferences.

Then he got sacked.

In a snap of a finger, Miguna turned into something else. He cut off his ties with Raila and had a rapid change of attitude which erupted in killer vitriol. The tension was there and his resentment grew and mutated into rage and anger. He bounced back with clear plan of how to bring down his former friend. His revenge mission was far much greater than the betrayal that was committed if there was any that is.

His hot peppered, chili laced and perhaps acidic outbursts at Raila more like superseded abandonment rage. He wondered why Raila did that to him, why he disappointed the hopes and expectations he (Miguna) had in him… He lost favour with everyone through his bitter lamentations but did his damage revealing damaging secrets through a book yet to see the printers, his attempts at bringing his former friend down.

The question is here again; at what point, at what point did this learned man, who like Martha Karua, holds a law degree realize that Raila is a non-thinker who surrounds himself with men of scanty academic credentials?  At what point did the love turn to hate? What is the gray point where white merged with black? The point evil and good interfused and good lost out? What changed; in the heart? In the mind?

Other tombstones in the political graveyard read thus:

Here lies Raphael Tuju,

Reformer, development conscious former friend of Raila.

He clinched the Rarieda seat after getting endorsement from Raila

We hope he gets past Pearly gates

Another goes   like this:

 

This stone stands in memorium of Rift Valley Sun

William Samoei Ruto

Defender and crusader of Raila

Betrayed; fought back and died in Hague

 

And yet another reads such:

Some men are born black, others white and others probably yellow

But beneath this mound of earth

Rests the twisted bones of a left-right man

Black- white man

Otherwise famous for being Yes- No

Red- Green…The water melon man

Kalonzo here lies… He took on a group of friends and walked away with their party

Turned an enemy for ever…and useless too…

Pray heaven and hell has a fence

I know that probably a deal went sour. Someone felt deceived or mislead. Or maybe some favours were withdrawn. Vows broken, somebody was seduced and then deserted. Isolated and left in the cold. These are possible scenarios.

Whatever the fuel; betrayal, rejection, revenge, isolation or even being delivered to an enemy…the question is;

At what point does a loyal friend, supporter, fan become a fierce critic? At what point does love tip to hate and anger and destruction gates open from whence love flowed once?

Are these people genuine in their critism? Can we trust them after such rapid, almost violent changes of heart and mind?

Caesar...murdered by Friend

The play Juius Caesar by William Shakespeare depicted this political love hate scenario long ago… Brutus, a friend of Caesar, a loyal friend who swore that Caesar loved like a brother, turned and drove a knife into the heart of Julius Caesar. His reason when he was asked; he loved Rome more. In his defense, this is what he said…

“As Caesar loved me, I weep for him; as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; as he was valiant, I honour him: but, as he was ambitious, I slew him. There is tears for his love; joy for his
fortune; honour for his valor; and death for his ambition.”

I call it Baod Cymmetry. Where political friends turn foes and support turns to criticism. The end is at the political graveyard.

Raila Odinga; The Woman

TANTRUMS, DESPARATION, TEARS and WHINING. People shoving. Tempers Flaring. ANGER growing in the Chest like Bile rising. FROM the ABBYS Of BETRAYALS’ forgotten Forte.  Fear of death. Death everywhere. And One man Throwing Tantrums like a lady in Her Menses. Loathing. Needing someone to help Her. John Kofuor. Koffi Annan. The End IS a union of two parties. UNDER THE Guise of ‘FOR the sake of THE Public.’

Like A woman

Kibaki Takes His Bride

The Year 2007 Nearly Closed on a Dream long Fought For By This Man. Near Miss, After such Painful Courtship. He Needed The Presidency. Loved it Since His 1982 Detention And subsequent House Arrests.  2007, He was poised to Get The Rewards of His Toil. As a MAN. But NO. Kibaki Got it Like A MAN. STOLE the Prize in The WEE hours OF the Morning AND Got SWORN in BENEATH trees During the NIGHT. HAHA.

Since 2007 TO THIS MOMENT. What we have Seen is RAILA The WOMAN. Begging to be taken in. Accepting Anything. Mostly CRUMBS. Getting Into a Deal. Tempted and Driven by the Fear. Of Losing OUT. He Made Moves That SAW His men GET Peanuts out of the Coalition government.

Like a Woman who Moved Into A man’s house. HE found Kibaki with a Full house. Ministers and All. He bargained From There. As the Little one of the two. The Woman. Of The Coalition House. And what he WAS Given. With open arms He/SHE  received.

The Co-Wives WERE ALSO In the picture. Married To Kibaki. Kalozo the VP. And like any Two Women Married to One Man. He/SHE Faught for Place in the FAMILY. Was He/ SHE The Number One Or Two Or Three? Was He an Equal iN the DisUnion. Would She Cook on Mondays to Friday Or Fridays To Monday?  Was She entitled to a Toilet? Or would He/SHE Continue to Go to the bush? What of the Fabric Called Red Carpet? Was he to get Half That Of Kibaka ? Or would he Get the full Length of the Kalonzo size?! Co-Wife Problems Woman!

Year after Year. Like Waves Rise Behind Each Other. He Made Decisions. Like Castles Built Using Sand On The ShoreLINE. Only For a Wave to Come and Bring Down the Castle. Only For Kibaki To Come And Wash Down to a Useless Pile His Decision. And Leave HiM/HER standing Like A Confused Powerless and Helpless Woman. Remember Ruto sacking? Huh. Who was The MAN There?

Then Came His Constant Whining and Crying. About Being Ignored. Being Taken For Granted. About Not Being Consulted. KiBAKI Neglected Her/Him. Treated Her Like Dirt. Deciding Who In the Cabinet Did what, where and WHEN. All He/ SHE did was to Cry ABOUT IT. To Go Back Into The Bedroom and Weep.

Mmmmh Cry Sweetie it is all you can do...

 Try Me. To Pretend He was The Voice Of REASON In The Marriage. Try ME Hard As I Try. All I SEE Is Woman. Married to Man Who Knows way more than he/ She Does. At No Point… Even with The Help. And Intervention Of ElderS. Did They Work As Equals. He was  The Woman. Who Kept The Marriage Alive. When The Man. Went Out To Drink. And Be Merry With Other Women. Prostitue!

Heheh..THE mAN

When The Children Felt Hungry. The Man Sat MUM. Legs On the Table. Strocking His Bear Belly. When Panic Struck. Children Ran To Him/HER. The Man Was Out Insulting Him/ HER at Being. A bad. Stupid. And Ugly Wife. As He Played Golf. Being Waited On By His Mistresses.

Rushing Eagerly. To Please Guests Invited Without His knowledge. Like a Dutiful Wife Knows How. Dancing at Balls AND Boring Dinner Parties With Chinese Men Who Can’t Dance To Save Their Short Lives. Round and Round He/SHE Spins. Trying To Please The Husband. Playing The Good Hostess. Balancing Precariously. Tea Pots and Slender Wine Glasses. At The End Of The Night. When All The Partying Men and Women. Have Retired To Their Homes. He/SHE Recieves A Smack On The Face For Flirting With So And So. In Retaliation. The Next  Dinner. Kibaki Invites His Friend From Sudan Bashir. She/ He Declares To The Public. That He was not Party To. The Plan. To InVite Such An Evil AND Cannibalous Man To Their Party.

Do You Recal. How Many Times. Raila Had to Take Back His Words? How MANY Times Kibaki Overrun What He Said?  How Many Times He Complained of Not being TAKEN OUT. Not Being Bought New Clothes? Not Being Treated Like A Lady?! Railla Odinga…The Woman.

 

 

PROUD TO BE KENYAN? TOUGH LOVE

The national flag was slowly but gradually rising up the pole. It was an impatient day and the wind beat the flag furiously from side to side and sometimes round and round. Whatever the wind wanted to communicate, the young man in his place in the not so crowded stadium concluded that given a chance the wind would simply bring down the flag together with the pole. That is what he did in his mind and he was happy he had helped the wind.

Jamuhuri day celebrations, he had left his single roomed cardboard house at Kibera slum and was only looking forward to a long and tiring day at Gikomba where he worked as a jua kali artisan though mainly transferring pieces of metal from one store to another. He often wondered whether that was jua kali and what his wife of six months, who could barely spell out her name, would say if she found out that he was not a secretary at the ministry of Public Works. I digress though. The flag stopped moving up. He peered down keenly in time to see the police officer hoisting it yank at something strongly forcing the flag up in a jerk.

After the flag goes up, guard of dishonour

The national anthem was sung. The public mumbled incomprehensible sounds as they edgily shifted on their feet. The armed forces band sung. The young man tried to recall how he had arrived at the function and ended up grinning to himself at how Kenyawas an interesting country. The Nissan matatu he had boarded about an hour or so ago had suddenly forgotten the route to town centre; instead it came straight to the entrance of Nyayo stadium and offloaded everyone at the entrance before speeding off for what looked like another trip. They all wanted to make noise, they all wanted to shout at the driver at once but when they saw what awaited them. They thought otherwise and quietly entered the stadium. Police dogs and police men with guns and shields are only nice to look at on newspapers and TV.

After the national anthem, a row of shows started which went on for the next few hours.  The young man could tell that the performers were either entertaining themselves or doing it for the money since the president and the other men in blue suits were either sleeping or bored to death. The public simply did not care. They bought edibles and ate, turned to one another and chatted. Then one by one the big men gave their speeches. They read from sheets of prepared speeches which from their tones you could rightly guess that they were seeing the sheets for the first time on stage.

The buzz from the crowd, the uneasy shifting and movements of people wherever they stood, the scorching sun on their heads and the wicked wind did not make things any better. Their faces wore an impatient and angry veil. The men in suits talked, others recited their pieces and had theatrics all over the stage. The young man thought these people would have made good comedians in some local market somewhere in Burkenge. Only one thing was consistent through out the speeches, an overwhelming feeling of apprehensiveness and anxiety mixed with a cool but ostensible detachment from the whole scene. The public felt that the ministers and their superiors were insulting their sensibility with their mirthless effrontery.

Then there was drama somewhere close to where the president was sitting. Someone apparently was not pleased with his leadership skills wanted to tell him so. He was a short man with a heavily built structure but when the Secret Police Service came to pick him up the agitated man rattled and yelped as though he had propellers in his nasals. He barked and kicked and shouted but one thing the young man and the other people in the stadium who were now fully taking up the scene knew, was that those mean looking security men were going to calm the man and the whole insanity of his act down to a simple idea of nightmare.

The president then took to the podium to talk, people jeered at him. He reduced the price of unga; they jeered, he increased the minimum wage to six thousand; they jeered and shouted him down, talked of police brutality; they chanted freedom songs and dirges at him, he talked of corruption; they threw stones, bottles and papers at him. He grinned, a frog like grin then told them to their face that they were no fit than mavi ya kuku and that wote walikuwa wapumbavu tu! And started his journey off. In his place the young man said softly, “I just love this country.”

Somewhere as he left, there were journalists wearing black T-shirts and had white gags all over their mouths, one of them was dressed like a prisoner, the young man could swear he knew him from his silly acts on TV. He was not a light man but those men in black suits featherly lifted him away as though he was some malnourished child. The journalists wanted to eat the president and his men. They took shots and captured the event. Reporters took down notes while the photographers clicked everything into film. They were breathing fire and speaking petrol. The government could not harass them in that manner. This time the war was on.

They forgot one thing though. This is Kenya the land were the media and all its gallons of ink and tones of paper not to mention rolls of film have little if not no effect at all on the government and its actions. They were pathetically helpless and they knew it. Yet for a second, they had forgotten and were raising unseen dust over their harassment. The young man, though not trained in journalism or politics knew those shots and recordings were a waste.

Things quietened a bit with the inceased presence of men in uniform and within one hour the stadium was empty, people were heading to their homes or wherever they came from. The young man, Victor, for that was his name lamely joined a crowd of young men going up hill towards Kibera slum; they were talking of how they had been brought in a City Hoppa, rudely and forcefully diverted from their days’ activities. They had to walk since they had no money for transport. No one talked of lunch or evening meal.

Down here...'tis a jungle

They arrived at their slum houses at seven in the night around four hours after the men in blue suits and big cars had been driven to their rich homes, taken lunch of say chicken wings and some abracadabra sounding thing and topped up with white wine just before napping. Victor and the other young men were in time to catch the news at the local video place where half the slum watched football. There were pictures of people smiling at the stadium, people singing and dancing and sections of the crowd applauding the president. It was a happy celebration.

Fluffy and oily

 The next day in the news papers there was a piece on the Administration Police trainees who had also been carried on a lorry to come fill the stadium. He saw that as he alighted at the city centre and headed for Gikomba wondering whether his boss was going to fire him or not. This isKenyaand he loved it all the same. What else could he do?

 

He who PAYS for HUMAN RIGHTS ACTIVISM…calls OKIYA OMTATA

The era of genuine and cause driven human rights activism died with the death of Nyayo tea zones, Nyayo Pioneer  cars, Nyayo free school milk, Nyayo Wards and the exposure cum opening up of the Nyayo torture chambers to the public.

Let’s assume that politics was a man and human rights activism was a woman. Politics is aesthetically challenged; his face bears the official stamp from the chairman of the World Uglies Corporation. His skin tone is uneven with rocky mounds; the pigment is dark and oily like the surface of a sewer puddle. His lips are two black bitter bananas’ put conically facing each other covering a mouth crowded with 49 teeth some of which grow downwards on the roof of the mouth. Inside his head, there is a manually powered brain, but the knob that powers it is broken. It cannot be powered.

He has the money and power. His father had it too or maybe he just made his bones breaking other people’s bones for another man. He drives a Mercedes Benz and dines in seven star (if they exist) hotels.

 One evening, while attending a funeral in some village where the mother of a political colleague had passed on, as they leave they are escorted out of the home by the relatives of the departed. Near the gate, he notices this sweet looking lady barely in her mid twenties. She is beautiful. His heart dances to a beat known only to him. He asks the man next to him about her.

Activist Today

“She is one of the most gracious ladies in this village, caring, loving and fierce when it comes to defending what she believes in.” He is told. Their eyes meet. She gives him a faint smile revealing a row of nicely set teeth. He asks her name. Human Rights Activist, he is told. A coffee drink later in town and she felt the coolness of his car. Two lunches at a hotel with an Italian name and a gift of paid monthly rent not to mention brand new red Vitz car and she saw the ceiling of his bedroom while lying on the bed. She was not alone. A month later she is expectant. When she eventually delivers, the baby looks like an offspring of a bestial man who raped a black she-goat.

What happens when politicians put human rights activists in their pockets? When human rights activist go to the roads with placards and twigs only when they have been paid?  When human rights activists take sides with political outfits and defend those political outfits after meeting held in the dark where promises were made and money changed hands? You get across between a man and a she-goat. An ugly thing that cannot be looked at twice. And that is what we have in Kenya today in the name of human rights activism and activists.

Activism used to be born out of passion, now it is sold for a few thousands. It was directed towards the accomplishment of a particular political or sociological agenda for the betterment of the whole society, now it accomplishes nothing and benefits an individual.

Activists themselves were men and women of honour, who preached water and took the same water even if it had mud in it. They lived their lives fighting wars and believing in causes that were bigger than themselves. And their lives could be taken in a split second and indeed most of them lost their lives.

I understand that we have paid mourners, paid fathers, paid mothers, paid babies, paid miracle callers…I run out of names, we even pay for grades in colleges but hey, paid human rights activism s just way out of line!

Activists on the road

You can always tell when they have received a cheque. How they jump about the streets, how they heckle, how they address the media through their ‘serious’ press conferences sounds PAAIIDD! Before the money comes in, they are silent like brooding night.

Maybe it is the hunger and poverty in the country causing people to make careers out of carrying twigs, placards and braving the hot midday sun in sitting on tarmac in some city road.  Maybe it is how the world has changed. You never know. And talking about careers, this is how you go about launching a successful Human Rights or Civil Society body in Kenya, they are only three steps:

Choose a name– the name must have International OR Rights OR Centre OR Human OR World in it, any other suitable word like Society, Foundation, Freedom, Against and Disabled are to be added according to your line of duty…

Wait for a political scandal– this will take you a month or maybe less. Wait for some minister or MP to be accused of looting public funds or wait for a public servant to pinch somebody in the nose. Look for the opponents of this person, approach them for money.

Organize a protest (after getting funding)- Buy orange or pink or white manila paper and about ten black felt pens and markers. Have a group of idle youths accompany you around town chanting and singing. Remember to instruct them on what right roads to follow, where to sit, when to wail and how to disperse after you have paid them Ksh. 200.

P/S ; Make a poorly designed banner with all colours in it.

You don’t even need to register the group.

So what happens to activism now?

Show me the money

It is for sale. You buy activists and decide what they say, how they say it and who they attack. He who pays for human rights activists calls…

Kenya; the Colossus with Clay Feet

 

She stands with parts patched, gold to iron, silver to plastic, copper to wood, bronze to charcoal and the feet, firm of full clay.

Golden head,bronze arm, clay feet...Kenya, the giant colossus

Madman 1: That Kenya is a great country is no doubt.

Madman 2: That Kenya is not a great country is in doubt.

Madman 1: Say something different from mine…!

Madman 2: Don’t say something that is the same as mine…!

Madman 1: Ok. That Kenya is great is in doubt

Madman 2: That Kenya is not a great country is no doubt

Madman 1: Are we saying anything new?

Madman 2: We are saying the same old thing, the same new way…

 Madman 1: And the same new thing…the same old way…Makes sense don’t you think?

Madman 2: I don’t think. And you don’t think. But we think it makes sense.

 

No, ladies and gentlemen, she will not crumble and break into a thousand pieces. It will crack in bits and the pieces will fall off as we replace them till one day we will have a country, a giant whose whole body is golden. For now, what we have is a colossus with clay feet. There is a great book called the bible, one of the stories in it goes like this;

The Dream of A Great Statue
“You, O king, were looking and then, there was a single great statue; that statue, which was large and of extraordinary splendor, was standing in front of you, and its appearance was awesome.
The head of that statue was made of fine gold, its breast and its arms of silver, its belly and its thighs of bronze, its legs of iron, its feet partly of iron and partly of clay.” (Daniel 2: 31–)

And while this king was still dream watching, a rock was cut out and it hit the great statue which was crushed down iron, bronze and all became like chaff.

In another dream, Kenya was the giant statue. And I was not dreaming. We have a country so patched up.  The tit-bits that make us are not in any way golden but they will do. They have their own strong points. What  makes this situation even more precarious is how the government spokes person in conjunction with brand Kenya and ministry of tourism and ministry of National heritage  have over the past five or so years have tried to make one big giant statue called Kenya out of this patches. And what they have so far come up with is a colossus with clay feet.

Efforts of integration and cohesion of the people of this nation which have been championed by the spokes person for the government through his Najivunia kuwa mkenya campaign, the ministry of Tourism and the ministry of State for National Heritage and Culture with the search for a national dress disaster failure, and the National Cohesion and Integration Commissions’ all over the place approach at unifying Kenyans have only done one thing; exposing the parts that make up this giant and how putting up one unified nation will take more than a national dress, cheap patriotic slogans and commissions whose names sound right.

Colored in and out

The reality is that we have a country with beautiful diversity. Here are the facts:

We have over 44 ethnic communities; this translates to over 44 languages excluding English and Swahili. The youth in Kenya make up 36% of the nation’s population and are the nations’ future custodians of its laws and economy. They have their own language –sheng– which is clearly out of the sphere of the old guards who should be mentoring them now. Kenyans speak Kiswahili in class and when they are answering police officers. They use English in offices but when the boss leaves office, they revert to their ethnic languages incase there exists two from the same community in that office-especially government offices. Over all, the ethnic language is the language of choice to many.

Tell me, how do you expect to build a country when everyone speaks his/her own language?

I need an answer here, and please be honest with yourself: If you heard two people shout ‘help!’ One shouted in Swahili and another in your ethnic language. Which one would you feel the urgent need to respond to? I hear when Kenya gained independence; the government decided that Swahili will be the national language. National language indeed.

On matters religion, we are predominantly a Christian secular state which is increasingly becoming intolerant and impatient with other religious groups. The alleged harassing of Muslims with or without the Al Shabaab threat is certatainly as political as it religious. There is a growing suspicion and bile like mistrust that is growing amongst people of these two religious orientations.

And if religion is something of a divisive diversity, then our hard wired and deeply gene webbed ethnic orientations is one huge boiling point of our divisions.  The reference of a Kenyan starts with ethnic profiling, goes to ethnic profiling then ends at ethnic profiling. When people complain of unfair employment, they refer to this community has taken up all the posts in the government… When they want to complain of unfair resource distribution, they refer to this region which has all industries and institutions of higher learning… When they want to complain of leadership problems, they refer to this leader from this community who did this…Hell… Even when they talk of militia men and gangs, the gangs, the reference is laid in what ethnic community they come from.

We see ourselves more as members of an ethnic community than as a nation. We see ourselves more as speakers of a language than as people of a common tongue-Swahili. We see ourselves more coming from Central, Nandi or Siaya than as Kenyans.

There are national signs of cohesion which any united and properly cohesive state or people normally have. They include an agreed national dress Think of a flowing agbanda from West Africa, the red Chinese tube dresses, the flowing kanzus from Israel of other Muslim countries. These dresses identifies you as a people from a common place, you need to look at the kinship that these people have to contend this.

Then we have language. A common language that can be spoken and understood by everyone. Language does not guarantee unity but it makes communication easy and reduces discrimination based on what language someone speaks. It reduces the suspicion and apprehension that lurks in our offices when a new employee walks in and everyone is waiting to hear their second name.

I have looked at our country and wondered what these parts of our great giant statue may be. A good constitution-Golden head of Kenya. Breasts and arms of silver- free political space in Kenya. Belly and thigh of bronze-our diversity culturally and ethnically. Legs of iron-language diversity. Feet of clay-language. We do not have something which we as Kenyans can say is proudly us, well except loins and Maasais. So here we are, a people who have no common language, no common dress, no common national culture or even one aspect of culture that runs across all cultures that we have, even religion is profiled according to regions…True… we lack a central unifying factor that badly. Forget what other nations think of us. Our leaders; political, church or otherwise are the most divisive of all.

These people...

The efforts at cohesion and integration by government spokesman, Tourism ministry and National Cohesion and Integration Commission will have to be approached from other more informed and enlightened point than those silly slogans and knee jack shameful decisions like secretly monitoring people’s phone text messages by NCIC.

But don’t worry; this giant statue of a nation, this colossus called Kenya is safe for now.

No, ladies and gentlemen, she will not crumble and break into a thousand pieces. It will crack in bits and the pieces will fall off as we replace them till one day we will have a country, a giant whose whole body is golden. For now, what we have is a colossus with clay feet.

 

The Dog with the Bone

Grrrrr*!#$^@*! I will Not Resign

China has a list of ‘six serious’ crimes that any public service official holding a high level position in the government should never ever be found in, even in his/her dream.

The Beijing six include; • Using public funds to renovate their homes • Staying in pricy hotels • Joining country clubs • Buying expensive cars • Giving gifts and hosting bouquets using government resources • Making personal trips with government resources.

 Should an official be found on the wrong end of these by the Chinese government, prosecutors have the powers to arrest the corrupt officials’ relatives and “secret lovers”, giving them seven year sentences if they used the officials’ position to accept bribe or otherwise profit illegally. As for the official, what would happen to him/her is any persons guess. Ask former deputy police chief, Wen Qiang, who was executed early last year for taking bribes to shield gangsters.

By the way a member of public who kills a corrupt official in China will be hailed as a hero and should they go to jail (by mistake) they will be out in a matter of months.

Corruption in developed countries such as China, United States, Germany and others still goes on. But there are marked differences to how the high level government officials in these countries behave should they be found out.

Most leaders in the Eastern Block countries, the likes of Korea, China, Japan etc would rather not be corrupt. The penalties are too harsh, with life imprisonment being viewed as a favour. These men, who live in a rather conservative society where honor is still upheld, will resign at the slightest mention of the word corruption. Some even commit suicide like the former prime minister of was it North Korea or Japan?

In the US, corruption allegation got Herman Cain out of the presidential race late last year. His was a case of abuse of office by soliciting sexual favours as rewards for awarding jobs or whatever help.

 Thoh! Can I talk about my country now? Yes!

There are high level public officials in Kenya whose names share a tag of shame;

 Amos Kimunya; the former finance minister who during his tenure, the public was duped into buying shares in the Initial Public Offer of Safaricom shares. Shares that to this day stare the ‘investors’ in the face like some bad insect that has refused to go away. He also sold hotel Grand Regency to the now departed Gaddafi. This second one got him thrown out of office in a show of the power of rhetoric by Bonny Khalwale even after Kimunya declared in a public rally that he would rather die than resign.

Kimunya

 He was forced out, but now he is back and of course still alive.

 Bethwel Kiplagat;he is former everything. Former University Chancellor, former Ambassador, former holder of the highest title for Peace Efforts in Kenya, former High Commissioner, former Minister of Foreign affairs, former Permanent Secretary, former member of National Christian Council of Kenya. And more recently former holder of the chairpersons’ office in Truth Justice and Reconciliation Commission. The man even has former black hair.

 Bethwel Kiplagat has dirt on him from the Moi error. Stains about Ouko’s death and even larger red stains about the Wagala massacre. When the Ndung’u report brought to the fore these issues, he was at the helm of the TJRC.

Kiplagat

They told him to resign, he refused. They made noise on the streets, he refused. The co-workers and subordinates boycotted work, he refused… Then, they hauled him out of office by force. Now he is back. Talk of peace, truth, justice and reconciliation. He walked back  and everyone in the office was given a January emergency leave.

Moses Wetangula; the current minister of Foreign Affairs who went to Japan to purchase a house for the Kenyan ambassador to Japan. He carried 200 million in cash (probably in a bag) and went to pay for the house. Ok, this man is a deal maker or is it deal breaker.

When people made noise he told them that he will not resign. And he never resigned. I like it when a man keeps his word. He just stepped aside, and then stepped back in after a few months.

Railla Odinga; The Prime minister has been on this house of shame twice in the recent past. He was said to have sent some junior officers under him on a maize selling mission. The small fish were caught; he stayed squeaky clean but still my cousin in the village heard about the maize sale.

Railla

Then money from Kazi Kwa Vijana grew legs and walked from the bank. This was to be the ‘it’ but he refused to resign and instead threw down the blame to junior officers in his office. And blamed it on the public’s littler understanding of terms used in economics. I hear he is the man to beat in the next elections.

Uhuru Kenyatta; The current finance minister who made an error in his budget reading figures that would have cost the country billions of shillings. He said it was an error, huh, fault of the machine and he may well be our next president.

Wiliam Ruto; this man is building a hotel in some street in Nairobi- Langata, just around Wilson airport.  When the infamous maize selling was going on, he was incharge of the maize bags, and probably was receiving the maize-cash. A while later in the year, he  sold one side of a hill (state land)  to the government (state). Hehehehe.

Ruto

 This list is long but we shall stop here.

Let us talk about the dog with the bone, shall we?

I grew up in the village and had a chance to live in a home with many dogs. I have seen dogs at feeding time when the bones are few and yet the dogs are many and hungry. During this time, there is no sense of kinship at all among the dogs.

They dive into the food and grab whatever they can get. Once grabbed, they hold it tight in their mouths. This is the time that dogs that live under one fence, answer to one master, sleep together, hunt together and even guard the same fence will turn on each other.

With the bone in the mouth, they will turn into vicious creatures that can kill. As hunger is bites the bellies of the other dogs, this one with the bone will isolate itself and sit somewhere away from the rest and it will be fiercer than a mad cow.

Holding on close to what it has in its mouth, the eyes will roll and blaze wicked fire. Ready to burn down anything that comes any close, the eyes will tell of a fierceness only yet now unveiled, the eyes will tell of death awaiting any that dares come close.

The dog with the bone...mad rage

 The teeth of this dog, will gleam crookedly from the confines of its mouth. The teeth will stutter in rage like the waters of river Yala and promise  death assured. And here; family will drop to the ground and bow to the power of greed. Here; life will be a risk at the mercies of personal want. Here; no one knows the other even when they sleep in the same kennel. Someone will lose an eye, another a toe. A limb and a nose will be torn. These are the times mothers turn on their children, and fathers want to butcher their sons. While friends seek not to know they are and  friends peel off the skins of their friends with their claws.

 When the dog with the bone sees another coming/ He will drop in a bow/ And prepare for a tussle/ Where the bone will be defended/ And its future secured/ This can be a feeding time of death/ Feeding time of starvation for the weak ones/ Feeding time of greed and unsatiated appetites/Feeding of ghosts of our time/ Ghosts with living tissues.

Long Time Camping

 

Displaced, sheltering in church

 Forgetting Kenya’s Camping 2007 PEV Victims

 The process of completely forgetting about the plight of the Internally Displaced people which will include the trivialization of their losses and politicking around their existence is about to begin in earnest. They may not know it but they are the last in Kenya’s 2012 priority list.

The national calendar for 2012 in one booked with major activities right from January. The events that will make up the year revolve around the coming national election to be held in December along with the players that come with it.

Bearing the mantle is the ICC calendar which begins on 19th January 2012 with the verdict of the mentioned cases against the six personalities whose charge sheets are colored with charges of perpetrating murder, forceful evictions, mutilation of people’s body parts and other lesser crimes as organizing and funding militia groups.

Lying in wait

Regardless of the pronouncement from the land that was recovered from the sea mid this month, nothing will be the same for the IDP’s after January 19th. Whether:

All the six have their charges confirmed, some have their charges confirmed while others do not, some more charges are preferred against them by the prosecution team, the charges are reduced, ICC replaces some of the charges preferred against them or whatever, the person caught between the devil and the dark African night is the post election violence victim who still lives in a manila tent pitched in the middle of nowhere. A land where baboons used to mate and shit in.

One thing for sure is that come mid this month, someone will be irritated by the presence of the IDP’s and blame them for something or someone will want to go to them, incite them into agitation while sitting across the road in a tinted car whose back seat is occupied by clean shaven men in dark suits and tinted goggles’. The boot of the car would be containing stones, petrol bombs and pangas- our level of brutish tendencies qualify us for an archeological study. And this is not even the worst yet.

They will then be subjected to denial from all quarters. Those responsible for their existence in that precarious situation in life (the politicians) and the only people who can push the politicians into activity (the citizens).

The politician will be too busy forming strategies of winning the next elections to worry about a woman who was raped in a sisal farm after which they cut her hands. Now she has a child whose body hair reminds her of the hairy men who tortured her that night. She has since stopped wearing hairy clothing and at times imagines that the over seven men who raped her were half men-half donkeys.

No one will remember that she has no home and a husband whose bones were eaten by hyenas and now she has to look at the child that of ill wind.

No one will think about her because William Ruto will be worried shitless what he will answer to Madam Bensouda at the ICC. Post master general Ali will probably want to send letters to the ICC since so far he has proved to be of limited words.

Hague;where the trials will be held

 

 Radio man Sang will be involved in fundraisers in order to get cash for lawyers while Muthura will be in and out of expensive hospitals trying to stay alive from heart related shock attacks.

On the good side, Raila Odinga will this time round not have to lie to Kibera people that he cares about them more than Stanley Livondo when the slum seethes with death and filth. His task this time round will be to convince Central Kenya voters that he is not a vengeful man even though their son stole his cake in the last general elections. Haha, talk of trusting a cat with milk. This man has a jug full of milk to worry about. IDP’s will have to seek for sympathy elsewhere and not in front of his office that is directly opposite that of the seat he is eying. The other bundle of politiciansare already too engaged to add anymore thing to their plates; just look at Kalonzo with his sad party and Kiraitu Murungi forming the sixteenth alliance since 2007.

The man in charge of the elections this time round also has a calendar. Isaak Hassan is a busy man and has already said that the program he is working with is so tight that an election in August is impossible even if we hired a zebu-boy contractor from China. Ok. Mr. Hassan, just ensure that you have a credible team and that you are in full control of that office. The last two most important things are that you please know who wins the elections and never swear in anyone in the dark.

Then we have the church which will not even offer prayers to the IDP’s. Why should they anyway. IDP’s are too poor to pay sadaka on Sunday. They come to church with eggs ati offerings! What? Eggs! A priest can’t live on eggs alone commodore! Instead of saying something about IDP’s, they will be busy making church programs and packages that are appealing to the sadaka giving congregation.

The government, whoever this is, is a little broke right now since all the money has been stolen and the remaining pumped into Operation Linda Nchi.

Burnt to the ground

What of newspaper writers, tv reporters, radio personalities and bloggers like this one? Well, IDP’s are a stale story isn’t it? I mean 2007 to 2012 and still we are on IDP’s kwani who do they think they are? In fact some of them are just pretending, even the government can bear me witness on this, it said late last year that it does not recognize them, why then should I? Believe me there is so much more juicy stuff going on this year, have a look:

January; Chinas’ year of the dragon begins and across the globe, Azerbaijan takes up as a non permanent member of the UN.

February; 50 countries mark the 200^th birthday of the great Victorian novelist Charles Dickens as queen Elizabeth the second, marks 60 years on the British throne.

March; Kremlin strongman, Vladmir Putin could become Russia’s president after marionating Dimitry Medvedev(the current president) throughout  his entire term.

April; The world marks the centenary of Titanic ships’ sinking.

May; An annular solar eclipse is seen from Guangzhuo and Albuquerque among other states.

June; Egypt goes to the ballot.

July; London hosts Olympics featuring 20 sports.

August; NASA lands a robotic science lab in Mars.

September; US withdraws 33,000 troops from Afghanistan

October; Xi Jinping takes over from Hu Jintao as Chinas’ president in non-democratic elections

November; Obama bids for a second term.

December; Kenya goes to the ballot.

With all these activities, any writer/reporter /tv station is booked A-Z. There is no chance of Joseph in hell that an IDP’s story would find space in a media persons’ calendar. No way.  So sit tight in those tents of yours as we organize your fifth birthday and the many others to come. So long IDP’s, you can join JM Kariuki and Robert Ouko’s murder cases on the government shelves. And as you lounge over there, make friends with the grand corruption case files; you will be camping for much longer time than you thought.