I wrote this three weeks ago, but i never got round to posting it...anyways, here it is, with a slight modification.
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Freedom. One of the ideals mankind has fought over for a long time, and yet one we sometimes find ourselves in chains trying to protect. Lucky Dube sang about it. Everywhere in the world, people are fighting for freedom, nobody knows what is right....the black man say its the white man, the white man say its the black man...
I am one of the lucky few who have enjoyed the freedom to do what I like to do for a long time. Knowing you have no patron at your workplace who would like to receive all the little nitty-gritties going around in the power struggles that we face in our daily lives, from workplaces to national politics.
Our bodies are searching for freedom, our souls are searching for freedom, and we find ourselves in freedom imposed chains. The Al shabaab is going to attack, so the security everywhere has been tightened, until we are literally in chains!
Freedom is waking up one day and telling your boss, hey, to hell with you, I quit! But oh, the chain of the salary that comes at the end of the month!
Marjorie Oludhe once wrote, the freedom song, about Atieno yo...
Marjorie Oludhe starts, Atieno washes the dishes...I guess most Kenyans know the poem, no need to repeat it, but I feel like singing...Akinyi yo..
Once upon a time there was a butterfly. It worked every hard, and although it was tiny, it still did the work required of it.
Then there was a skunk. It claimed all the work done by the butterfly as its own...
Then there was a Giraffe, which was not so good looking....yet it thought it was a peacock. It specialized in chasing away butterflies...
The good thing is that the butterfly is free.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Sunday, September 04, 2011
I'm just who I am
The introduction....a poem by Richard Ntiru comes to mind when I think about what I am going through at the moment....
The Introduction
Perhaps it was his ugil shirt-
The missing button
The unassertive collar;
Perhaps it was his knotty hair
That boasted little acquintance with the comb
Or maybe it was his usualness
- One more impersonal handshake
Along the constant street-
That induced the functional smile
And operated the mechanical handshake.
His name didn't help either;
Mugambo Mugenge - You'd hear the name
In the outpatients attendance queue;
Not in the current Telephone Directory!
You certainly needed prompting.
I said he was an old time friend
But you continued to wave to passing cars;
I added he was a highly placed man
And you promptly took your cue
-" A University teacher, author of several works"-
"RE-E-Eally? Er-Om-Oh!...."
And you became word and emotion perfect
Like a dog that mistakes a thief for a visitor
And remembers to bark at his masters coughing,
You renewed and pumped the handshake
-Reshaped your mouth to a proper smile
-Recalled his famous public talk
That you had regretfully missed...
And observed, thoughtfully,
How unlike his photographs he looked.
You were tuned-
Delved deep into his latest novel
And wondered why his main characters
Do not walk on solid earth
And fail to effect living communication
You'd have rambled on, no longer looking at him,
But he quipped:
"They are in good company"
And was about to add when you knowledgeably
interrupted
"Society is a market stall
And men are goods on display
Where the label is more important than the labelled
And the price is more fascinating than the value".
We parted, hoping to meet again.
You went away rehearsing his name
But probably un-remembering his face.
RICHARD NTIRU
A person becoming "word and emotion perfect" when he learns the guy he was casually ignoring is actually a high standing man in society.
Perhaps it was his ugil shirt-
The missing button
The unassertive collar;
Perhaps it was his knotty hair
That boasted little acquintance with the comb
Or maybe it was his usualness
- One more impersonal handshake
Along the constant street-
That induced the functional smile
And operated the mechanical handshake.
His name didn't help either;
Mugambo Mugenge - You'd hear the name
In the outpatients attendance queue;
Not in the current Telephone Directory!
You certainly needed prompting.
I said he was an old time friend
But you continued to wave to passing cars;
I added he was a highly placed man
And you promptly took your cue
-" A University teacher, author of several works"-
"RE-E-Eally? Er-Om-Oh!...."
And you became word and emotion perfect
Like a dog that mistakes a thief for a visitor
And remembers to bark at his masters coughing,
You renewed and pumped the handshake
-Reshaped your mouth to a proper smile
-Recalled his famous public talk
That you had regretfully missed...
And observed, thoughtfully,
How unlike his photographs he looked.
You were tuned-
Delved deep into his latest novel
And wondered why his main characters
Do not walk on solid earth
And fail to effect living communication
You'd have rambled on, no longer looking at him,
But he quipped:
"They are in good company"
And was about to add when you knowledgeably
interrupted
"Society is a market stall
And men are goods on display
Where the label is more important than the labelled
And the price is more fascinating than the value".
We parted, hoping to meet again.
You went away rehearsing his name
But probably un-remembering his face.
RICHARD NTIRU
A person becoming "word and emotion perfect" when he learns the guy he was casually ignoring is actually a high standing man in society.
They say image is everything. Unfortunately, despite knowing myself very well, knowing who I am and what I want, somebody wants me to change my image, because apparently, when we meet other people, they tend to ignore me, until when they hear the position I hold somewhere!
The art of managing an image, especially since I do not hold public office, is one I find hard to master. I am certainly unprepared for these changes being demanded of me. I find myself thinking like I used to in primary school when I did not agree with my teachers. Just being rude. But again, the cost can be enormous. That is my dilemma.
Just listening to Celine Dion's "On change pas" I feel like telling the change mongers...I might be wearing plastic hair and make up to please you, but deep inside, lies a proud African woman fighting to keep her identity.
I leave you with Celine Dion's "On ne Change Pas"
Just listening to Celine Dion's "On change pas" I feel like telling the change mongers...I might be wearing plastic hair and make up to please you, but deep inside, lies a proud African woman fighting to keep her identity.
I leave you with Celine Dion's "On ne Change Pas"
Saturday, September 03, 2011
Dholuo love ballads
It is one lazy weekend for me, so I've turned on my old CDs of Luo music. I'm relishing this moment and dancing my heart out. Great music.
I had never realized this before, but it seems all of them are singing about women...love gone sour...is one major repeated theme "Isanda nango" , "Isanda gi hera", for the non dholuo speaker, it simply means, "why are you mistreating me....your love is hurting...and even more "Ilal Kanye", "Rambanya nyathi maber moromo manyo"...where did you go, and the beautiful one is worth searching for....
I have always had this impression that Luo men do not value their women a lot, going by the way they are treated, widows having their property grabbed, the fact that we have no permanent places in our own homes - that if a young girl or woman dies, she has to be buried outside the home and even the fact that we don't traditionally inherit land.
But not in music! As long as Luo music continues picturing the woman as a powerful force who the musician can't live with, i will continue loving it.
I leave you with this link of Aluoch Jamaranda's song, which I only love the first part! (the Agutu nyathi maber...not the Malo malo)
I had never realized this before, but it seems all of them are singing about women...love gone sour...is one major repeated theme "Isanda nango" , "Isanda gi hera", for the non dholuo speaker, it simply means, "why are you mistreating me....your love is hurting...and even more "Ilal Kanye", "Rambanya nyathi maber moromo manyo"...where did you go, and the beautiful one is worth searching for....
I have always had this impression that Luo men do not value their women a lot, going by the way they are treated, widows having their property grabbed, the fact that we have no permanent places in our own homes - that if a young girl or woman dies, she has to be buried outside the home and even the fact that we don't traditionally inherit land.
But not in music! As long as Luo music continues picturing the woman as a powerful force who the musician can't live with, i will continue loving it.
I leave you with this link of Aluoch Jamaranda's song, which I only love the first part! (the Agutu nyathi maber...not the Malo malo)
Thursday, September 01, 2011
Wambui Otieno
It seems Mrs Wambui Otieno Mbugua is still fighting battles even in death. I could not believe my eyes when I read in the press that the Umira Kager clan is actually trying to bury her in Nyalgunga! What the ....! But again I could see from the TV footage that somehow she anticipated this. What with her grave already dug and her wishes clearly spelled out in black and white?
One thing I do admire about her though, is her guts. Her daring acts did indeed expand the space for Kenyan women to do some things they never thought they would do. Even though I was just a little girl at the time she fought a court battle with Joka Umira Kager over the burial place of her late husband, it was a lesson that a woman can indeed fight for what she thinks is right.
Growing up in a house where I heard my dad almost everyday, telling my brother "Otieno ae jikon" urging him to get out of the woman's space, in a way, claiming sons like "Otieno" my brother who shares the same name as Wambui's late husband, had more important things to do than hanging around the kitchen with girls and their mothers, kind of reinforced the idea that they are of a superiour breed. But the SM case, kept one woman in the headlines for a long time. Yes, I realised, our issues also do matter in the national press.
Being in the headlines, Wambui was a reminder that yes, even though you fight for what you want and don't get it, you can always keep your head up.
I loved her marriage to Mbugua. It went to show that women don't need to hide behind the veils that society creates for them. After her marriage that shocked many Kenyans, it soon became normal as many women went public with their marriages to younger men. I remember once when I was an intern reporter, some angry men called my workplace, wanting reporters to go and see a case where an old woman had apparently bewitched a young man to be her lover. They were ready to lynch her and she was held at a local chief's camp in Githurai. As I investigated, I found out both parties were adults, over 25 years old...it was a non story, save to advise the local community that there was nothing wrong if the two were consenting adults....just like Wambui Otieno.
Wambui might not know it, but she was a role model to many people. may she rest in peace.
One thing I do admire about her though, is her guts. Her daring acts did indeed expand the space for Kenyan women to do some things they never thought they would do. Even though I was just a little girl at the time she fought a court battle with Joka Umira Kager over the burial place of her late husband, it was a lesson that a woman can indeed fight for what she thinks is right.
Growing up in a house where I heard my dad almost everyday, telling my brother "Otieno ae jikon" urging him to get out of the woman's space, in a way, claiming sons like "Otieno" my brother who shares the same name as Wambui's late husband, had more important things to do than hanging around the kitchen with girls and their mothers, kind of reinforced the idea that they are of a superiour breed. But the SM case, kept one woman in the headlines for a long time. Yes, I realised, our issues also do matter in the national press.
Being in the headlines, Wambui was a reminder that yes, even though you fight for what you want and don't get it, you can always keep your head up.
I loved her marriage to Mbugua. It went to show that women don't need to hide behind the veils that society creates for them. After her marriage that shocked many Kenyans, it soon became normal as many women went public with their marriages to younger men. I remember once when I was an intern reporter, some angry men called my workplace, wanting reporters to go and see a case where an old woman had apparently bewitched a young man to be her lover. They were ready to lynch her and she was held at a local chief's camp in Githurai. As I investigated, I found out both parties were adults, over 25 years old...it was a non story, save to advise the local community that there was nothing wrong if the two were consenting adults....just like Wambui Otieno.
Wambui might not know it, but she was a role model to many people. may she rest in peace.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
A day in a woman's life
Oh how time flies....I stopped blogging as new things happened in my life, a new job, a new baby, a new life of being semi married....these responsibilities have kept me off my laptop. Not to forget, our baby, nicknamed Kaduve, does not allow me to move close to the computer when I'm home.
I wrote this little post (see below) last April, and I'm just glad the boy has allowed me to touch my laptop this evening, so I can share some of my views ( and keep my mind busy analyzing non important issues).
---
April. The month when we are still feeling very much like a woman loved...Valentines day was just the other day and we are yet to recover from the pampering we received during the International Womens' day that was marked in March. But lest we forget...there is still a long path waiting to be troden.
I was just thinking about the writer Simon de Beauvoir. How she dissected the woman's role, the woman as the mother and the woman as the wife...some of the gems from this lady, that women are actually made...not born. we are socialised to accept certain roles and we end up being the so called 'weaker sex'.
One thing i learned while growing up though, there were far more women surviving in old age than men...and if life is the survival of the fittest, then your guess can be as good as mine.
Look at the animal kingdom, the lion is considered a king, but I've seen lionesses lead hunts ...that should indeed leave them being considered as the Kings.
As I look all around me, women are still in most instances paid less than their male counterparts for doing the same job.
---
This is as far as I wrote on this particular day, since I was rudely interrupted by a toddler seeking attention from his mom. Should I say, to be continued....about six years later when Kaduve is in school!
I wrote this little post (see below) last April, and I'm just glad the boy has allowed me to touch my laptop this evening, so I can share some of my views ( and keep my mind busy analyzing non important issues).
---
April. The month when we are still feeling very much like a woman loved...Valentines day was just the other day and we are yet to recover from the pampering we received during the International Womens' day that was marked in March. But lest we forget...there is still a long path waiting to be troden.
I was just thinking about the writer Simon de Beauvoir. How she dissected the woman's role, the woman as the mother and the woman as the wife...some of the gems from this lady, that women are actually made...not born. we are socialised to accept certain roles and we end up being the so called 'weaker sex'.
One thing i learned while growing up though, there were far more women surviving in old age than men...and if life is the survival of the fittest, then your guess can be as good as mine.
Look at the animal kingdom, the lion is considered a king, but I've seen lionesses lead hunts ...that should indeed leave them being considered as the Kings.
As I look all around me, women are still in most instances paid less than their male counterparts for doing the same job.
---
This is as far as I wrote on this particular day, since I was rudely interrupted by a toddler seeking attention from his mom. Should I say, to be continued....about six years later when Kaduve is in school!
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