It's time we stopped making excuses for the Muslims

Its time we stopped making excuses for the Muslims. It’s time they got their house in order. It’s the 21^st , century the world is diverse and every now and then, people will do or say a thing or two that will not sit pretty with you. That is not a license to go kill and destroy property.

Religion is claimed to be a civilizing influence on the world. Stop being so go damn sensitive about it then. (And goddamn here is used with all pun intended).

There is unrest all round the Muslim world right now. Supposedly as a result of a low budget 16 minute film produced by a Coptic Christian in the United States. The most sensible thing to do if the consequence of this according to those offended is death, would have been to pack a few suicide bombers or snipers and hunt the blasphemous creators of the film. Instead what did they do? Bomb consulates and embassies and kill innocent people probably before they even got the chance to watch the damn said movie. If an opinion goes against your belief then the opinion must be killed?

For the sake of fairness I have tried hard to understand the reason for the unrest. The film, depicts Prophet Mohammed and according to Islam, portraying the prophet or depicting him leads to worshipping him, a man, instead of Allah. The prophet apparently, believed that if people saw or identified with his face, they would start worshipping him.

The film did not only depict the prophet but also drew him out as a womanizer, killer and child molester. Honestly it’s quite offending.

 But so what it offended the Muslims? So what it does not resonate with their religious fairy tale? The creators of the film had every right to make the film.

Jaguar, he of kigeugeu fame, offends the living day lights out of me. His beats are dull, his lyrics too pedestrian and most of his songs sound the same. It does not help that his songs are played on full blast everywhere I go. I am 100% certain that you reading this have a dozen things you can name off the top of your head right now that offend you.  However, civility and maturity dictate that we stomach these things. You do not go on a child-like rant every time some one, and they are bound to, does something that offends you.

The destructive nature of religion is evident in the absurd numbers that show up to these protests and hypocritically attack people and destroy property. True it’s not all Muslims doing it or believes in it but they must take responsibility for it. It is their set of beliefs that is used to fuel the actions regardless of the underlying motive. Those protesting in the Muslim world and those who burnt churches in Mombasa need to develop emotional maturity.

I do not argue with the Islam belief that Mohammed cannot be portrayed in any way. That is fine. Do not portray him. However, this does not give Muslims the authority to force the entire world –Muslim and non Muslim – to live by their rules. There will always be someone somewhere who refuses to live by their doctrines and bombing consulates and killing innocents will not force them to do so. People need to grow up and stop being infantilized by religion

By the time an angry mob has formed, a mature response is already out of the question. A certain Midwest rail on the internet says Arguing with a religious person is akin to playing chess with a pigeon. No matter how much skilled you are at chess, the pigeon will roam aimlessly across the playing surface, shit on the board, knock over the pieces, then strut around declaring victory.

Political Correctness and liberalism in these cases where human lives are lost does not work.  Of course a lot of Muslims are also upset by what their brothers are doing. I again borrow from a certain PsiCop on the internet that all these mainstream Muslims are doing is distancing themselves from others who make their religion look bad. However, that ship has sailed, their religion already looks bad. Distancing yourself from it won’t make it look any better.

The religion as a whole needs to be altered and in a fundamental way. Islam should be reformed in such a way as to eliminate the infantilizing element of the faith.

But for now we shall continue to censor ourselves and tip toe around Islam insecurities, afraid of offending them should they deiced to kill all of us. People can and should control their emotions. We can’t afford to just assume that they’ll never be able to. If we keep making excuses for their bad behavior, it’ll continue forever and the human race will die out.

If we were all to reason the same then perhaps I should start killing Jaguar and all his fans. But I shall not. Because I am emotionally mature. I simply keep away from the radio that is likely to play his songs. Likewise, Muslims who are likely to be offended by opposing opinions, and by Allah, they are a lot of them, should stay off the internet!

(Some thoughts are borrowed from an article “Ambassador’s killing shines light on Muslim sensitivities around Prophet Mohammed” by Dan Gilgoff and Eric Marrapodi and the comments on it)

Higher learning or higher nothing

“When I was 14, my hero was a rapper named KRS-One who dropped out of eighth grade and educated himself by reading and apprenticing in the music business. I informed my parents that I intended to do the same, and they told me it was illegal.” William Upski Wimsatt writes in his article, “How I got my D.I.Y degree.”

Many days, I too feel like I should just quit school and do something else. As I get closer to completion of my degree, I find myself riddled with doubt. Does what I am studying matter? Is my degree marketable? Will it be enough to sustain me economically? Did I choose the right major? Am I ready for the world? Do I even want to be in university?

Some days I walk into campus and feel purposed and in full control of my path. Other days, the familiar classes and routine plunges me into profound anguish. I find myself confronted with a form of knowledge that offers no landmarks, nothing specific to hold on to. To borrow from William Wimsatt’s article again;  

“I realized that there were no courses covering the things I most wanted to learn. No sex classes. No friendship classes. No classes on how to build an organization, raise money, navigate a bureaucracy, create a database, buy a house, love a child, spot a scam, ask the right questions, talk someone out of suicide, or figure out what's Important. Those are the things that enhance or mess up people's lives, not whether they know economic theory or can analyze literature.”

When anyone joins USIU, they have to sit for placement exams on a few basic topics Math, English and computer literacy. I heard a joke once.  The joke goes that a graduating class was made to sit for the same placement exams they had taken a few years back on joining the institution. Most of them apparently scored way less than they had initially. This story tends to imply that the graduating students left less smart than they had arrived. My fear however, is not this. My fear is that all the knowledge I acquire here, might not be very useful in my life. After all, is it not said that learning happens naturally and school mostly just gets in the way?

In between these fears, walks of despair and thoughts that the idea of university was oversold to me, I talk to people; school mates and others. Most seem to have a general idea of the greater outcome. Yet others, and a good number I might add, like me, do not. The idea that a college degree might not be as important is becoming fashionable. The returns of a college education appear too uncertain.

Steve Jobs one of the most iconic people of our times, dropped out of Reed College.  “After six months, I couldn't see the value in it. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life and no idea how college was going to help me figure it out. And here I was spending all of the money my parents had saved their entire life. So I decided to drop out and trust that it would all work out OK. It was pretty scary at the time, but looking back it was one of the best decisions I ever made.”

Closer home, I visit some friends who have opened a music studio recently. The studio is located in the plush Karen area of Nairobi. Down the road from the studio, you can see the newly constructed vice president’s residence. It is a nice address to say the least. Kioko Mutiso, one of its owners, was once a student at USIU. In 2006, he did one semester and decided to quit in favor of entrepreneurship. Judging by his address and the Mercedes Benz E240 he arrived in that did not go very badly for him.

Later that day, I sit down with Charles, Steve and Audrey, all students at USIU, for lunch. Ironically, in the same hall, USIU career fair participants are doing the same. 

Charles is dreadlocked and from Mombasa. On a good day, you will spot him wearing Turkish shoes and taking pictures of this and that on his Canon 550D. On a bad day, you will find him using his blackberry in class. Charles was originally an I.T major but changed to broadcast journalism. He has two semesters to go and doesn’t necessarily think his degree will be of help. He feels his major, broadcast, focuses more on video than photography, which is his main interest. He intends to go to Turkey for his masters. “I don’t know which masters…and it doesn’t matter, in my family everyone is a PhD. It’s not a choice, it’s a duty” 

Some girls get beauty and no brains, Audrey is not one of them. Audrey, public relations major, believes her degree will be of a lot of help in her career. Like Charles, she credits USIU for her passion in photography. “I wanted to do Integral studies and psychology but am still thinking about it.” She plans to do another degree after graduation. My parents want me to do International Relations but I want psychology…I’ll probably end up with psychology.”  She confesses that she avoids thinking about her future after graduation but she hopes she does not have to work for anyone. She thinks about it for a while then says that she will perhaps master in Literature…she thinks about it some more.

It does not take long after you have met Steve to know that he is into computers. He is short and somewhat plump; the kind plump that comes with long seating hours. His facebook says “Proud to be a graphic designer”. More often than not, he has Nokia wireless headphones hanging around his neck. His eyes light up when he talks about something that excites him. They do when he explains to me, quite unsuccessfully, the workings of Photo Shop 6. Steve has a passion for multimedia and intends to start his own advertising company once out of university. His major, however, is International Business Administration. He says he needs it to manage his business when he finally gets to it. Steve is in no hurry to graduate. He says the university provides him with much needed networking for his new business and he doesn’t feel he is quite ready to step into the professional world.

 “Things are thick out there” Steve concludes and everybody at the table agrees and gets back to their lunch. The conversation swiftly shifts to a photography client they all find tiresome. 

Surprisingly, all three agree that the biggest gain they’ve gotten from college has been in the social front. It gets me thinking about a story I had read about James Altucher, a New York–based venture capitalist and finance writer, he says,  “People come back to me, very smart, intelligent people, and say, ‘Look, college teaches you how to think, college teaches you how to network, college teaches you how to write.’ Personally, I didn’t learn how to do any of those things in college.”  What Altucher learned to do in college, he says, is what all young men—“with almost no exceptions”—learn to do: drink and talk to women.

One morning in between class I have a chat with Professor Ngure wa Mwachofi. Professor Mwachofi is 60 years old but does not look it. He is fit, clean shaven and plays guitar. He is a yoga instructor. He is the kind of man who knows a thing or two about education. He has taught and lectured around the world for over three decades.  

Ours is a casual discussion outside the video editing labs at the USIU ICT center. We lean on the metal stair railing and all around us in the different labs are students buried deep in computer screens. I wonder how many of them are swimming in the same confusing murky waters as me. Every few minutes, the discussion is interrupted by students asking this and that.

“A degree is like a driving license”  The professor tells me adjusting his baseball cap “you learn most of your driving after you’ve got it and therefore a degree is like a license to learn some more. ”  Our systems are partly to blame for the confusion among university students he adds. There is not enough career counseling and young people are not encouraged to explore. “At the same time, people are different,” he explains, “some people even at the age of 60, will not have made up their minds on what they want to do.”

The trick, he explains, is to not judge what you are learning as right or wrong but to enjoy it instead and diversify your thinking. “Assuming half way you figure what you are doing is not necessarily what you wanted, it is not a crisis. As long as you have built confidence and have a clear understanding of yourself, you can still move on. Consider the 1^st degree only as a starting point.” 

Regardless of our fears, anxiety or even excitement to graduate, at the end of it all when you and I get that degree, it is my hope that our overall education will have done at least the following: nurtured critical thought; exposed us individuals to the magnificent accomplishments of humankind; opened our minds on ways to farther these accomplishments; developed in us an ability not just to listen intently but to respond intelligently.

For all these as one author says, are habits of mind that are useful for an engaged citizenry, and from which a letter carrier, no less than a college professor, might derive a sense of self-worth.

 And so I put all these together, cross my fingers, walk into class and hope that  I am making the right decision.

I used to be proud to be in USIU

When I was in high school, I had a cousin in USIU. On weekends, he’d let me tag along. At the gate, the askaris would make fun of why I did not have an ID before handing me the visitor’s pass. I would walk the grounds admiring everything while my cousin went to class. I’d look at the library and classes and dream of joining the institution some day. I admired how everything looked so clean, organized and harmonious.

These visits had everything to do with my joining the institution a few years later. I’ve been a proud student too. I’ve encouraged family friends to bring their kids to USIU.  I’ve been a strong defender of the school among friends and acquaintances whenever there’s been an issue that threatens to paint the image of the school negatively. Every year I bring 20 or so upper primary pupils from different schools that I teach film at for an organized trip to USIU. The purpose is to encourage them to work hard for college and 90 percent of them say they’ll join USIU in future.

A humiliating encounter with the school’s security recently has however threatened to change my whole perception of USIU. In the recent past there’s been heightened concern with security in and around the school following the infamous kidnapping cases. This however, is no excuse to frustrate or punish those of us who were in no way involved in whatever happened.  Why do I say this?

For as long as I have known the school, the procedure for having a visitor within the grounds is you present yourself and your school ID, they write  the details in a book, the visitor leaves their  Identification  and they are handed a visitor’s pass which they should display at all times while within the school.

Recently I had a visitor; an Alumnus of the school from the class of 2011.  As expected, I went to the gate and presented myself so they could allow him in.  The guard who was at the gate enquired, as they do, about where in the school we were going and I answered the ICT center. The guard then informed us that no visitors other than students were allowed into the ICT center. That was well and good and we had no objections. Rules are rules after all. So then I asked that he be allowed in, I’d go get my things from the ICT center and we’d go to the cafeteria instead. The guard declined and said that my visitor would have to wait outside.

Dissatisfied, I had my visitor wait as I headed to the head of security’s office. Mr. Koech , was not in his office and I waited a few minutes until he came. I explained the situation; he listened disinterestedly and asked me to wait while he handled something. He made a few calls and made out the door so I followed him. He explained that they were having issues with visitors lying at the gate and asked if my visitor had an alumni card. I responded that I did not know.

He asked me to wait for him outside the administration block as he went in. Ten or so minutes later he walked out and without a word to me, headed back to his office. I stood there for a while not sure what was going on. After waiting for a considerable amount of time I then headed back to his office. He was seated at his desk and I asked if I should still wait. Perhaps I was undeserving of his answer for he did not even bother to turn to look at me. I must have started to be a bother to him and perhaps my case was unimportant compared to more important issues he had at hand.

So there I stood outside the office not sure whether to wait or go. All this time, my visitor, waited outside in the July cold. Eventually, Mr. Koech comes out of his office, locks the door and again without a word to me walks on. I figure that’s probably my cue to follow. At the gate, we speak to the guard I’d originally dealt with. He confirms my story word for word. He then explains that all visitors must be accompanied by whoever they are visiting to where they intend to visit and I explain that I intended to do that all along.

“So nani alikua na makosa?” Mr. Koech asks looking at me.

“Hakuna mtu alikua na makosa” I respond.

As it turns out, my answer was incorrect.

“Oh hauoni makosa? Sasa, wewe na mgeni wako muende mtakuja siku ingine mkiwa pamoja” he says and walks away.

I suppose the answer that he, Mr. Koech wanted, was for me to say that I was in the wrong so they could let my visitor in. By saying neither I nor the guard was in the wrong, I must have upset him so bad. Being an institution of higher learning, reason should surpass emotion on all levels.
 Rules are put in place to make things function and run smoothly not to be used to frustrate people and to stroke egos or to prove who is right and who is wrong. It would have only taken a few punches on a keyboard to verify that I was indeed a student and that my visitor was indeed an alumnus if that was the issue. If the issue was that they thought we’d go into the ICT center either way, they have security there too. Who by the way, I have never seen ask for ID. Any tom, dick and harry can walk in and out freely. I know this because I am there every day.

This incidence was most unfortunate because of three things.

First, during the whole encounter you could see in how low regard the head of security held me. From his attitude, it seemed I was wasting his time. He treated my visitors and I as if we were suspects of some kind. As students, we are customers of sorts to the university. He is there because of us and we because of him. Is this the way to treat a customer? Why all the arrogance and self aggrandizing on his part?

Second, is that the school’s policy on visitors or were we treated this way because someone was having a bad day or maybe we were less important? When you come to school, the first people you encounter are the guards; they are almost entirely responsible for your first impression of the place. If you have fulfilled the requirements such as having identification and the presence of whomever you are visiting, on what grounds was my visitor denied entry?  I hate to imagine if that was my parent visiting me at campus and he or she was treated to this.

Thirdly, my visitor was an alumnus of the school. He graduated barely a year ago. Is this how alumnus are treated? Will that be me in a years time, made to wait outside of the gate because you refuse to beg the guard or suck up to the head of security. After spending four years in an institution I cannot be trusted to go to the cafeteria for a cup of coffee unaccompanied?

Issues are bound to arise in daily life. However, how these issues are dealt with by those in charge is what influences the whole outcome. We were not asking for any favors or to be treated special and had fulfilled all the requirements needed to get into school. We were denied entry simply because I did not agree with the head of security on who was right or wrong. 

The saddest part is mine is not an isolated case. It is cases like this that continue to tarnish the university’s image not just from within but also out there. In the long run, it is the school that stands to loose. I wonder how many potential students or parents have been or will be turned away simply because the guard is having a bad day or simply because the visitor does not conform to the head of security’s senses of what or who is wrong and who is right? Incidences like this get round faster through word of mouth than any press release, TV interview or damage control ever will.

All of a sudden, I don’t feel very proud to be part of this institution if I cannot be accorded such small respects.

How to make millions of shillings and become a Kenyan politician (part 1)

Hi there, come in. Come in. Have a seat.

One minute as i clear this here...

Okay! hi, my name is Eugene and I shall be your consultant on how to make millions of shillings and become a top Kenyan politician. 

lets get started right away...

the 1st step is to have made  millions of shillings.

Are you there? Have you made the millions? Okay let’s go. Now it’s time to start on your journey to becoming a top Kenyan politician. At this point I know you wonder how qualified I am to be your consultant…yes? I am not. I have no qualifications whatsoever. And you too will need none to become a politician. Sure they say that soon you must have a degree to become MP, but not to worry, our good friends at parliament will shoot it down. If not we’ll buy you one from a local or international university.

Or less

We’ll get you something smart but not too obvious. Not something like law or engineering that might require you to prove yourself. We’ll get you something like a degree in Gynecology…they’ll never ask you to prove that...you see what I did there? This will set you back a million or two…you see? The millions are already coming in handy.

So degree in hand, now we pick a region to represent. At this point I know you’re thinking the place you grew up. Do not. Think of the place with the most number of your tribesmen and the least educated too. Now the place you pick depends on your age. If you are youthful (in the Kenyan sense meaning anything from 22-72 years of age) pick an urban area. In my sense youthful means at least below 45. If you are above 60, pick the most remote rural area with the best number of your uneducated tribesmen. They do not believe in young people those.

A point to note here however, is that the top area politician of the place you pick must not be very wealthy; chopper wealthy. These guys buy votes in the hundreds of millions and you do not want to compete and finish your millions before your first term in parliament now do you?

Now that we’ve got a degree and region, the next thing we need is a party. Now this point is a bit tricky. Manifesto does not matter but there are two things that are important in your choice. 1^st of all, the party must have a good following among your tribesmen. 2^nd the head of the party must be your friend or someone you can pay to ensure your nomination ticket should you loose at the party primaries. Its better that he is a friend so we can save the money we’d pay him for bribing voters. As I said, do not bother yourself too much with party manifestos and leadership, we can party hop when we get to parliament.

Millions-check

Degree-check

Region-check

Party-check

Now Its time to hit the campaign trail. You can dress in suits when going for party events but when going ‘home’ a leather or suede jacket and a casual expensive shirt is appropriate. Get a god papa hat (cow boy hat) the locals take it as a show of wealth.

See, everybody knows you need a god papa to make it in politics

Grow a pot belly and buy a walking stick too. These are important things for a ‘serious’ politician. If the region you picked is the remote kind, get a Toyota Prado. A well maintained Toyota Prado but with an older number plate. The older number plate proves to the locals that you made your money a while back and you can use this in rallies to discredit younger politicians by citing how young their plates and therefore their politics is. If yours is a more urban region, get a hummer. They love love love hummers.

In the constituency, you will need people on the ground. To popularize you and gunner you votes. First place you go to is the church. They have massive influence especially with rural women. They spread good news, and you sir, are the messiah. Attend a few Sunday services, kneel at the platform, with your hands raised to receive blessings and at the end of the service, meet the deacons and pastor at the backroom and raise your wallet to give blessings. Buy the church a few wooden benches, help them repair their water tank and contribute generously at harambees.  Generously here is relative and shouldn’t be very expensive. Just make sure to give more than the highest contributor and sooner than later, they will have no choice but to tag you ‘mheshimiwa’.

If you do this with most of the churches in the region you‘ll have secured the women’s and religious men’s vote.  Next, pick a few influential wazees in the region. Depending on how many millions you have left now, give them free t-shirts and organize a trip for them to the capital where they can see monuments and reminisce about their younger days working for Indians at textile shops and living in Kariokor or Ngara.

 Host them at a decent lodging downtown and meet them for an evening meal where you’ll give them promises of water dams and free fertilizer. On their way home ensure each one is given 1,000 shillings and a wrong phone number that they can use to contact you at any time. Give the head 10,000 shillings. They’ll sing your praises to their wives and children and at the mountain tops of the village.

That taken care of, go back to the village and deal with the youth. This should not be very difficult. Much talking is not needed here. Identify the most popular drinking joints. Focus on changaa and keg because its cheaper and rural youth have no money for beer anyway. Buy the whole stock and let them drink to their fill. No need to address them, they are not in any state to hear you anyway.

the more dunk the better

 Do this occasionally. At rallies, promise thousands of jobs. It doesn’t matter if you have a plan for them or not. They’re too busy making babies and drinking cheap liquor to follow it up. Buy a few cheap Chinese motorcycles and distribute them to the few hard working ones.  

Are you following? My hour is over now and my secretary tells me another client is waiting outside. See you next week. 

And remember, it’s your time to eat!

Why i shall be at Uhuru Park tomorrow...

In a relay race, one runner does their best to deliver the baton to the next runner in good time. If one runner should slack, trip, delay or waste time, he / she risks sabotaging the race for all of the other runners in the race. It is a matter of trust, teamwork and sacrifice. The win is vital if not for yourself, at least for your team. 

I tend to apply the same to Kenya. We are constantly in a race against different things; hunger, disease corruption, bad leadership (and any other vice you can insert here). In my model, the different generations are the runners in our relay race. And the vices are the opposing teams that threaten to bring this country back.

 Our grandfathers made up the first runners on the relay team. They fought against the colonizers the best way they could. They didn’t care that they had inferior weapons. They didn’t care that their tactics were far more unsophisticated than those of the whites. They didn’t care that some of their friends and neighbors were the very ones that informed on them and led their executions when they were arrested. They did not care because it was all about making a better future for their children; the next generation. For this, they were willing to give up anything, including their lives. 

They ran a good race and hooray! independence. But vices are not ones to give up easily and we were soon on the run again. And the baton was passed on to our fathers; the second generation. In the late 80’s and early 90’s they fought. Not with guns and pangas this time, but with protests, marches and constitutional arguments. They were fighting for a multiparty democracy. They were fighting for the right for you and I to openly laugh at Gaddo’s cartoon of MP’s raping the cow after it has been milked dry. They fought for the right for you and I to bitch and lament on social networks about anything under the sun without the fear of persecution. For these, they were struck with teargas, arrested, assassinated, exiled, tortured, some were scarred for life. But fight they did.

That battle too, they won. The race is not finished however for even now with freedom from colonialism, freedom of speech and a multi-party democracy, the vices have once again presented themselves to us in the form of corruption and bad governance. Billions are looted by the few in power while the majority is left to die from hunger, suffer in tents and wallow in disease in poorly financed hospitals. Not a week goes by without a multimillion scandal in government. And these are the few that get to us. What about the many that do not get to us?

The race is still on and the baton has been passed to us. As part of the team, it is up to you and I to ensure that the baton does not fall. It is up to us to ensure that the baton is passed on safely and timely to the next generation. If we do not do this, we will have failed our national heroes who began the race. The national heroes whose statues we erect so proudly in the different parts of our capital. We will have disrespected them and spat in their face. They would have sacrificed their lives for cowards who can do nothing about deplorable governance. Cowards who hide behind laptop screens and throw laments from afar.

There is an extract from Field Ruwe’s article titled “You Lazy (Intellectual) African Scum!”  He speaks of the people who term themselves educated Africans…it says;

“When you rest your head on the pillow you don’t dream big. You and other so-called African intellectuals are damn lazy, each one of you. It is you, and not those poor starving people, who is the reason Africa is in such a deplorable state.”

I see you there African intellectuals, reading this from your Blackberrys, your sophisticated touch screen phones and your ipads. Making excuses as to why you can not be there tomorrow. Blaming it on your busy intellectual lives. On that important corporate meeting or fancy coffee date you have at nine. Leaving the marching and the protesting to someone else…the uneducated poor maybe.

 I saw you there admiring the graffiti that calls the greedy politicians vultures, and you liked it. You agreed with it. You discussed it with your friends, you facebooked about it and twitpic’d it.

 You admired the courage of those who did it. And now, the chance is here for you to give up a few hours from your busy tweeting and blogging life to march with other like-minded individuals who want the best for this country. Who want to protect the future of their children. Who want to show the vultures that we too have a say in how our country is run…and you are going to pass it up?

When we are long gone and the history books are updated to fit our generation, let it not be us that remembered for not taking that baton and running with it. For not having done as little as peaceful marching to stand up for what is right. For not having done our part.

And for that reason, I shall be at that freedom corner tomorrow at ten to take that baton. 

I leave you with lyrics from Tracy Chapman's "Talkin' about a revolution"

They're talkin' about a revolution
It sounds like a whisper
While they're standing in the welfare lines
Crying at the doorsteps of those armies of salvation
Wasting time in the unemployment lines
Sitting around waiting for a promotion

Poor people gonna rise up
And get their share
Poor people gonna rise up
And take what's theirs

Don't you know
You better run, run, run
Oh I said you better
Run, run, run

Finally the tables are starting to turn
Talkin' bout a revolution

Join us wont you? Kenya ni kwetu.

We lie and we lie..but its for the best

 Someone asked me today why I don’t call them na mbona nimepotea hivo. Very simple questions really, that are asked rhetorically and don’t require very mind tasking answers. However, because we are good people, we just lie through questions like that. We lie through most pleasantries as a matter of fact or at least I do.

The good lady who asked me this today got hit with the same old “niko tu…” and “I lost my phone…” blatant lies. Its not that I am a dishonest bastard, small lies in some cases are just easier. And we all do it. Because it is simple, easier and cuts an otherwise long unpleasant story short. Also, if we told the truth all the time we’d have no friends seeing that we are social beings.

Most lies we tell to make life easier are not more than five words. We keep them short so as not to implicate ourselves. Personally, I tend to be very descriptive when talking of things I like but when I lie I keep my words to the minimum; mostly two or three words.

Think about it.

For instance, a female friend excitedly asks another “Am going out for a date…how do I look?”

The truthful response:  “you are trying too much you bitch. Your make up makes you look like an ambitious clown. That dress is too short, as is your future with that guy if you table manners are as I remember. You are not supposed to wear stockings with mules, your toes peeping out at the front covered in overstretched silk knock offs makes you look retarded and for humanity’s sake stop forcing a cleavage your boobs are not half as big as the fool you are going to make of yourself tonight.”

This is the truthful response. But what does the friend say all smiles?  “You look fine sweetie…” four words; three minus ‘sweetie’. It’s very important that you throw in a food related term of endearment for your lie to meet the standards. Sweetie, honey, sugar-pie and cookie are some you can pick from.

The lecturer in that class you think you can do without asks “do you understand?”

The truthful response: “I don’t understand, I don’t care to understand. How on earth is this bullshit going to assist my career? You hardly understand what you are talking about yourself, how do you expect me to? I pay all this money to have you read slides to me word by word. You have all those degrees and PHD’s and you are stuck here teaching a bunch of ingrates who care more about their nails and drunken sex than they do about the shit you just spent an hour reading to us. Your jokes are not half as bad compared to my understanding of the hogwash you just read from those little slides you hurriedly prepared there.”

Answer you give: “yes sir/madam!” two words that are simpler than all the above. Because you need one letter, ‘A’.

What’s worse is that sometimes these lies are completely unsolicited. No questions are asked. We just blurt them out for selfish reasons; to kiss ass or get mileage for whatever course. In a club for instance, a guy walks up to a girl and strikes up conversation. It’s close to last call and he throws in a drink and a recycled pick up line for the skimpily dressed not very lady-like lady.

In-between jokes he moves in for the kill with a pick from a collection of simple lies that have guaranteed countless men all through history philandering success. Simple lies so strong that if delivered correctly would make any woman weak at the knee. The lie should be not more than three or four words complementing the girl in a vague but deep way. Unlike the simplicity of the words, how they are said makes the whole difference. Our skilled hunter stops talking while the girl is laughing, straightens his back on the chair, looks straight in her eyes, pauses to make sure she’s been enveloped by the urgency and passion in his and Bam!

moving in for the kill

What he says; “you are very pretty.”  “You have beautiful eyes.” Or if he wants to be fancy with words “I don’t see what anyone can see in anyone else but you.”

The truth: I don’t remember the fake name you told me. I hope you don’t have anything I could catch when you pay for that drink later. I hope you leave early in the morning too, because I wouldn’t want to be seen with you around my neighborhood. Other than drunken sex I have no interest in you whatsoever. The prettier, classier girl I really wanted already left with her friends but my friends are all getting laid tonight so you better chug that drink quick and get into the taxi. I have an ego and peer respect to maintain.

 Small lies small lies. They are just simpler than the truth. They make life so livable. They make us get along with each other. They help protect people’s feelings and sex lives because sometimes the truth is just a bitch.

So good miss you wonder why I haven’t called you na mbona nimepotea?

The truthful response: I really don’t like you much. I never have. You have absolutely no value to add to my life. Just because we go to the same institution, does not make you my friend. I’d rather count my pubic hair or use my phone to crash macadamia than call you. You and I have absolutely nothing in common and I did not save your number that time you read it to me. I do not even remember how you and I got acquainted and honestly I don’t care.

What I said: "I lost my phone…"

Because it’s easier.

you and I

If there was a god

If there was a god, I’d have quit school at the start of the year to focus on writing and beer.

 I’d have shacked up in my house in purple trousers and kikois and written scripts for series’ that would be taken up by an African station on DSTV. Not those that show shoddy Nigerian and Tanzanian movies but rather a station like mnet that targets the contemporary modern middle-aged African. My series would tackle real life issues but still be funny and witty; and they’d pay me handsomely for it. 

I’d also acquire a contract or two writing articles for respected online publications read by only a handful of Kenyans who are sophisticated enough but that is popular abroad. These would provide me enough money for linen trousers and fancy African sandals.

By the time mum noticed I’d quit school and spent my semester’s fee to kick start my writing career it would be too late. But she would be glad coz I would be making good money by then and I’d buy her good African jewelry and cups with messages that praise her mothering skills on them.

I’d move to a gated community of flats a few kilometers out of Nairobi. Somewhere along Mombasa road where you’d branch off from the main road and drive a kilometer or two on a well maintained murram road. The estate would have a fancy name with “view” or “ridges” at the end. It’s important that the estate be inaccessible via public transport to keep off nagging girlfriends. But it will be close to a shopping mall, preferably a Nakumatt. 

The estate would be well maintained and one of my neighbors would be a news anchor or well known local journalist. This serves the purpose of creating small talk and impressing visiting friends. The estate would be serene save for a few kids riding their bikes dangerously on the streets that serve as parking lots at night. The rent would be fairly cheap to leave me enough money for beer and books.

I would drive a small car. A Volkswagen beetle or if the ratings of the series’ go up, a Volkswagen polo; something worth more than half a million but less than a million shillings. Anything pricier than that would leave me less money for books and beer.  I’d hang African things on the rearview mirror of the polo and give it a female name; Lucy perhaps. I’d have a bumper sticker on the polo…bumper stickers even. I’d value the car but wouldn’t wash it very often.

I would sleep with slim, dark women with a taste for art, wine and natural short hair. They’d be very similar and suspect me but they’d never find out about each other. 

One would be a tall, dark, bald upcoming model with a love for poetry. 

Another would be a fourth year college student studying a tasking course such as aviation or medicine. She’d wear heavy glasses and have slight self esteem issues, a bright future and beautiful eyes underneath her glasses. She wouldn’t care much about dressing and fashion but she’d be extremely rowdy in bed. She’d also be well versed with current issues and good, old music making her good for night long conversations.

I’d also occasionally sleep with one of my neighbors whose older, richer boyfriend is slightly fat and bad in bed. She would be a bank teller or something of the sort with manicured nails, beautiful skin and fake hair.

 Every so often I’d have friends over and we’d sit round the table and argue loudly about our poor education system, dirty politics and how we’d never reach the 1^st world.  We’d all compete and sit on the edge of chairs to give our opinions on what the problem is. But we’d offer no solutions because we are educated.

When this gets boring we’d drink and discuss girls and the large painting of a jumping, naked maasai that would be hanging in my living room. Then we’d go out to concerts sponsored by local telecommunication companies that support art. The performances would mostly be by Kenyan jazz or afro fusion musicians who aren’t known very much beyond artistic circles. After, I would write an article about how Africans don’t support their own and make more money. The artists would call to say that they read the article and agree with it. We’d then set up coffee dates to discuss Nigerians and river road as the nemesis to sales of good Kenyan artistic work.

One of the rooms in my 2 bed roomed flat would be converted into and office or creative space. I’d spend little or no time here but would describe it to visitors as “where the literary magic happens”. I’d work in the house save for when I’d go on location to direct short movies about the despondent in society that would win awards and earn me recognition and more money for books and beer.

I’d wear sandals everywhere apart from when going dancing or camping. But even then, the shoes I’d wear would be flat and require no socks. I’d be invited to book launches and conferences to discuss African literature and such and such. I’d write a book with a mystical title about how our education system was failing the artistic.

But there is no God and I have not quit school so now I have to rush to class.