#IAmKenyan, Kenya, Life, Politricks

John is a legend – A Kenyan Pledge


IF YOU HEAR THIS MESSAGE

I will not start this with an introduction about how long I have been away. I will not even refer to the fact that my poems seems to fall on really shallow eardrums. I will not even admit how much of my fault that is. I am normally thinking of a movie I watched when I was 7, referencing an event that happened in 1992 whilst using words of songs produced in 2015. I am the anti type of Ken Saro Wiwa. Asking questions about the government while fearing for the lives of those I care about. Cowering behind rhymes and ambivalent statements. Hoping that some people will get it. A perfect example is this one. Wenyenchi’s theory

Today, that is not the case. I will be honest, I might be brutal, I might even shed some tears on this canvas. But believe you me, today, you will not leave this page trying to figure out what I was on about.

WHEREVER YOU STAND

This message is not being directed to a certain clique of people. I am not speaking to the Kikuyus, the Luos, the government, the voters, the apathetic or the believers.I am speaking to humans. I am asking you to pay heed. To grow, from whence you are. Be a better you. Stop looking at others. The vibes you project onto others reverberate across boundaries, religions and generations. If there is a problem around you. You are either the problem or you are fixing it.

I’M CALLING EVERY WOMAN, CALLING EVERY MAN

We have been part of years of women coming into literacy and power. Still miles away from the dream but women have been shaping and changing the world long before they could vote. Long before women were allowed to get an education. Long before they were allowed to lead. For isn’t every man who has led before, the son of a woman? Did not the same woman not teach him how to wipe his nose and tie his shoe laces? Does he not look up to her more than he can admit? Isn’t a man who believes in “genuine” feminism the proponent of the change the world needs? Isn’t he the guide other growing boys will need as a mentor?

WE’RE THE GENERATION

I have probably heard these 2 statements more than I  would care to count.

“This next generation of teenagers will be the worst adults ever.”

“Our generation was messed up by our parents.”

These statements come from the same group of double tapping, G.O.T loving, keyboard smacking 25 to 35 year old millennials.

They have relinquished their responsibilities in actually making sure they change themselves or mentor the younger generation not to follow into their what they call misplaced and misguided footsteps. The politician who is 30 has no difference from the one who is 60. Most of them are after power, money and fame. The pursuit of who will make the best sponsor.

WHO CAN’T AFFORD TO WAIT

“I will one day open a children’s home. I will one day give like 10% of my money to the poor”. I hear this every month from friends and colleagues. Meanwhile a girl who is 23 has been saving her pocket money by walking part of her distance to college. Keeping fit while at the same time giving others a chance at a well fed life if not a good life. I am in no way chastising you. You mostly choose how you live your life. You should not feel bad about what luck and hard work has borne you. But a bottle of Tusker and a fancy phone cover could buy 20 homeless kids lunch for the day. I am not suggesting that I am any better. I am just giving you an idea. A better way to see the world, a better way to see yourself.

“If you have done well in whatever business you are in, it is your duty to send the elevator back down” –Kevin Spacey

THE FUTURE STARTED YESTERDAY

I was watching the comedy Blackish. In Season 2, Episode title “Hope”, Anthony Anderson goes into a monologue that opens and rips your heart apart. It smashes your skull in as your mind blows all over your already stained carpet. And you go like: “You talking to me? You talking to me?”

“Oh, so you wanna talk about hope, ‘Bow? Obama ran on hope. Remember when he got elected? And we felt like maybe, just maybe, we got out of that bad place and made it to a good place. That the whole country was really ready to turn the corner. You remember that amazing feeling we had during the inauguration? I was sitting right next to you. We were so proud. And we saw him, get out of that limo, and walk alongside of it, and wave to that crowd. Tell me you weren’t terrified when you saw that. Tell me you weren’t worried that someone was gonna snatch that hope away from us like they always do. That is the real world, ‘Bow. And our children need to know that that’s the world they live in.”

In 1992/1993, I cannot be sure as I was very young. While my sister had taken me to Hospital in Limuru at a place we called “Kwa B/Fateri” (I would find out it was Patel years later). Clashes erupted between cops and people who were having a multi-party “Kamukunji”. My sister and I ran and had to plead with a shopkeeper to let us in. And then stay locked in that shop for the next 2 hours before the coast was clear. It has now been 23 years since then. We have enjoyed freedom of speech to a certain extent, we have enjoyed good leadership, again to a certain extent. But in the same years we have seen what complacency can yield. We are comfortable with watching other people’s fathers and sons protest injustice for our sake from the comfort of our homes. We have decided to use the word “reality” vs “idealism” as the reason for our inaction. Can you imagine how many people once thought slavery was a reality? How many people believed colonialism was a reality? Why do you choose to believe that impunity, corruption and injustice is?

AND WE’RE ALREADY LATE

We have seen that the quiet overlooking of laws and the constitution comes for your enemies, your opponents and then for you. We support laws only when they work for us. When the cops inhumanely beat up protesters, hawkers and looters. We nod and agree. Sometimes we even smile and make memes and then laugh some more. When the cops under the same training and disillusioned justice come for one of your own. You are up in arms. You will make noise and tell your friends about how you did not get a government tender because they needed a bribe. The truth is that is not the problem. You could not afford the size of the bribe. Otherwise you would be in jail every week for over-speeding and running red lights. How soon do you decide to change? How soon do you decide not to give up?

You have to let the fear go. We all die in the end. Death comes for us and we can only choose how to face it when it comes.

I don’t want this to be a write up that ignites a spark in one man that he uses to light up the world and burn all our hypocritical iniquities. I want this message to ignite just a big enough flame in every human. I don’t want this to be shared just so we can discuss how many likes it got and whether my blog stats are on the up. Thereafter the message will be lost and the point will one day be found in some deep rusty annals of the wreckage that would have become Kenya.

I am looking for that person who will read this and internalize it. Use it to change a friend or two, a generation or a family. Make sure that even if we don’t get to benefit from the fruits of our actions, our children or their children do; for we do not inherit the Earth from our ancestors but borrow it from our children.

There is nothing as strong as an idea. It gives more will for action than the reality can. The reality is scary but an idea, a probable future is full of hope. I am looking for the person who shall keep this idea burning. If you’re out there….

 

 

 

 

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#IAmKenyan, Deep and overstood, Kenya

Wenyenchi’s theory


I don’t believe that by this time I need an intro.

I am the voice of the people. The dead, the broken, the ones who have left us.

You may try your best to get rid of me but I shall live on.

Will what I tell you be disseminated for free?

Or will you bottle it and try to sell it to the next investor who is willing to pay a kickback?

May 16th; is this the day you would like etched in our annals as the day winter fell?

Changed our love, our hospitality to some cold-hearted, demonic hatred?

Just because I weep in my sleep does not qualify as a wet dream.

Oh my King can’t I just have your ear for these few minutes?

Maybe I can help change the mindset of our institutionalized people.

Maybe we could finally grow past the emotional whims of our ’08 adolescence?

I have been to Nyayo house, and if these walls could talk they would spew out quite the horror stories.

A tale of two citizens with the power to make the best of my beloved country.

Are you really listening?

Because whether God got us but you cost us are we really gonna be alright?

We have changed slavery and colonialism, packed it in more palatable chains.

The Fire squad carries batons and they aim way before we are even ready to run.

Just like our votes, has our peace and freedom really become for sale?

Has it really been that long since I checked in as righteous as a saint in Tropez?

Before my momma knew that I would ever find myself in the middle of this blood politics?

How much does a life cost? I dare ask you.

If you start by explaining which tribe or which faction the soul is from, I strongly urge you to:

Get off my…..

Definition, because you are no role model and have no right to advise me on matters humanity, complexion, religion and culture.

Hello.

Are you still on the line?

Have you decided to make the blacker the berry, the bitter the truths I tell you?

You ain’t gotta lie, I have heard that apparently it is inherently in you to only love yours.

In this regard as I hear you drop the call. I seek to remind you.

You are a mortal man. So are we all.

Mortal men.

#IAmKenyan, Politricks

Meciria


mzee-jomo-kenyatta-nipate genchina tumblr_inline_mta8tcZiH71qjlvoh
Wakaratha ngûkûratha na nyama ciaku îkûheo Njaû ûrîa wateire mûka.
Ngûcoka ngûhûrithie ihiga ta nguo cikîhurûo nî njûka.
Ndigiri cia Warubaga ti njirû ta cia Rîmuru.
No mîrigo cikuaga oroûmwe cia mwega na mûru.
Ûkîjûî ndî mbia ta mbîa ya kanitha îhong’okete îkagûa casino.
Îgaikia mîthirimo mbere ta taratari cia kariko.
Mwomboko ti witû thikû tûrî.
Nyîmbo maraina ta kîmero maranengererio bure.
Gûkû nîkuo ûkwenda gûikara?
Ndûreke ngûhûre kibiriti ûcure ta ikara?
Thuthaini nîmegûgwakîra mwîcûhio.
Merage ciana cia ciana ciaku ûrîa warî mûhiû.
Kîguoya kîanûkîire nyina.
Norîû we tiga ngui îno yaku ndûrî kîna.
Ndikuona ukîhonoka haha.
Thoguo athie kûrûa, nyûkwa ombirwo nî ngati.
Narîu megwîtharîkîire nginya ni matarûra cati.
Marakwîra ûritîte ta gîthana.
Na mareciria nî guoya nîkîo ûrathithina.
Irimû nîo tondû matirona kîrîa ubangîte.
Gîkuû gîaku gîgûciara mbara ona ûtanungîte.
Warî gîko matanakunîka maniûrû maku na bamba.
Narîu wariûka ûrî njamba.

#IAmKenyan, Culture, Deep and overstood, Kenya, Life, Love, Politricks, Prose, Travel, War

The Man in the Mirror needs to be Kenyan


I had a harder time coming up with a title for this post than I had writing it. This is because I always knew how I would tell the story. How I would pass the story across. How despite my Kiswahili influenced phrase translation, I knew most of my audience would get it. That’s because they are Kenyan. When they read this, they don’t apply a particular accent to it. No, they use that familiar pronunciation that most are accustomed to. Yes, that way Kenyans speak that makes people always question where I’m from every time I travel. They seem to easily recognize the Oga and other Western African accents, I have been told the Tanzanian’s English is more sing-song than we can tell. And of course in Omugurusi’s country, they are easy to identify and well popularised by the hilarious Anne Kansiime.

Most of us especially writers insist on writing British English despite the fact that it’s harder to speak in the same accent. We have “U’s” in humour, favourite and all our endeavours. See what I did there? We also have “S” in place of “Z” in the past participle of most verbs. I actually forcefully use the S in my posts no matter how many red lines appear under my words. If you have been on my blog before, you will realise that these first two paragraphs are what I use to get my mind to focus. ADD is a bitter gift and a sweet curse. But I have the hang of it now.

About 3 weeks ago, I was to do a post that would have started with the simple phrase: “I HATE KENYA!!” My reasons would have been justified. As far as my perspective was concerned. See, I had been in Angola for just over 2 weeks. In those 2 weeks, I had to contend with knowing  blood was flowing back at home. My brothers and sisters were getting killed or maimed for life. And this had prompted quite an emotional post from the south side of Africa. Ironically, here I was in a country that had experienced civil war into the 21st century. They had obviously learnt their lesson from what I could see around. They all mostly speak Portuguese and marry without discrimination on tribe or colour bases. This is saying a lot. The country has a machete in its flag for Chrissake. And yes, I know that was not the intended meaning.

Cogs, Machetes and Stars. But still peace reigns.
Cogs, Machetes and Stars. But still peace reigns.

Back to why I hated Kenya at that particular moment. I landed on a Monday at 3 am. And I was still a bit sad from the news I had read while abroad. I was supposed to be off  work for the next 2 days due to travel and jet-lag. But I had a conference on Tuesday and so despite the fatigue, I was up by 6 am to pick up a Ugandan guest who was here to attend said conference. Long story short, by 8 am that day, I was not nodding off to sleep at Geographical Information Systems conference. I was standing in a stuffy, ammonia smelling, wall graffiti ridden room at Kibera Law Courts.

It’s still art no? #Scofield Moments

Yes, I had been arrested. For failing to use a pretty non-existent pedestrian crossing as I crossed Waiyaki way. Yes, I was at fault as long as the rule of law is concerned. But, yes I would do the same thing over and over as I told the cops as other guests at the back of the “Maria” tried to negotiate for their release. The thing is, on Waiyaki way, it does not matter where you cross the road, (that is unless you have a foot bridge close to you), you still have to rush across it like a demented oryx who learnt how to walk from Bambi to avoid getting hit by the onrushing traffic. See, no one slows down at the said pedestrian crossings. Some cars actually seem to speed up near them so as to avoid traffic that might be caused by people crossing. It does not help the case that the road is sometimes widest at these same points. I tried asking why not arrest the reckless drivers first who have made the pedestrian crossings unusable. I got comically stupid answers like “We will start with you today then we will move to the drivers.” Yes, you would have to use the Pedestrian crossing for the moment and if you got hit while following the law, they would make sure the driver paid heavily for your physiotherapy or your funeral. I had to pocket just to avoid slapping the tiny brain out of his ear.

But the arrest alone was not the reason I was so angry at the country. Neither the fact that I had to wait a whole day, standing till my old sports injured foot hurt like hell to pay a one thousand Kenya shillings fine. Nor was it the fact that some people charged the previous day with the same offence had been fined 20K or a month in jail. I thanked my stars I was not one of them. No, I was angry at the fact that in that one day, we were about 1000 people that were charged with such a minor traffic offence. I was angry as I saw a man arrested carrying business wares in a paper bag; weep at the fact that he could not afford the fine. Yes the poor would become more poor. But most of all I was angry at the fact the perpetrators of Mpeketoni attacks had gone through traffic blockades without getting arrested. I was angry that the grenade attackers had evaded these same cops. This great law enforcement order that could arrest 1000 people in one day for not crossing the road properly. Yes, they had missed an internationally re-known terrorist who would end up bringing terror and bloodshed at Westgate. Yes, my innate patriotism was gone. I could not afford to be loyal to this country. The next chance I got for better pastures, I would not even cross the border chewing cud. But that was 3 weeks ago.

My rationale is always too strong. So with time, love for my country has come back. As always we know who to blame. But we always forget about the man in the mirror. Yes, 26 years since the Michael Jackson hit. We still sing along without taking into account the lyrics. I will not adopt a holier than thou attitude and pretend I have not been in the least bit tribal before. But I have over time always worked to negate any history I might have had with that ugly attribute. I actually stopped using my actual second name so that one could not easily tell what tribe I was from. That way we could act with no prejudice. Be friends unconditionally. My 7 best friends are Kalenjin, Punjabi, Meru, Giriama, Luo, Kamba and Taita. I did not choose for them to be. No, their personalities are what makes them be accorded such honours. I have to state that I am Kikuyu otherwise this will not make sense. In that cell, my best friend was a Luo. Yes, in the eyes of our so-called leaders, we are supposed to be water and oil. They make jokes that never can you eat Omena with Githeri. Such shameless and archaic analogies.

We had been talking since the bumpy, overloaded, no-safety belt ride from Waiyaki way via Ngong road to Kibera. None was benefiting from the other. We just shared jokes and political quips. But by the end of the day, the relationship was forced to become symbiotic. He had no one to pay for his fine at the bank so I had my best friend do it for him. And with his knowledge of the Luo language he made sure he negotiated with the senior cop so we did not sleep in a cell. He was a brother in alms. (Yes I spelled that right). We even took the same cab to work from the hell in a cell. “Omera, Nyasaye ogwedhi”

I hope this is not the rapper, but it just might be..

I have written a post on how I was taught how to love growing up. One thing I was not taught is how to hate. I was actually taught of how evil that would be. How much of a sin that was. In later life when certain people have driven me to such an extent. i have only learnt of how consuming hate is on the person producing it than the one receiving it. It is a cancer. And its consequences are almost as deadly if not worse.

Yes, we called Luos, “Mera” growing up but that had loads to do with the repeated phrase; “Omera” . Which I later came to learn is one of the most endearing words in the language as it means “my brother”. I admired the Luo workers who used to live in Central Province then. This number has since significantly dwindled. They were hardworking, astute, muscular and if you know me then you would knowI kind of very much followed in these footsteps. (Just like being Luo, GymRat is a lifestyle 🙂 ) I have said before, I am a child of the world. I really do not care where my good qualities come from. All humans are my brothers and sisters. My enemies are those who try to oppress them or hurt them regardless of their creed, race or tribe.

Because whichever political rally you attend, whomever you vote for. It’s that neighbour you sell your wares too, that driver who drives your kids to school, that friend in your network who informs you of a vacancy at his workplace. That is your real friend. When in need, your wedding committees, your burial and funeral arrangements, your hospital bill Harambee does not have IDs being checked for tribal name tags. Yet, all and sundry who have known you, have respected you and have loved you will show up at your door.

We do not inherit the earth from our ancestors; we borrow it from our children

We are the perfect generation to exact change in this country. We are not the leaders of tomorrow but those of today. We can change two generations at once. We can change our parents and make sure our kids never learn otherwise. They learn nothing but love. They never learn to be Luo, Kikuyu, Kamba or Kalenjin. Teach them to be Kenyan. Yes I know it will be not be easy. Nothing worth it ever is. You cannot give up on this. The whole country will depend on you. Your heroism will be unsung. Not a single verse will be written in your honour. But I will stand too. I am sure as hell that I am not alone. My brothers and sisters from all parts of Kenya already ride with me. Are you willing to join me? I am not a Kikuyu, I am not black. #IAmKenyan

This will not be poetic, this will not be prose.

And for some time the thorns will outshine the rose.

The book will not be written. The history not recorded.

The wise will understand for the message will be coded.

The blind will hear the message and communicate it to the deaf.

The couriers will be the dumb so the secret will never be known.

We will have not seen, heard or said anything evil.

The war will be fought by the crippled, master minded by the bald heads of cancer patients.

You see the battle will not need brute strength.

The lid on the jar is already open and the concern will be how to get it back on.

The man in the mirror will already be one with his reflection.

The step of the Boy Scouts will sound like the army, but we will not hear it.

The bubble wrap around this new world will sound like gunshots but we will not fear it.

Peace, love and unity will be tissue thin but we will not tear it.

The struggle will be real but we will bear it.  

THE DIVINE BANDIT October 17, 2013

Check out: http://iamkenyan.or.ke/

Deep and overstood, Hip hop, Kenya, Life, Politricks

No Angel


Another one from TDB and his grandson

Doing something to change the world.

Still on hold.

Not so bold.

It’s like am waiting till I get some gold.

Nod like I can’t do it in my current mode.

My ideology to the public ensure its sold.

Not rich enough, powerful enough but still can offset some load.

Start an idea, change the mood.

However small still consider it good.

Through my words and ideas, revive some hood.

Never experienced poverty, slept without getting food.

Still got no laxity in helping however I could.

No angel just don’t see the point of having too much while others have too little.

Allow me to intrude your comfort zone don’t wanna be rude.

Point out the injustices leave you nude.

The divine bandit shoot ‘em up reload.


High as a kite.

We gonna win this fight.

Gonna take this flight.

As we have no fright.

I tell you this feels right.

We kill all fear tonight.

I am the divine bandit and I rhyme cos it’s my right.

My dreams I never lose sight.

Whatever the recipe I always take a bite.

Make a home for my wayward mind as I survey the site.

Look at my forefathers as I do this rite.

Pour a drink to them as I pray for height.

My heart and head are heavy never light.

So strong yet they ignore my might.

I breathe these words and make this verse tight.

I am on the weighing scale check my weight.

Love QWERTY but on this touch-pad I write.

I wanna continue but I got this date.

That I consider to be my fate.

So I’m never late.

Always early to open the gate.

I shine on these words at a higher rate.

You need not applause just make sure you never hate.


Back at me still biting the bait.

Too soon don’t rate.

Just set up a date.

To bring change and not with Cate.

Got potential to change their fate.

Not solo got the support of my mate, Ed not Nate.

Start up a few projects.

Listen to society not just object.

Understand the root of the problem before trying to eject.

Less our efforts just lead to more neglect.

Made a leaflet, the eye light.

Addressing issues uncensored that will definitely leave your stomach tight.

Kids dying while food we eyeing.

Human rights activists mysteriously dying.

The church joining in their game of lying.

Corruption, embezzlement and negligence around us flying.

Not enough just praying.

A foundation to bring change we should all be laying.

Starts with you as an individual before our neighbors we start slaying.

Hope my words lead to some gratification.

Strong willed cos of my affection.

Raise the alarm get some attention.

Try to facilitate their accessibility to basic needs and highlight their oppression.

This my consideration of an ultimate penetration.

Deep and overstood, Hip hop, Life, Love, Politricks

Somewhere


Guest post by Le Kapu

Somewhere in the darkness hidden in plain sight
No need to adjust the light to feel his might
Exists a star, shimmers once in a while awaiting the opportune moment to light
Somewhere deep in the silence, lies a dreamer
Just getting it wrong on the timer
The spotlight missing him, but never losing hope of reaching that spot that shines brighter
Listen closely and you can hear his bellow of a fighter
Somewhere swallowed in loneliness, exists a lover
Masked by a past of heartache, now just an observer
Hidden in a shell of mistrust that acts as his cover
Yet with each heartbeat he converts into a believer
Somewhere behind the sweat swamped faces is one with a salty mixture of tears
Shed as he tries to figure life’s complex ideas
Not satisfied of living a life that is in arrear
A warrior just looking for that problem solver
Hoping he doesn’t end up on the wrong end of a revolver

Deep and overstood, Kenya, Life, Love, Politricks

I AM BECOME TRUTH


I have watched and waited.

For the truth to come out.
Why they killed our best leaders.
Why there is no one else to teach us.
I have watched and waited.
For one who would see through the system.
Confront it unbiased and come out victorious.
For one who would tread the floors of Nyayo house again.
Walking barefoot for there are no shoes to fill.
I have watched and waited.
For one to confront BIG TOBACCO.
Take away the smoke screen.
Stagger to the drunken table of BIG ALCOHOL.
Get rid of that hangover once and for all.
I have watched and waited.
For that girl who tells on the philandering husband to the wife.
For the STD prone one who carries his own condoms.
For that HR who tells an employee he is being underpaid.
For that boss who admits his mistakes and lays himself down for the bus.
I have watched and waited.
For that best friend who tells you to respect women.
For those girl cliques that admit their new style is shady.
For that preacher who has more fingers on the Bible than a bosom.
For that street urchin with more of a clue than glue.
I have watched and waited.
No one was forthcoming.
Just a 3rd world and soon fourth coming.
My empathetic heart has seen no sympathy.
Calls rejected, call it SIM apathy.
But now I am become that person.

In the battle with chance.
And being bludgeoned by circumstance.
In the fight to be the captain of my soul.
And sticking to forever solo.
I will tell the stories.
Of liars and cheaters.
Lion carcasses and cheetahs.
Of haram MPigs.
And sausage fests full of wigs.
I will declare my undying love for the Lord.
Yet question interpretations of His Word.
I will admit that my liver has seen better days.
And my lungs have breathed in better ways.
I will speak of my divinity.
While showcasing my banditry.
I will flow in rhyme.
I will grow and prime.
I will love and lose.
I will have and muse.
I will speak my flaws.
And stick to my goals.
I will be active not an activist.
I will choose colours but not be racist.
I will speak my thoughts.
I will display my faults.
I may not be the punishment of God.
But I am become truth.