The Fool

We watch in disbelieve as our beloved Kenya goes up in smoke. But the most frightening of it all is that some people actually seem to enjoy what is happening. While the simple mwananchi run to kill or run for dear life, someone is fuelling the already burning fire by incitement, careless politicking and pretentious patriotism!

A fool breaks into a kiosk, steals a fanta soda and torches the premises before he runs out. While outside he poses for a photo with his buddy enjoying the sweet drink as the kiosk owner cries in pain of losing his only bread earner. The soda thief and the kiosk owner had no earlier quarrels and the truth is they both have no idea what politics has done to them. Both are victims of selfish leaders who have failed to show them how they relate to each other and how they contribute to the term NATION. The nation of Kenya.

The kiosk owner, after his only ‘dream realisation’ burns into thick black smoke, parks his belongs and with his family off they go, where, to what, they don’t know. The only home they ever knew has turned into a snake and with it’s venomous fangs is now charging to apply a deadly blow. They cry, feeling alone and forsaken wondering what they ever did to deserve what just happened. Wishing for the terrible nightmare to end and to wake up in the place they had known as home. Close to their heels, the serpent hisses, writhing fast with an anger it has no control over nor a reason for.

The fool goes to bed exhausted by the day’s burning and hurting, but still unsatisfied. He sleeps badly haunted by his deeds while fruitlessly trying to understand why he did what he did or for whom. His wife and children praise him as he narrates what he did, his day’s work. Sadly he has no pay to show for. Only the believe that he did it for his leader. His unbwugable leader.

The next morning, the fool’s wife gently wakes him up. They need breakfast, there is no milk, no bread and the children are hungry. He gets up and steps outside to look for the groceries and is greeted by his former day’s work. The town is unusually silent, dreadfully silent. There is smoke from ruins and debris everywhere and he realizes he would have to go farther than usual in such of a grocery store since the kiosk he burned has not been re-erected, possibly never will.

He meets his friend who informs him that all shops and businesses are closed out of terror of what they had done; there is no place to buy anything. Not even water. They together take a tour of the town and asses the damage they inflicted and though they feel triumphant over what they accomplished, there is no wage, no satisfaction, no joy, only emptiness and hunger.

After hours of searching they give up and both head back home empty handed. The fool enters his homestead with no idea what he would tell his family or how he would feed them. There was no transport to take him anywhere on his quest for his basic needs. His sword, he now realizes, was double edged and had inflicted wounds not only on his “enemy” but on himself as well. His youngest child cannot bear with all this and cries on its mother’s lap with no idea what tomorrow has in store for it.

The leader seems to be extra charged by all this and only intends to make it worse. This is his time, his dream, his ambition, his…his…his. The country burns, runs blood and cries, but he has no time to see that. He has to meet with his partners from the western world, big people, not like those of his countrymen now dying, no, this ones are big in many ways. They will make him as big as they are because it was his destiny to be big. Nobody will take that from him, life or death. His!

We must condemn the actions of this fools, we must remind them that it is not to their advantage to use the double edged sword. For as much as they strike, they arm the “enemy” with the right to defend themselves! This little “game” could end the nation’s dream if let to go full throttle. Nobody wins, we all lose and even worse we destroy tomorrow.

Stop these acts of terrorism; Kenya is for us all!

Njoro.

Thank You

When I received the news that my mother was sick, the fear that sneaks into us who live far from home, willingly took a sit in my being. That fear of not knowing just how sick she was, was enough to make me want to repent all my sins and make a new deal with God in exchange for my mothers health. But deep within was the conviction that she would pull through or probably a refusal to accept that she, my own mom, could actually leave me.

My mother had had a long standing struggle with her health. She had high blood pressure which had cost her not only a lot of pain and suffering, but also a lot of her time and money to keep it in control. She had a minor stroke once but left hospital in less than two weeks and fully recovered. She had other complications now and then like, headaches, backaches from which she pulled through easily. Besides all these, she was strong and brave and took each day like it was a challenge. She would bounce back to life and continue with her missions like nothing had happened.

When the doctor diagnosed her with typhoid, hope was restored in me for I knew that typhoid though a danger zone, was treatable. She would be fine, I kept saying to my self.

I couldn’t wait for her to get well so that we could move ahead with the plans we had made for this year. I wanted to take care of her. I wanted her to take a time out in her busy life and just live good. Little did I know that a terrible business mishap had left her tired of this earthly life. She did not want to fight anymore.

Her headaches got worse by the hour prompting the doctors to recommend an x-ray. By this time, my sister who was constantly updating me with the development or misdevelopment I should say, was almost in a state of panic. I could feel the fear in her voice and I kept thinking that she was hiding something from me. But in turn she would tell me that the doctors seemed afraid of telling her the truth about mom’s condition.

Each day I woke up scared, each day I went to bed afraid. I somehow, could sense that something was very wrong this time. That my mom did not have the strength to get over another stroke; that her body might not be able to take another blow.

My favourite song became, Prayer. And every time I listened to it I would try to sing along in real prayer for mother. “I say a prayer for my mother today. On my knees to the Father I pray, guide and protect her every day”, I would sing along. But I could not finish a sentence. Tears would well in my eyes and a clump in my throat and I would have to stop there, and instead sing on in my head.

Three days in the hospital, the doctors discovered a broken blood vessel in her brain and advised that she be transferred to another “better” hospital. According to them though, there was no cause of alarm and this did not even require an operation. Tablets were enough to help heal and repair the vessel.

I talked to her on her way to the second hospital and got more hope from the strength in her voice. But I did not get to know that she got worse almost immediately after we talked. It was the last time I ever talked to her. Four days later I received the feared call informing me that she had rested.

My world crumbled, emptiness, hopelessness, confusion, panic, tiredness crept in like vultures to take a piece of me. I had no idea what to do next; I needed my mom more than ever.

A very close friend of mine had been with me through most of these, encouraging me, praying with me making it clear that I was not completely alone. She was like an angel sent to see me through the hardest time in my life. God bless her.

Before that day was over, my house was filled with friends. From that day to the day I left for Kenya, I had friends around me giving me all the support I needed to face the days. Their quick actions saw to it that I got all I needed, material and moral, now and then causing a smile on my face when I thought it was impossible to smile.

Your efforts were not in vain. It is YOU who make this world stay in its course even when storms set in. You made a big difference in my life and taught me that in this world we are our brother’s keepers. Carry on for your work shall be rewarded in all possible ways.

Catherine Keboi, a true ambassador of God, Githuku and Mrs Muirani, a brother and a sister, Jacinta Njoroge, a loving mother, true examples of what brotherhood and solidarity is all about, my cousin Mercy, we are family, Jeff Ole Ngais, my brother my friend, all you who helped in any way, the list is endless. All those who took part in organizing in my home and the paperwork.

The Bagarmossen church, a good example of a Christian church and the goodness of God, keep up the faith and God bless your missionary work.

The Kenya Embassy in Stockholm, a service for Kenyans in need. Special thanks to George Kinyua, you know how to do what needs to be done.

All my friends who ran to me in my time of sorrow, you have earned the title Companions to me.

All that made an effort to ease my pain. Those comforting words in the condolence book that made me know that, you are with me. Cathy and Lisa, your touching words and singing.

Please receive my personal thanks to you from the whole of my heart. I will never forget what you all did for me; you were my strength when I was weak. Only God can give to you the equivalent of my gratitude. May His blessings shine upon your lives and every single thing that you do.

Am sure that my mother is glad that I have people like you around me. May the almighty rest her soul in eternal peace.

Thank you. Njoro.

The Last King Of Scotland

I saw this movie just the other day and it was easy to come to the conclusion that Forest Whittaker really did deserve his Oscar. If one didn’t know him, it would be a surprise to learn that he is an American actor not an Ugandan as in the role he so well plays.

Though the movie is mostly about Idi Amin, the story is that of a Scottish young doctor who chooses to challenge his destiny by picking a place to work in from the world global atlas, by pointing with his finger while his eyes are closed.

The first choice, Canada, is not appealing to him so he “casts the dice” again in which turn his finger lands on Uganda. At this time the just graduated doc knows almost nothing about the country but the adventure of being in Africa is quite attractive. And so, off he goes.

Coincidentally, he arrives just as Amin succeeds in throwing out Obote, and fate crosses the paths of these two strangers.

Just as most African leaders, Mohamed Idi Amin started with a beautiful idea of making his country the best in the world. Soon enough the change came.

Fear, greed and sometimes just simple frustrations, tend to turn our leaders to the exact opposites of what they dream to be. After an attempt on his life, Idi Amin realises that he can not trust anyone and so everyone becomes an enemy. By choosing not to think beyond his anger and fear, he let the darkness take over the little light that was shining in him. Because of the power his office gave him, he started to see himself as an immortal. The strongest man ever. The conqueror of them all.

He changed from the great African son he could have been to a hated, big ugly loathed black devil. He became the face of evil.

What most people forget is that evil never wins. Those who choose to take that path soon come to terms with the reality of life. Unlike goodness which always attracts blessings, evil has a bitter price big time. It never wins. Idi Amin was not the first, and nor is he the last. The list of evil men and women who have played a role in this world is long with the latest good example of Saddam Hussein who died thinking he was still a president.

These small brain people assume the world they live in is only theirs and that they are untouchable. That they are the best and equal to non.

Woe unto them coz what goes around sure comes around, what goes up can also drop down fast.

Unfortunately, evil is part of this world and no matter how much we desire for the good, Amins will always be around. So while we pray for the light to shine brighter than the dreadful darkness in our lifes, we should let our little lights shine and goodness prevail over wickedness.

Even more unfortunate is the fact that the face of evil is not always a big ugly black man, sometimes it is that of a little man, or an ever smiling cute face of a young woman.

Beware and take care!

Njoro.