Kenya, I have been you and now I am Kikuyu
I was all of us and now I am them
I am the enemy within the friend
I have bought a loaf of bread for 5 shillings
I held out my hand in ’92 and cried DP! – Kobole!
Kenya I wanted only four kids,
All of them legitimate
Kenya I need to afford a condom
My wife wants to see me ejaculate
Get me some pills
Kenya, my grandfather drove out the white man
Next year is 2012 and I hope the white man remembers it
Somebody will try to kill me
And somebody will kill for me
I will be hungry and I will need USAID
I want to give my Kikuyu name as my CV
I want to be prime minister for being a commentator
Am an octogenarian, make me president
I say nothing when I say it best, make me the government spokesman
Kenya I am young, I am tomorrow’s leader
Tomorrow is the day after I die
I went to school, Kenya
And Kenya, you made Kalembe Ndile my employer
AIDs wants to kill me
I want to abstain, Kenya
But prostitutes are cheap
And Kenya I don’t like the gay man looking at my ass
Kenya my cousin is dying of hunger in North Eastern
I will be shot by a policeman or a thug in Nairobi
My friend had an accident on the way to Kisumu
Kenya I know life ends in death
But Kenya, why won’t I die fat and old in my sleep?
Thursday, August 4
Sunday, January 16
HAGUE: THE USUAL SUSPECTS, THE USUAL BENEFICIARIES
If after looking at the Ocampo list I could pick a surprise, it would only be Arap Sang. And even then, it would only be because I was neither in the Rift Valley nor had I ever read any of the human rights reports on the PEV. He was the only one a little surprised by his inclusion in the list such that he had to wait till the next day to issue a statement.
That all is just a by the way for me. In light of the naming, a different ball game has emerged all together. the score in this one right now is not whether these suspects will be local heroes but who takes up their part when they are gone. The people in the driving seat of this 'take-over' project with the help of the blind suspects are Isaac Ruto, Jeremiah Kioni, Naivasha's Mututho, Joshua Kutuny and their homies. their game plan is based entirely on two of Ocampo's actions: one is to act politically by naming an equal number of suspects from each side of the coalition and the other is that Ocampo will be seeking summons to the Hague rather than arrest warrants.
Asking for summons rather than warrants would ensure that the suspect are still here in 2012. even if they cannot vie, they will be the heroes and their endorsements will be the heavyweight votes. Nobody (except them) wants that. Thus 'project delete them from the picture' emerged.
Ocampo realised that naming an equal number of suspects from each party would grant him political will and overcome the hitches he has come across in other polarised countries. Naming so many members from one community and too few from another may have granted Kenya a resurrection of the violence too, the main suspect creating instability to protect their own. That would have been politically correct by public opinion. The political advocates of the suspects realise that, but they also know they can score a few points. This point has been made numerously, including by the prime minister in parliament. It was used to persuade members to support the motion urging the government to abandon the ICC.
That motion has been called silly, inane and a piece of shit paper, as far as helping the suspects legally goes. I agree, but then its drafters had never intended it to help the suspects. Everything these people do is meant to be the proverbial stone that hits two birds at a go.
The day after the naming, I was lucky enough to come across the demonstrators against Uhuru's inclusion in the list. the demonstration was led by among others Waititu and Simon Mbugua. Unlike other political events, the MPs did quite a poor job of paying off the demonstrating hooligans to a point where they were caught on camera. The message to the ICC is not hard to decipher. Mututho was on the record the next day asking people to support Uhuru, even financially. Everywhere the political advocates of the suspects open their mouths, applause welcomes their speeches. They have overcome the first hurdle; impressing the suspects enough to become their political bosom buddies. Now whenever you see a suspect, there is one of these MPs in the vicinity ready to fire at Ocampo.
They are slowly mounting the second barrier; gaining an audience receptive enough and supportive of their course. To make it easier, they are holding their rallies in the areas where it is okay to say, "Ni nyinyi mnatafutwa". To their benefit, that area is large enough to win an election which makes the project worthwhile. In the end, they are the best friends the suspects could have and lonely voices of 'stop persecuting the heroes' campaign.
Having mounted such strong opposition to the ICC process; legally, in demonstration and political statements and being such close friends of the suspects, the ICC will have little choice but to issue arrest warrants against the suspects. Fiefdoms must be inherited, this will be done by whoever makes the arrests the greatest agenda at that time and whoever stands with the suspects to the bitter end. So you think Isaac Ruto has a peacock's brain, but when you see him you are looking at the face of the next King of the Rift Valley. And he has learnt it from William Ruto who did it to Moi. It is a game played well for some time. Just like Kibaki and Raila and a tranche of their cabinet.
It is the short and simple story of kingpins and their cronies.
In a nutshell, all the noise sends one message to the ICC, these suspects will not cooperate if they are free. When the ICC acts, the noisemakers will takeover; being the emergent heroes. The good news is, till they take over, they will use little of their money.
That all is just a by the way for me. In light of the naming, a different ball game has emerged all together. the score in this one right now is not whether these suspects will be local heroes but who takes up their part when they are gone. The people in the driving seat of this 'take-over' project with the help of the blind suspects are Isaac Ruto, Jeremiah Kioni, Naivasha's Mututho, Joshua Kutuny and their homies. their game plan is based entirely on two of Ocampo's actions: one is to act politically by naming an equal number of suspects from each side of the coalition and the other is that Ocampo will be seeking summons to the Hague rather than arrest warrants.
Asking for summons rather than warrants would ensure that the suspect are still here in 2012. even if they cannot vie, they will be the heroes and their endorsements will be the heavyweight votes. Nobody (except them) wants that. Thus 'project delete them from the picture' emerged.
Ocampo realised that naming an equal number of suspects from each party would grant him political will and overcome the hitches he has come across in other polarised countries. Naming so many members from one community and too few from another may have granted Kenya a resurrection of the violence too, the main suspect creating instability to protect their own. That would have been politically correct by public opinion. The political advocates of the suspects realise that, but they also know they can score a few points. This point has been made numerously, including by the prime minister in parliament. It was used to persuade members to support the motion urging the government to abandon the ICC.
That motion has been called silly, inane and a piece of shit paper, as far as helping the suspects legally goes. I agree, but then its drafters had never intended it to help the suspects. Everything these people do is meant to be the proverbial stone that hits two birds at a go.
The day after the naming, I was lucky enough to come across the demonstrators against Uhuru's inclusion in the list. the demonstration was led by among others Waititu and Simon Mbugua. Unlike other political events, the MPs did quite a poor job of paying off the demonstrating hooligans to a point where they were caught on camera. The message to the ICC is not hard to decipher. Mututho was on the record the next day asking people to support Uhuru, even financially. Everywhere the political advocates of the suspects open their mouths, applause welcomes their speeches. They have overcome the first hurdle; impressing the suspects enough to become their political bosom buddies. Now whenever you see a suspect, there is one of these MPs in the vicinity ready to fire at Ocampo.
They are slowly mounting the second barrier; gaining an audience receptive enough and supportive of their course. To make it easier, they are holding their rallies in the areas where it is okay to say, "Ni nyinyi mnatafutwa". To their benefit, that area is large enough to win an election which makes the project worthwhile. In the end, they are the best friends the suspects could have and lonely voices of 'stop persecuting the heroes' campaign.
Having mounted such strong opposition to the ICC process; legally, in demonstration and political statements and being such close friends of the suspects, the ICC will have little choice but to issue arrest warrants against the suspects. Fiefdoms must be inherited, this will be done by whoever makes the arrests the greatest agenda at that time and whoever stands with the suspects to the bitter end. So you think Isaac Ruto has a peacock's brain, but when you see him you are looking at the face of the next King of the Rift Valley. And he has learnt it from William Ruto who did it to Moi. It is a game played well for some time. Just like Kibaki and Raila and a tranche of their cabinet.
It is the short and simple story of kingpins and their cronies.
In a nutshell, all the noise sends one message to the ICC, these suspects will not cooperate if they are free. When the ICC acts, the noisemakers will takeover; being the emergent heroes. The good news is, till they take over, they will use little of their money.
That first safari/ The day I was born
I knew the time had finally come when contractions began coming in quick succession. It was no surprise. I had grown so big and I had recently been wishing for more space. I had become so strong that when I kicked she would sit down and groan. Some hair was beginning to form on my head and my nose seemed to be as perfect as they come. So when I heard an echo saying “Push”, I lay back to hurry this thing up.
When I got out, the first thing I saw was a wildly haired man. There was a pool of blood around me and a lot of panting all engulfed in an aura of success, welcome and happiness. A woman in her mid life who had lost her shape a long time ago wrapped me up. The guy with a hairy face held out his index finger and slapped me with it. I cried and they were all happy. They were beating me in my mum's presence! Perhaps that was the reason why years later I would only threaten people by saying, “I’ll tell my dad”. I started my journey in this world on a sadistic note, but I hoped it was only that one man. There was little care in the woman's arms, maybe from the fact of her handling so many of us. I hated her hands. Thank God she made haste to pass me to her assistant, the interning nurse dressed in blue. I was passed on to my sweat-dripped, crying mum. She was glowing with love in her eyes and I wanted to remain in her arms. These other people around had other ideas. We were torn apart and I was put into a trolley of sorts. Mum needed rest and apparently I did too. But first, I had to undergo some tests in another place.
It was quite a long way (or so it seemed then) to my intended destination and full of discovery. Just out of mum's room, there was a room full of women, some expectant. They were really ugly in those gowns. One of them, close to the far corner by the exit, was writhing in her bed. The nurses just went past without even checking and I thought they were pathetic until the doctor commented, “When will this woman ever let people have some peace?” the other women in the ward could not pay any attention, they each had a bundle of their own worries. Nobody can afford to be the baggage bag of the world.
The next ward was a stinking piece of work, literally. There were wounded people all over. Some coughing their lungs out. Here the doctor would stop the nurse here and there, issue some instructions and move on. Everybody kept calling 'doctor' and he kept ignoring them. The intern always wanted to reply to those calling her, but you could see she was learning the trade. She could ignore with just a pinch of indifference. First the doctor stopped by the third bed on the right side. A young men whose face screamed to me the cruelty of the world lay there, lost in pain. He had his legs and right hand in bandages. The doctor read the instruction sheet out loud and I understood he was the victim of mob justice at Globe Roundabout. At the next stop I could not tell for sure, but it looked like the patient had just canceled my plus one addition to the population. The victim of a gang or the police (nobody knew which), he had been left for dead with deep cuts. The doctors left him there so I guess he was still alive, but he was not there when I went back to see mum. There was a really young boy – they said so, he was big to me - of 15 years. He had survived an arson attack during a school strike. The patient on the last bed to the left complained that he had been asking help for his neighbour in vain. The doctor checked the patient on the second last bed. After a short while of moving a stethoscope all over the patients chest with urgency, he pulled up the bed cover and covered the patient. “Take care of him'” he said to the nurse. We left the ward, a few patients cried, I think more in fear than to mourn. The one who had called out looked at the doctor like the angel of death.
The corridor was horrible. Soon as I had had my first sight of it I closed my eyes. There was a man with a broken femur with the edges showing. The corridor was full of people, some on the floor. Noisy and full of cries. I only opened my eyes again when all the noise was gone. Just then we hit a pothole and almost immediately came to a stop. I found myself in a room with another twenty babies or there about. Some of the babies were placed two in a crib. It was a glass house. The intern picked me up and placed me in a basket. Their reaction said my weight was okay for this world. They transferred me to the far end and I was glad. Close to the entrance was a woman with her lawyer, a policeman and an administrator. She had a story to tell. The story was really short. Some one had sold or exchanged her child. She had had a boy and was later given an older one.
As I lay back in my crib to rest, I could not help but reflect on my time on earth. The only smile I had seen was the fatigue-coated one from my mum. The rest of the place had been stinking and bad looking. The people were sadistic and indifferent. It seemed to me I had just married trouble and I was getting on so well with her sister; disappointment. Had I had the opportunity to make a request, I would have wanted to be taken – in supersonic speed- all the way back, and straight back into the womb. In that first journey in this world, I knew I would not mind to remain a sperm. My only care would be to swim and enjoy the irresponsibility of men and women.
When I got out, the first thing I saw was a wildly haired man. There was a pool of blood around me and a lot of panting all engulfed in an aura of success, welcome and happiness. A woman in her mid life who had lost her shape a long time ago wrapped me up. The guy with a hairy face held out his index finger and slapped me with it. I cried and they were all happy. They were beating me in my mum's presence! Perhaps that was the reason why years later I would only threaten people by saying, “I’ll tell my dad”. I started my journey in this world on a sadistic note, but I hoped it was only that one man. There was little care in the woman's arms, maybe from the fact of her handling so many of us. I hated her hands. Thank God she made haste to pass me to her assistant, the interning nurse dressed in blue. I was passed on to my sweat-dripped, crying mum. She was glowing with love in her eyes and I wanted to remain in her arms. These other people around had other ideas. We were torn apart and I was put into a trolley of sorts. Mum needed rest and apparently I did too. But first, I had to undergo some tests in another place.
It was quite a long way (or so it seemed then) to my intended destination and full of discovery. Just out of mum's room, there was a room full of women, some expectant. They were really ugly in those gowns. One of them, close to the far corner by the exit, was writhing in her bed. The nurses just went past without even checking and I thought they were pathetic until the doctor commented, “When will this woman ever let people have some peace?” the other women in the ward could not pay any attention, they each had a bundle of their own worries. Nobody can afford to be the baggage bag of the world.
The next ward was a stinking piece of work, literally. There were wounded people all over. Some coughing their lungs out. Here the doctor would stop the nurse here and there, issue some instructions and move on. Everybody kept calling 'doctor' and he kept ignoring them. The intern always wanted to reply to those calling her, but you could see she was learning the trade. She could ignore with just a pinch of indifference. First the doctor stopped by the third bed on the right side. A young men whose face screamed to me the cruelty of the world lay there, lost in pain. He had his legs and right hand in bandages. The doctor read the instruction sheet out loud and I understood he was the victim of mob justice at Globe Roundabout. At the next stop I could not tell for sure, but it looked like the patient had just canceled my plus one addition to the population. The victim of a gang or the police (nobody knew which), he had been left for dead with deep cuts. The doctors left him there so I guess he was still alive, but he was not there when I went back to see mum. There was a really young boy – they said so, he was big to me - of 15 years. He had survived an arson attack during a school strike. The patient on the last bed to the left complained that he had been asking help for his neighbour in vain. The doctor checked the patient on the second last bed. After a short while of moving a stethoscope all over the patients chest with urgency, he pulled up the bed cover and covered the patient. “Take care of him'” he said to the nurse. We left the ward, a few patients cried, I think more in fear than to mourn. The one who had called out looked at the doctor like the angel of death.
The corridor was horrible. Soon as I had had my first sight of it I closed my eyes. There was a man with a broken femur with the edges showing. The corridor was full of people, some on the floor. Noisy and full of cries. I only opened my eyes again when all the noise was gone. Just then we hit a pothole and almost immediately came to a stop. I found myself in a room with another twenty babies or there about. Some of the babies were placed two in a crib. It was a glass house. The intern picked me up and placed me in a basket. Their reaction said my weight was okay for this world. They transferred me to the far end and I was glad. Close to the entrance was a woman with her lawyer, a policeman and an administrator. She had a story to tell. The story was really short. Some one had sold or exchanged her child. She had had a boy and was later given an older one.
As I lay back in my crib to rest, I could not help but reflect on my time on earth. The only smile I had seen was the fatigue-coated one from my mum. The rest of the place had been stinking and bad looking. The people were sadistic and indifferent. It seemed to me I had just married trouble and I was getting on so well with her sister; disappointment. Had I had the opportunity to make a request, I would have wanted to be taken – in supersonic speed- all the way back, and straight back into the womb. In that first journey in this world, I knew I would not mind to remain a sperm. My only care would be to swim and enjoy the irresponsibility of men and women.
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