Dear tribe-less Kenyans!

A fresh perspective.

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This is how it starts.

This is how they play us.

They pit one side against the other, asking us to lay down our lives for their personal pursuits.

Certain birds tweet and chirp accusations. Eventually, the bird droppings fall to the grassroots, fester with ignorance and grow into violence. Everyone ignores the writings on the talking walls.

The skirt no longer greets the headscarf when they pass each other on the road as they drive to work.

Misinformation and propaganda give rise to full-blown hate.

People eventually pick up guns and rally in the streets.

Three killed, one injured.

The word person isn’t even used. A newsroom somewhere: “Foolish Africans, killing each other again.” There won’t be a #PrayforKenya. The world is bored; you did this before in 2007. Plus you don’t have the charm of Paris and you’re not white. Oh and that singer just had quintuplets. “If it bleeds it leads” doesn’t work anymore. Get those retweets. Priorities, people. Priorities.

Headlines fly, a TV screen reads: “Kenya Burning.” The producer assigned it three sentences on the script. A description on the demise of the only country you’ve ever known is reduced to a highlight.

More people call for blood. They have the taste for it now. The inner demons that slumbered since 2007 are now fully awake and starving. Almost a decade, a long time for evil to be suppressed….

One by one their sons are called to fight. The colour on the skirt fades and the headscarf starts to loosen. They don’t talk so loud now, but still tap their feet to the rhythm of hate.

The politicians they loathed, the politicians they loved… they’re all gone. They had their visas and hired choppers long before the bombs started to drop.

There is a crater now, at the corner where they stopped waving hello to each other.

Clean water and food are scarce. An entire decade of children has never stepped into a classroom. Schools are now makeshift hospitals for the remaining sons who volunteer to get killed because at least the rebels feed them.

The mothers search for their children. Skirt queues three people behind headscarf, waiting for the WFP food ration. Death didn’t care: from the Ketepa hills to the Chale sands. A body is a body is a body, and Grim’s quotas have to be met.

They cannot remember why it started and now they cannot find an end.

The mothers walk, empty and shelled into a waking death.

The generation of their futures lie rotting in unidentified graves, bone fragments mixing into the rubble of the building where Mama Njeri no longer sells the oil that Mrs. Owino needed for the deep-frying. Buried is the laughter they shared when they discussed the youthful idiocy of their sons and how expensive everything was getting. How neither the government nor the opposition ever really cared.

Their sons are dead. The women are dead. The future is dead.

Kenyatta and Odinga

The Llama Thinks…

… leaders come and go, citizens remain. Nairobi is not burning: majority of western media is already hoping isolated protests turn into countrywide large-scale violence. I pray that after all this, they feel they have wasted money on all those extra journalists they flew into our beautiful nation. The future is still unwritten, “Sit down, be humble.”

The So Necessary List:

Awesome Kenyans winning gold medals at the IAAF championships in London
#Githeriman memes

Something I wrote minutes after I heard a patriotic member of the IEBC was brutally murdered and my mind went into overdrive. Today, it had to be shared.

via When The Ink Wears Off — TAZAMA LLAMA

 

Image Credits.

They named him Idiot.

He is yet to disappoint!

A name.

What is in a name? There are trendy names, tribal names, biblical names, nick names, insults (name calling), there is no end to it. But! How much thought do people put to their names, more so, what were your folks thinking when they named you person X? Has your name affected you in any way?

Let me tell you what you should consider, and why your name might very well be the end of you or the making of you… your fate is somewhat sealed.

Many names describe Nations, seasons, places, events and have therefore priceless historical value. Like the Hebrews, some names are fragments of ancient history, and thus a revelation of divine purpose or a deep expression of hope and possible prophecies for the future. For example the name Barak means Thunder, the way I see it, Thunder is significant, hard to ignore, will be felt and acknowledged by all who are in its path, can cause great destruction or inspiration, much like Barak Obama ( see, his path had already been decided).

Names are also linked to one’s spiritual truth, and can be taken as an indicator of one’s character or natural qualities; a strong example set in the Bible is by Abigail. Abigail (whose name means my father’s joy) made a plea to David for her worthless husband, and I quote:

“…as his name is, so is he: Nabal is his name and folly is with him” (1 Sam. 25:25). Nabal means “fool.” In effect then, Abigail said, “Pay no attention to my husband. He’s a fool by name, and a fool by nature.”

There you have it! As you are named, so you shall be! Which leads me to wonder, why anyone would name their child Idiot. It might be that perhaps they ( the parents) did not fully understand what the word Idiot means, or perhaps the meaning was completely lost in translation, so they probably thought they were doing him a favor. They could not have been further from the truth.

It therefore follows, that should anyone be cursed with such a name, then he could be blameless for the error in his ways. Like Nabal, arrogance and poor judgement are intimately joined to their character. So actions and activity will seldom be in consideration of anyone else other than themselves. Let me create some colorful examples for you.

Is it not complete idiocy to shoot someone in cold blood? More so over a petty argument that could easily have been resolved by issuance of a Shebesh at the very worst?

Is it not the folly of an idiot to conduct shoddy business which flaunts various state and county laws, knowing fully well that regimes change and the law will someday catch up with you?

Is the very definition of idiocracy not captured by a man who steals from a hard-working widow irrespective of biblical warnings and pending doom for anyone who does?

I can not help drawing parallels between these two characters, one saved by his wife but killed by God while the other eliminated his wife and is awaiting punishment form God. A fool is a fool from any angle, none of them have ever made it out alive, not even those named Idiot.

Watch and learn people, watch and learn!

Image credits.

Shweee shweee dresses

Giving the sun competition.

It started as a fairly normal Sunday, following the standard routine of a large artery clogging breakfast followed by an hour on the pews listening to a hearty summon, and putting in petitions for a better week ahead. Depending on energy levels, we usually find a spot for the kids to play and for us to imbibe cold frothy drinks. So off we went in search of a place that would accommodate us, and luckily secured a spot at a joint we had never tried before…and should not have.

The crowd here was a notch above my usual joint. It somewhat looked like someone was hosting high tea and only the la-de-da of Nairobi’s society were invited. Never the less, we found a spot and settled in, ordering pizzas, Tuskers and Vodkas to wind down the week.  As always, I enjoy people watching and this crowd was as entertaining as the food channel. The women were dressed in all colors, and I mean all of them. Hats were wider than Saturn’s rings, and hem lines barely kissed anyone’s knees. It’s as if Maxi dresses had been banned here, I bloody well looked like everyone’s mother in my matronly church attire and flat sandals, most of the women here were in sky high wedges and were pulling them off like pros!

Having gotten slightly inebriated, and tired of chasing after the boys, I decided to watch them from the shade of my table and issue warnings that would be ignored with a drink in my hand. My person watching was now limited to the play area where this pretty young thing was minding her daughter. She was by all standards very easy on the eyes, and had on the cutest dresess I had ever seen. Beautiful corseted around her bosom and waist, and it opened up elegantly to form a gentle dome that (in line with the restaurants dress code) went nowhere near her knees. Which was just as well because she had pins that were worth the attention they were getting, long and nicely curved… Tina Turner like if you please.  So she and her young giggled and sang, and she continued pushing her on the swings much to everyone’s delight, or so I thought.  Until she decided to turn around and pick up her baby .

I did not know where to look.

The dress that was so cute at the front was disastrously short at the back. Disastrously short! What I did not expect, given her rather slender upper body was the mammoth posterior that this girl carried, and clearly neither did whomever designed the dress. The hem line that was borderline decent at the front was an assault on the eyes at the back, why you ask? Because her more than ample derriere lifted the dress upwards, and her hips stretched it further making what should have been a knee length dress a micro mini. What was worse, she insisted on bending over and carrying her daughter,  providing X rated views for anyone with eyes, and not giving a toss about who was watching. The bloody cheek of her! This is a play area damn it!

Given her demeanor, her cellulite free buttery looking skin with no blemish whatsoever, I would say this here lass was putting on a deliberate show. Now that she had caught my attention, and that of several other tables much to the chagrin of most wives who now insisted that the husbands sit facing away from the “sun”, she was on the hunt. Her shwee shwee dress, swayed with the slightest movement or breeze. She wore no ring on her finger, and implied innocence in her ballet flats and braiding her Brazilian weave into pigtails. I wondered how long she had been carrying on this charade, and for how much longer she would get away with it. Surely, exposing that much skin, posterior skin nonetheless should be illegal before 5 p.m.

I had had enough of the show, and couldn’t be bothered to have mine face away from the “sun”, so we packed up and went home. An hour or two early than we normally did, because porn should not be watched in broad daylight!

 

Image credits.

Single and mama.

Its not all hell and brimstone.

This all started with some jokes, bad ones at that. I cannot stop laughing though… let me share the glory.

Que: What happens when you go black?

Ans: You become a single mum

liparti1laughing-smiley-face04

Que: Why don’t black men take care of their kids?

Ans: Because you can’t put rims on them

cheka-2

Best pick up line of the century.

A girl and a guy are on a first date.

She says: I am a single mum of one… looks at him waiting for an excuse and quick exit.

He says: Awesome, want to be a mum of two?

( Swoon!)

wink

I know single mums have a bad rep, all around. I wish to declare that not all single mums set out to “trap” a man. In fact, you will find that most ended up being single mothers as a result of failed contraception, those morning after pills decided to stay out late night and all together refused the call of duty. There are also those who had the serious misfortune of losing their partner to death, a cruel cruel outcome. Then there are those who simply walked out of a relationship that was not going to end well, e.g. dating a drunk, drug addict or serial cheat, nobody needs that. I am sure there are other scenarios I have not mentioned, but either way, we are all branded and huddled up under the same umbrella.

So here’s the thing. It is not always raining in our world, we have nothing in common with Eeyore. Yes there are struggles, but they do not always get the best of us. In fact, I dare say, it is sometimes easier to parent single handedly, than to be chained to a man who wants not to be there.

Firstly, from the jump, as a single mother, you get to name the child whatever you want. Being African, we are mostly patriarchal, meaning that the man’s side of the family gets to be named first before you can think of naming your own. This means, for instance, I would have to pop 8 children before my father gets to be named. It’s NEVER THAT SERIOUS, single mum’s score!

You get to decide on religion, without having migraines and near stabbings. As a single mum, if you are Catholic, then your children will be Catholic. If you have a partner, he wants say, which means compromise, which is the reason you split in the first place. So no, being single here is not a bad idea at all, single mum’s score.

Education, being what it is, is unfortunately necessary. Its sad as a SM (single mum), the option to homeschool is none existence because your young will never acquire the taste of Newspaper Casserole, so your back side needs a paycheck, sometimes 5. However, you get to decide where and which system works best for you. Religious led schools not being out of the question if that is what tickles your fancy. School fees is a female mutt, I freely admit, but its less headache when you know your children are getting the best and not suffering second choice because the sperm donor would rather the cheaper option. Single mums score!

God’s grace, I find is all the more abundant and evident when circumstances work against the innocent. I dare say that anyone who carries responsibilities meant for two surely has extra attention from God. I have witnessed mothers make the impossible work, for the sake of their children, and this is a sign of God’s goodness and grace. Can I get an Amen?

Being a parent, single or accompanied is a blessing. Do not feel sorry for those who go it alone, they get to experience full happiness , pleasures and pride that you can only imagine. Do not be quick to judge and condemn either, you do not know how they got there. Help where you can, speak kindly always, otherwise, be on your way.

 

Image credits.

A Generation missed

When it takes a village.

Given how we all have to be politically correct and culturally sensitive in order to exist in continuous harmony with the universe, I am left to wonder what happens to the groups that slip through the cracks. The ones who are told to walk it off, or slap on a band aid and get over it. There are the groups who are not visible enough to carry placards and demonstrate in the streets, they do not have colorful parades or international holidays, they only reside in the shadows and come out when put in the spot light by those who are part of the “walk it off” party. Maybe I am being too harsh, perhaps I should allow some room for excuses, and blame it on the system. The system responsible for screwing people over, and getting away with it. Because the system does not have a face or an address, it is Continue reading “A Generation missed”

Older people.

Died at 18 buried at 55

It’s been a fantastic day… I feel like I stepped into a portal that took me back in time, to a place full of forgotten things like laughter and conversation. Honestly, I also have found my age and I am bloody proud of it, millennial I am not. Continue reading “Older people.”

Disconnected

Staying for the kids…

The space between us was filled with unspoken words.

She sat at her table, physically present but running on auto pilot. She lived and breathed like she should, but a manikin would have elicited more emotion than she could master. Continue reading “Disconnected”