Kibaki the Marionette

Give This Over and Done With

April First’s Here

Tomorrow is April fools day. Many people are going to be lied to, cheated and duped without having an inkling of what’s going on.
Some newspapers and other media outlets will go an extra mile to come up with ‘shocker’ stories, scintillating headlines and lead stories (that they will call April fools stories on 2nd of April!).

I remember, when I was in high school, some fourth form students played an Aprils fools trick on first formers that literally (nay!) broke my ribs. I laughed myself hoarse. (Form one students used to be called MONOS in some other schools but we used to call them RABBLES at Starehe).

The rabbles were woken up very early that Saturday April First by the form fours. They were told, categorically, that they were to take their mattresses to the school laundry for washing (oh, save me the…!).

In their naivety, they took up their mattresses and bounded towards the school laundry. It was a sight to behold! Mattresses of all colours and sizes could be seen gracing the ‘air’ of the school. Poor boys! They didn’t even realise that they were playing the ‘lead roles’ in the comedy that was being produced by the form four students!!

The laundry man (a Mr. Mugendi), on seeing the sea of humanity bounding towards the laundry building (with mattresses in the air), just shook his head not knowing what to think. He stood at the door and waited for the ‘gullible guys’. When they got to where he was, they set their mattresses down and waited to be told what to do ‘next’.

“We have brought the mattresses,” they said. Mr. Mugendi just looked at them and asked to know the whys and wherefores. On hearing the reason why they had brought their mattresses, he burst into a long, raucous and guttural laughter.

“My boys, it is April fools day. They have made fools of you. We don’t launder mattresses here. I don’t think you do that at your homes, either. Or do you?”

With egg on their faces, the rabbles took up their ‘belongings’ and trudged back to their dorms vowing in their hearts that they would pull someone’s leg come next April fools.

Be careful that no one pulls your leg tomorrow, won’t you?

Can You Work Out These Puzzles?

Mobitelea?

Kenyans have been through too much: Please don't ROB them off their 'birth right' this once.

Hope at the End of the Dark Tunnel for Zimbabwe?

Zimbabweans go to the polls this weekend amid so much pressure. What with soaring commodity prices and inflation past the 100,000% mark and still 'heating up'.

President Mugabe called for the reduction of commodity prices yesterday but least can be done about it, as it were. One only wonders why politicians think that the electorate are dunder heads and can not understand what is happening.

We hope that the three contestants for the presidential seat have the interests of the country at heart. If they don't, then the country is headed for harder times.

Mr Mugabe

Dr Simba Makoni


Mr Morgan Tsvangirai

A Man’s World

This is a recollection of my growing up as a boy at Eastlands in Nairobi.

Tears welled in my eyes,
As memories reigned supreme,
Memories less flattering,
Memories that still linger.

I once was,
A small boy of pity,
Helpless, weak,
And depended, for support, on mother.

When the boy next door,
Came brandishing his fist,
I scurried to mother calling,
And only insulted at her side.

I was jeered at,
By other boys,
Who had the energy to waste,
Playing their dirty paper ball!

The slightest,
Bullying and punching,
Broke my heart of glass,
And hot tears streamed my cheeks.

Softie, mother’s boy,
Were their descriptions of me,
Girlish boy, they sneered,
As a sock came hurtling my way.

How vulnerable I was,
How puerile,
Stupid, even,
For a boy to expect a smooth sail.

In the evening, my father chided,
Son, taking a loaded punch,
Swallowing a maiming insult,
Are the ingredients of a man’s world.

Are You a Thankful Being?

It beats me when people say one thing while in essence they mean something totally different: they say 'red' when they mean 'black'. This kind of vacillation is very evident especially in matters concerning the weather. When it's cold, they want it hot; when it's hot, they want it freezing! (Blue blistering b…!)

The poem below, which I wrote on 5th of May 1997, was occasioned by this human response to the capricious quality of weather.

God's Country

The sun rises with renewed anger,
With rage, it 'serves' its heat,
To the life below;
People cower,
Plants shrink and droop –
Heat by day, cold by night,
Days turn to months.

Plants, angered by this routine,
Refuse to bear fruit,
Making futile the efforts of man,
To till, level and sow,
On dry ground,
Famine envelops the country

Leaves turn brown and crispy,
Shed they are, wanted no more,
Plants wither and zap! disappear,
People grow thin
And, a ‘sun tan's’ a must.

After months on end,
Clouds sparsely gather,
Becoming a big, black mass,
They growl, declaring war on sun,
Then they spit to the ground,
Their hard-earned spittle.

Plants less with anger,
And full of bloom, sprout,
Giving the country a green,
Expanse of leafy mass,
That promises fruit,
To hungry beings.

People gain weight,
Eating the fruits of their labour;
But then:
Mud spoils their shoes,
Colds cost their pay,
The weather spoils their day,
Is all thanks they have to God.

P.S. I love good poetry. I also love to write poems, in addition to other forms of writing.

Sunday Doodles: Of Rides and Crazy Fellows

Have you ever travelled at the back of an open lorry on a rough, bumpy, country road? If you have, then, the poem below 'holds' a similar experience. I promise you, it’s not the best of experiences.

A ride I took on 22nd of December the year 2001 occasioned the poem below. I was travelling to a certain part of Central Kenya (some kilometres from Nyahururu) to attend the wedding ceremony of a friend. The place was Shamata.
To digress, Shamata is well known for two principal things: biting cold and potatoes. When I arrived at Shamata, I looked like a baboon as I had ridden at the back of a lorry. What with dust all over my face, clothes and shoes; swollen hands and a throbbing headache! (And to think I was to attend a wedding…) I hate to remember the experience.

Rough, Bumpy Ride

'twas on 22nd of December,
The year two thousand and one,
When the mother of all bumpy rides,
Called out my three names.

I took my place in the lorry;
Sweet peace inundated my heart,
As I thought of a smooth ride,
A ride to 'potato-infested' Shamata.

Hell broke loose,
When this crazy fellow,
Took the steering wheel,
And slammed on the gas pedal.

I was thrown up and backwards,
I danced sideways, east and west,
My whole body shook,
My blood froze.

My eyes popped out,
As I saw death calling me;
All the while, the crazy fellow,
Drove on in murderous frenzy.

In and out of every pothole,
Was the name of the game;
As I bumped my head,
I said my last prayer:

God you created this crazy guy,
You created me in the same style,
Why should I lose my life,
Because of his madness, why Lord?

God at once said:
I created you, Yes,
But I don't remember,
Telling you to be in this lorry!

With every mile we took,
Dust masked my face,
Red-brown dust,
Made me a human baboon.

As the lorry creaked and wailed,
So did my bones threaten,
Threaten to break,
If the crazy fellow didn't stop.

I cried and called out,
But the engine swallowed my voice,
So, ofcourse, I had no choice,
But to swallow the bitter pill.

At last,
The lorry drew to a stop,
After swallowing miles without number,
Miles I will live to curse.

The 'back' was opened,
And out jumped a baboon,
A baboon in white shirt and checked coat,
A baboon that asked for water.

All who saw me,
Nearly ran for their lives,
And shook their heads at a distance,
Wondering, why a baboon in Shamata.

But all said and nearly done,
I'll live to hate crazy fellows,
I'll live to detest blue lorries,
Which love to create baboons.

P.S.: - The driver of the lorry, an acquaintance of mine, was travelling to Shamata to get a consignment of potatoes to transport to Nairobi. I thought that by taking the lorry I would be saving on fare. But, in essence, I lost so much more than I had hoped to gain.

My two cents worth: Think twice before you plunge into things that you think could save you a certain cost. You could end up regretting!

Recollection: Unnecessary Semantics?

The year 2006 was an year that saw the conspicuous emergence of hate words being bandied about between Kenyans and Tanzanians especially online. Blogs were the eveready wind that fanned the flame into a roaring fire.

Both these peoples haughtily flaunted their strong points. They also levelled scathing criticism against each other. Strings of expletives were added to the whole mix, to add colour!

Kenyans paraded their ‘mastery’ of the Queen’s language as their first strong point against their Tanzanian counterparts.
“Tanzanians don’t know English!” was the snap retort of many a Kenyan.

Tanzanians responded by explaining how Kenyans didn’t have any idea what was meant by ‘good’ Kiswahili.
“Nyie wala Kiswahili hamkijui. Mnajifanya na Kiingereza chenu hicho. Lugha ya kikoloni, haifai chochote!” was the snap rejoinder from many a Tanzanian

Kenyans relished every detail of how Tanzanians were deemed lazy. This was not taken kindly. Tempers flared; ‘war cries’ were uttered; disdain and condescension took centre stage in the whole shebang.

But that’s besides my point today.

There’s a time, in the same year, when the President of Tanzania Jakaya Kikwete was caught in the crossfire. This was after his reported discussion of the ‘political instability’ of Kenya with President George Bush.

Tempers flared within and without the Kenyan borders. To many, this seemed to be the height of contempt. The government of Kenya was not left out in the rhetoric that ensued.

I remember that around the same time Jakaya Kikwete was quizzed by a Tanzanian journalist about the Bush – Kikwete discussion that had opened the floodgates of mistrust. He brushed it aside by saying: “Tusifike huko, Tuyaache hayo mambo yalivyo.”

Many questions were asked by all and sundry. I also asked a question that received an answer from New York trying to explain what had happened.

Kumekucha asked his own questions in the form of an amusing tongue-in-cheek post .

What I found ironic about the whole thing, recently, was when Jakaya Kikwete was called upon to help in the mediation process after Kenya had suffered a nasty political and socio-economic blow.

He was very instrumental in the signing of the peace accord that would see the end to the then prevailing “political instability”. Did the “political instability” discussion that he had had with George Bush two years ago come to his mind?

Have a smashing day, dear brethren

Sunday Doodles: Kenya Shall Rise; It is Well

There is a hymn I like very much. The story behind the penning of the hymn is a humbling one indeed. The hymn, It is Well with My Soul, was penned by Horatio Spafford.
This hymn was writ¬ten af¬ter several trau¬matic events in Spaf¬ford’s life. The first was the death of his only son in 1871, shortly followed by the great Chi¬ca¬go Fire which ru¬ined him fi¬nan¬cial¬ly (he had been a successful lawyer). Then in 1873, he had planned to travel to Europe with his family on the S. S. Ville Du Havre, but sent the family ahead while he was delayed on business. While cross¬ing the At¬lan¬tic, the ship sank rapidly after a collision with an¬o¬ther ship, and all four of Spaf¬ford’s daugh¬ters died. Spaf¬ford’s wife, Anna, sur¬vived and sent him the now fa¬mous tel¬e¬gram, “Saved alone.” Shortly afterwards, as Spaf¬ford travelled to meet his grieving wife, he was inspired to write the hymn as his ship passed near where his daugh¬ters had died.

It is Well with My Soul
When peace like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.
It is well, with my soul,
It is well, with my soul,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.
Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,
Let this blest assurance control,
That Christ has regarded my helpless estate,
And hath shed His own blood for my soul.
My sin, oh, the bliss of this glorious thought!
My sin, not in part but the whole,
Is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more,
Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!
It is well, with my soul
It is well, with my soul,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.
And Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight,
The clouds be rolled back as a scroll;
The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend,
Even so, it is well with my soul.
It is well, with my soul,
It is well, with my soul,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.

Just like Horatio, Kenyans have lost a lot and some are barely holding on. Some are holding to a thin, frayed thread to avoid sliding off the edge of the precipice into an abysmal abyss. And the thread is threatening to snap…

One thing I believe with all my heart is that Kenya will rise above this present situation (oh, but at what cost!); Kenyans will smile again; Kenyans will ‘live’ to see tomorrow. This has, and will always be, my prayer.

Every time I look into the eyes of the children in the camps, tears well up in my eyes and course down the entire breadth of my face. If only tears could help!

I call upon all of us to help in our own unique ways. Emotionally: hold, embrace, speak positive words to the affected etc; Socially: offer whatever you could offer to alleviate the suffering (food, clothing etc).

Let the Golden Rule ‘speak’ in our actions: Do unto others what you would like them to do unto you.

Have a blessed week.

(Drop me a line at: undaunted at yahoo dot com)

Political Settlement: Halfway House

On 27th of December last year, Kenyans went to the polls and spoke out loud about the people they wanted to see ascend the political ladder (and those they didn’t want to stay up there a second longer!). But the events that followed this “loud decision” clearly placed Kenya among the countries that do no not care two hoots about the welfare of its people.

Kenyans were (and have since remained) strangulated, asphyxiated and raped off their democratic right.

This led to the unleashing of the most potent ‘demon’ that resides in humans to take full course: hate, ‘violent’ suspicion, murder, ethnic ‘turbulence’, ‘incompatible’ co-existence and a host many other evils.

All of as sudden our very identities became a threat to our existence, to our freedom and to precious life. Our names became the determining factor. One mention of our names would determine the direction of the sharp machetes. Our identity cards spoke against us. “Wacha nione kipande yako” became a life-threatening question.

Millions of Kenyans have lost their lifelines, their jobs and hope of any possible respite coming their way. Hundreds of thousands have been displaced and their properties lost in the innocuous ‘conflagration’ (both literally and metaphorically speaking!).

The wounds and hurt in our hearts, as Kenyans, beggars description. I believe that not even the most perfect and prolific wordsmith in town can put it in words. Anyway, we don’t need words to explain the feeling.

Now there is talk of a political settlement between PNU and ODM. Well, this, to me, is like offering quack cures for old ills. A halfway house of sorts! We need more than our paunchy fellows at Serena are offering. How do they plan to deal with the frayed, threadbare fabric of society? On the ground, co-existence among different ethnic groups is stifled. “Gargantuan” amounts of mistrust rule the air among the different tribes. A very sorry state indeed!

Well, again, the very people who lost in the elections are the very guys who ‘want’ (want really? ) to give a piece of the action, a piece of the power, to the other group. Theatre of the absurd, methinks.

Sacrificing National Integrity at the Altar Of Tribal Pettiness

Guest Post by Peter Ngugi.

This is an open letter to Messrs Mwai Kibaki, the President of the Republic of Kenya and Raila Odinga, the leader of the Orange Democratic Movement.

Sirs, I know that you must be too busy to get time to read this letter but I am very sure that one of your many lieutenants will read it in your stead and convey the message to you.

Sirs, I – like millions other Kenyans – am very angry with you for plunging our country into an abyss of tribal turmoil. I hold you solely responsible for all the mayhem engulfing our beloved country. If this country goes to the dogs, your names and those of your progenies will forever be associated with tribal tyranny and downright barbarism.

I am really saddened by your role in the creation of value systems that have blatantly divided us along tribal lines and thus made us slaves and refugees in the land of our birth. It is high time that you understood that the fundamental tenets of true Kenyanness lie not in tribes and empty political talk but in the ability to spiritedly strive to invalidate schemes whose principal aim is to cause ethnic animosity.

Sirs, it is upon you to start the healing process for, we the citizenry, are sick and tired of your political bickering, empty rhetoric and chest thumping. The Nation hurts- nay it is bleeding profusely and is almost in its deathbed. Sirs, is this the Second Liberation we so intently fought for? Did we strive to kick out the draconian leaders of yester years so that you can set the stage for sacrificing the integrity of our country at the altar of pettiness and outright demagoguery? How much more innocent blood do you want spilt so that you can see the graveness of the matter?

Sirs, you must not allow our country to sink lower than it has already sunk. You have held our country to ransom for far too long as the humanitarian situation deteriorates by the minute.

I beseech thee to put the interests of Kenya before your own. You have got to act swiftly to restore our national integrity.

Faithfully,

Mwalimu Peter N Ngugi

Sunday Doodles: My Kenya

I am hurting inside. I am in mental and emotional pain. What I feel cannot possibly be put into words even by the most prolific wordsmith in town. The pain, the anguish, the distress, the confusion, the desolation… (A concoction of insalubrious feelings)!

The killings, the murders, the lootings, the torchings, the lashings, the perfidy, the larceny, the … (my mind is going round and round in circles). Someone please do help bring sanity to my being.

I have seen it: my dear Kenyan brothers, sisters, fathers, mothers and children cut down by the machete; shot to death and left to rot in the streets; burnt in their houses and in the churches; thousands of men, women and children bounding, with whatever belonging they could salvage, to God knows where; the hopelessness and despondency pasted on the faces of my country men.

I have heard it: the wails of terror made by the children; the screams of horror made by the women; the sighs and stifled screams made by the men; the shouting, screaming and struggle of the women who are being raped and left for dead.

Someone please do tell me that I am just dreaming. Please tell me that this is just a bad dream and were it not for the long night, then, it would be over.

This is not the Kenya I knew; and, optimistically, is not the Kenya I‘ll wake up in tomorrow.

And before I pen off, please don’t ask my tribe; I am a Kenyan.

Mid-night Brawl

An analogy depicting the present situation in Kenya

Prevailing altercation,
A string of expletives,
A dash of angry shouting,
Rent the warm night air.

The faithful night breeze,
Carried the commotion far and wide,
Rats stopped their activities to listen,
Crickets stopped their innocuous sounds.

The man could be heard quite distinctly,
Effing and blinding strenuously,
Barking, screaming and shouting,
As he pulled his wife by her hair.

Finally, the two were outside,
And the whole world with them;
The world watched as they rolled and turned,
Clutched, clawed and hit each other.

The man shouted:
You have betrayed our love,
You did confidently sleep,
With my friend, under my very roof!

The neighbours very well remembered,
The tall, lanky fellow,
Who had discreetly left the man's house,
Early that evening.

The woman heatedly rejoined:
You slept with the chief's wife last week,
You moved around with my best friend,
And I did not raise as much as an eyebrow.

The bandying was sustained for as long as it could hold,
With either party venting their heart's contents on the other,
The man was the first one to have enough of it all,
As he slammed his burning fist against her face.


A sorry state indeed, isn’t it?
Wanna speak to Ritch? Drop him a line at thisEmail Address.

If Raila Were the President

A Christian newspaper in Tanzania, Mwamini Mungu, yesterday alleged that Kenya would be ruled by Sharia Law if Raila were the president. In fact, this was the lead story in the newspaper.

It continued to say that the arsonists who torched churches in some parts of the country were in fact venting their hatred and ire for failing to achieve their goal of turning Kenya into a Muslim state. The nitty gritty of how this would have been accomplished was set in a secret meeting that was held on 29th August, 2007 in Mombasa between Raila and a cross section of Muslim leaders.

The fact that only churches, and not Mosques, were targeted is reason enough to believe the crisis in Kenya is not only fuelled by political reasons but also by religious fanaticism.

One of the reasons that was tendered to prove this claim was the secret MOU which was signed between ODM‘s Raila Odinga and the chairman of the board of Islamic leaders in Kenya Sheikh Abdullah Abdi.

This MOU said in part that once Raila took the helm he would acknowledge Islam and accord it special treatment.

Another politician who is believed to be party to the secret MOU, which the paper claims to have a copy of, was Najib Balala (a Muslim and a leader who is very popular at the Coast especially in Mombasa).

Among the ‘demands’ tabled by the Muslims in the event that ODM won the presidency was a change to the laws of the land to set apart Coast and North Eastern Provinces for Muslims. Muslims would have complete control of the regions’ religious matters.

The Council of Muslims would be responsible to go through requests to start religions other than Islam in these regions. They would have the final say whether to accept or reject the requests. This would be for the purposes of rooting out any “imani potofu” and Satan worship.

Within six months of the ODM in power, a new constitution would be drawn. This new constitution would embrace Islamic laws (Sharia Law) to be at work in the regions set apart for Muslims.

The ODM government would sack the Police Commissioner with immediate effect. It would also ‘break’ the special Force that deals with terrorism (ATPU) which is believed to be ferrying some Kenyans( mostly Muslims) who are suspected to be terrorists to Guantanamo Bay in Cuba.

Raila, it is said, agreed to the creation of Kadhi Courts in each and every District in the republic when he ascended to the highest office in the land. Madrasa classes (classes where Islam is taught to children) would also be incorporated in the school system. Each and every primary school would have Madrasa for the Muslim students. Religious open air meetings (such as crusades) would not be allowed in the Coast and North Eastern Provinces.

The MOU also stipulated that all areas where 40% of the people are Muslims, alcohol would not be allowed to be sold. Also preaching that is accompanied by signs and wonders of miraculous healing would be illegal in such areas.

Kenyans’ Blood is Crying Out

Mungiki-related murders; beheadings,
Violence, chaos, lawlessness,
Rivers of tears wept,
Hundreds of hearts wounded, punctured, frayed.

Parentless children,
Widowers, widows on the increase,
Dreams, aspirations, shattered;
The stark aftermath.

Extra-judicial executions,
The Force hauled over the coals,
Lambasted, cornered, quizzed
Denial came just naturally.

Mt Elgon, Kuresoi,
Pre-election violence, machetes at the ready,
Blood spilled, hundreds dead,
Homes fled, despair looms.

Post-election, Pandora’s Box’s yanked open,
Mayhem, anarchy, chaos, conflict,
Tribalistic chauvinism at its best,
Senseless killings reign supreme.

Innocent children, men and women,
At the mercy of unruly youths,
Nay, the Police with a tall order,
An order to shoot and kill.

Churches, not a safe haven,
Refuge seekers’ lives ‘strangulated’,
Burnt to ashes, they are,
Men, women, children.

Bullet-ridden bodies lie in morgues,
Hungry citizens await respite,
To start living again;
A murderous resolve solidifies.

Charred stumps,
Dot the hollowness in our hearts;
Smoldering embers,
Keep our latent emotions alive.

Sirs, Messrs Kibaki and Raila, save us from a possible full scale tribal conflict. Kenya is much larger than the political differences of its people.

Kenya Can’t Be Allowed to go to The Dogs

Yesterday will go down in the country’s history as having been a tumultuous and tension-filled day. It was a day when all the citizens (and even hundreds of thousands of non-citizens who live in the country and abroad) were on edge, jittery and anxious.

This situation was extremely exacerbated by the late announcement of the president of the republic of Kenya in what could be termed as a circus of sorts. Only the National Broadcaster, KBC, was present to broadcast the announcement live to all and sundry as all other media outlets, both local and foreign, had been ‘bundled’ out of KICC. And even more disturbing was the fact that within an hour of the announcement, President Kibaki was sworn-in to serve a second term in office.

The ODM cried foul for, in their book, their presidential candidate Mr. Raila Amollo Odinga had won the elections and therefore was the one supposed to be sworn-in instead of Mr. Kibaki. For this reason they have made it clear, in black and white, that they don’t acknowledge the presidency of Kibaki.

To prove that they mean business, they have made it clear that they will organise their own swearing-in ceremony at Uhuru Park today.

As things stand right now, there has been untold suffering unleashed on the people who live in some parts of Western, Nyanza, Coast and Nairobi. Fears are almost tangible that this planned rally and swearing-in by ODM and Raila will not augur well for the Kenyan populace.

My take is that, if such a thought is allowed to blossom and become a flower then this country could as well be headed to anarchy and lawlessness of untold proportions.

Hon. Raila, there surely are other ways of championing your cause instead of letting it take this route. Sir, the lives of the people you very much want to protect (by becoming the president) are at stake here. Many have already been lost in the carnage that has erupted; please don’t stoke a fire that will be hard to put out. Steer clear of that hearth for the sake of innocent mothers, fathers, and children. Innocent Kenyans should not be caught in the cross fire that is more than likely to materialise.

Our great country should not go down the road that Somalia, Sudan and other such countries have trodden. The citizens of these countries come to our country to seek solace and refuge. We are a beacon of hope in this part of Africa; we are the hope of the people who live within our borders.

Kenya country should not be allowed to go to the dogs.

Still Your Hearts

In a few hour's time we are going to the polls, my dear Kenyans. Rudyard Kipling has something to tell us this day:

If you can keep your head when all about you,
Are losing theirs and are blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream – and not make dreams your master;
If you can think – and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster,
And treat those two imposters just the same.

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute,
With sixty seconds worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything’s that’s in it,
And – which is more – you’ll be a man, my son.

Have peaceful elections tomorrow. And may the best man win.

The Day After: Friday, 28th December, 2007

I have a racking headache this morning. Yesterday was a tough, nay, gruelling day. Yeah, and so much so. It was Election Day; the most competitive, much anticipated issue-based election since independence.

I was among the last people at the polling station having stood in the hot sun for almost half a day. Yeah, and the turn out was something to behold. Scores of people stood in queues, braving the hot sun, to ultimately cast their votes!

I hardly slept a wink last night. My neighbours next door (three bachelors who stay in the same room) just wouldn’t let me. Their high-pitched radios (as they kept count of the number of votes from polling stations the country over, thanks to the leading channel), raucous laughs, guttural voices and frequent screams as beer bottles fell to the floor, were just tormenting.

Everything is quiet this morning save for the throbbing headache between my ears. The throbbing is as if tangible. And for no apparent reason at all, my heart is pounding savagely (as if I am climbing a precipitous mountain).

Now I start recalling. A day before the polls, I wagered my friend Mark ksh 5000/- that my choice for president would win the polls with a landslide victory. I was more than confident that this would be the case. Then, where is this jittery feeling coming from?

If my choice for president does not win the elections, then, I'll have to part with my precious five thao. Not a pretty picture at all.

But, then, who says he will not win.

Just as this thought takes its form in my mind, two pictures (so vivid and life-like) suddenly cascade in my mind’s eye; one from left to right, the other from right to left.

The two pictures are those of Raila and Kibaki. Both of them are smiling. In fact, one of them is grinning like a Cheshire cat. Their lips are moving as if trying to tell me something.

I strain my inner ears but fail to hear anything.

I look at the wall clock. It is 6:30am. I think it is time to put all my fears to rest. I ‘trudge’ to my wall unit and almost simultaneously switch on both my TV and radio.

The news on radio and TV is replete and inundated with election-related news. Reports are coming in from all parts of the country. The number of votes each candidate has received in various parts of the republic is mentioned.

My heart lurches. No, no, what I am hearing can’t be true. Those unflattering number of votes can’t be those of my chosen president. No. Never.

Almost instantly I decide what I‘ll spend the rest of the day doing.

“Counting the votes. Yes, that’s what I am going to do the rest of the day. I can’t leave anything to chance, can I?”

I also decide to call on my neighbours later in the day to compare my notes with that of their vigil last night.

I fetch a pen and some foolscaps and get ready for the task ahead of me. Oh, I had almost forgotten. I usually take a hot cup of coffee at around this time of the day. And today it will do me a whole world of good.

A steaming cup of coffee.

Spare a Thought for the Hurting and Down Trodden

I came across the poem below as I was sifting through my paraphernalia this morning. It got me thinking.

The poem was writtenby the prominent German anti-Nazi activist, Pastor Martin Niem?ller.

First they came...

In Germany they came first for the Communists,
And I didn't speak up because I wasn't a Communist.
Then they came for the Jews,
And I didn't speak up because I wasn't a Jew.
Then they came for the trade unionists,
And I didn't speak up because I wasn't a trade unionist.
Then they came for the Catholics,
And I didn't speak up because I was a Protestant.
Then they came for me,
And by that time no one was left to speak up for me.

Most of our dear brothers and sisters are suffering and have suffered immensely in Kuresoi, Mount Elgon, in the hands of the ruthless mungiki and in election related violence in the recent past.

Speaking up for them is our divine responsibility. Taking the government to task and fervently asking why these heinous acts are being perpetrated under the very 'bulbous' nose of the state is the first step to much-needed healing.

Something has to give; something's gotta be done!

Well, if we don't speak up for the hurting and down-trodden in our country, who will speak up for us when it happens to us and our very own.
Food for thought, this.

Tell Ritch what you think.