Onyango Oloo

Did the Poetry Stop You Wondered....

2011-08-04T00:45:00.013+03:00

the gap in your beautiful teeth

is the first thing most people notice

flipping through your digital album
on my lap top

i am stunned by your breath-taking looks

if you were not already my wife

i would propose to you

memories of kisumu,

mombasa,

lamu,

kiambu

are reinforced by

your warm body
next to mine,

night after night after night
months on end
year in, year out

did the poetry stop
after you moved in
you asked me
a few minutes ago
closer to one than midnight
here in east africa

and this poem
is the response to tell you
that i have five volumes
of epic, romantic and ever flowing verse
cascading through my soul

when you are asleep

i study your face
reminding myself
how lucky i am
to have you
in my life
as the most significant other in my life....

Refriending a Facebook Pal

2010-08-15T13:08:00.002+03:00

carried out
a referendum
on our friendship
the other day
and impulsively
voted NO
to our camaraderie
and near intimate
platonic bonds
voted YES
to unfriend you
as a Facebook friend
voted NO
to your presence
on my phonebook
voted YES
to not giving you
a second look
after rushing
to cast my rash vote
of no confidence
in our continued interaction
i rushed home
feeling as sick as
someone who had gulped down
biriyani mixed with omo
was foaming at the mouth
and convulsing
the doctor told me
that i was suffering from
a strange and weird disease
called SWS
this stands for
Sakina Withdrawal Syndrome
you are my
safe organic
virtual hashish
my purest magic mushrooms
i am hooked on you
like a curious tilapia
at the end
of a Migingo fisherman's ndoano...

my love is a kenyan river

2010-08-15T12:38:00.005+03:00

an early night
in late july
memories flood back
of hot sex
on cold mornings
secret gropings
after frantic
taxi rides
peals of romantic laughter
you brewing
masala chai and scrambled mayai
before hopping on
the number four
from sun city
to afya centre
she that i
used to sneak from
to be with you
is resting six feet under
and is watching
us from above
even as i
wonder
what happened
to the one
you sneaked to
when you ran
away from me
know you this
my love for you
is the river tana
ever flowing
knowing not
drought or hailstorm
low or high season...

a window, opening slowly....

2010-08-15T12:05:00.003+03:00

sunday rendezvous
in ranalo's
meeting you
for the first time
i quickly realize that
that mc sasha
the feisty twentysomething
vivacious sista
i first ogled
at warembo ni yes
is nowhere
to be seen
forgot to show up
the statuesque charismatic
beauty across the table
shyly glancing at me
while picking absently
at her ngege
is a young mother
known as mama nadia
who weighs each word
as if she just got
an urgent secret sms
from treasury building
tipping her off in advance
that minister uhuru kenyatta
would increase the price
of talking
in the next kenyan budget
nevertheless
in the course of the afternoon
you loosen up
open up
sharing with me
the sweet with the bitter
the fascinating
with the melancholy
and for that
i wanted to echo
your ugenya people
where my own mama
may she repose in peace
also sprang from
to end by saying
"erohamano nyar simenya!"

A Spontaneous Tribute to The Freshly Deceased Mzalendo Kaggia

2005-03-08T17:02:00.000+03:00

Mzee Kaggia, even before your body is cold, and your eyes closed
There are already two deranged homungati town criers on the internet
Who have rushed to spit at your face, jeering as they wonder why
You chose to die in penury
rather than join Kenyatta and Ngei
In their land-grabbing spree of the sixties
You chose to die in dignity exactly fifty two years less one month
after that notorious Kapenguria trial
That sent you and Fred Kubai,
Paul Ngei and Kungu Karumba,
Ramogi Achieng Oneko and the sellout Jomo Kenyatta
to seven years hard labour behind bars
Babake Mwaganu, even as fresh tears of genuine sorrow
Flow from millions of Kenyans
from all over the republic
that you fought so hard to establish
The progeny of the sellouts from Central Kenya
and two or three Gikuyuphobes from Luoland
See in your death an occasion to justify
The culture of neo-colonial subservience
And betrayal of patriotic ideals
Some of us have chosen to rise up
above that petty minded sniping
Choosing instead to celebrate
your courageous patriotic life
As you lived it to the very end-
Simply, seeking no special favours,
demanding no plum perks
Politically and ideologically you towered over
All three Presidential headmen
of our Lilliput of the Mashariki
Even though they all
tried to excise your name
From our history books
Arrogantly arrogating themselves the mantles
Of Fathers and Mothers of the Nation
As Mtukufu this and Mheshimiwa that
Abrogating the roles of the KLFA
as convenient amnesia
Wipes away the valour of those
whose ideals they abdicated
Even though they let you waste away in obscurity
Even though they would have
Had they so wished
Venerated you
The way the South African people revered and respected
Their Sisulus, their Tambos, their Mandelas, their Kathradas
Even though we know they will promptly forget you
After today and tomorrow's festival
Of hypocritical crocodile tears
We will still remember and cherish you and your memory
We your political children and grand children
We who got our first whiff of real Kenyan history
From your book Roots of Freedom
Which complimented Karari Njama's Mau Mau from Within
JM Kariuki's Mau Mau Detainee
And Makhan Singh's History of the Kenyan Trade Union Movement

Mzalendo Kaggia, thank you for the wonderful gift
That was the story of your patriotic life of self-less sacrifice
Ahsante for being with us and among us for so long
Reminding us daily in the obscure corners where they consigned you
of Jomo Kenyatta's betrayal and Arap Moi's settler origins
And Kibaki's waffling track record
Ahsante for keeping alive the tradition of Bamuinge, General Muthoni
General Tanganyika, Kaniu, General Mathenge
And of course, the great Field Marshall Dedan Kimathi
Whose forty-eighth hanging anniversary we observed barely three weeks ago

As you take a permanent rest from the decades of ill health
We hope you went out with a smile on your face
A patriot who passed on with a clear conscience
Because Mzalendo Kaggia we know for sure
That your patriotic name will never be mentioned adversely
In a commission of inquiry about land grabbing, theft by public servant
We know, Ndugu Kaggia that your patriotic name
Will never feature in a public trial for a politician
Be it Kenyatta, be it Moi be it Biwott
Accused of slaughtering their political rivals

Ndugu Kaggia, Mzee Kaggia, Mzalendo Kaggia
As the South Africans Say:

Hamba Kahle Mzalendo Kaggia!

Onyango Oloo
Montreal
(Rough Draft composed spontaneously between 8:45 and 8:59 am Eastern Standard Time, Tuesday, March 8, 2005)

poet as the embodiment of some ukimwi carrying kenyan women in mombasa

2005-03-06T09:45:00.000+03:00

(poem composed by onyango oloo at the invitation of a group of hiv positive women living in mombasa who requested a poetic message to be read out during a special international women's day event to be held in the kenyan coastal city for this year- 2005...)

they have tried to bury us alive
with indifference, neglect, stigma and silence
but we are still alive, we the women of kenya
living positively with this ukimwi that we all fear
they have tried to discard us in the dustbins of societal isolation
dump us in the mitaros of societal marginalization
but we are still alive, still kicking and struggling
we the women of kenya living positively
with these killer virusi, surviving this deadly mdudu

in the western part of our beautiful neo-colonized country
they call it ayaki, ayaki is the monster that raids our bodies
and saps, or tries to sap our strength
oh, how this ogre, this monster is feared
and we are still alive, even as the ayaki tries to yako us
and we are still alive, we the women of kenya
living positively with this ukimwi that we all fear
struggling defiantly with this condition that terrifies us all

we are like the brave warrior sister nyaitwika from central kenya
who courageously faced the enemies of her people
staring down death, brushing off danger
saying, come and get me o you vile foe
and we are still alive, we the women of kenya
living positively with this immune depressing robber of immunity
we are still alive, fighting on, hanging on for another day

we are in an unequal battle, and our soldiers sometimes fall valiantly
in fierce combat with the cowardly robber who ravishes our essential essence
by whittling down our bodies
sometimes we get sick, sometimes we despair and very often we die
but for our children, we keep hanging on
fighting for as long as we can to stay alive
we the women of kenya living positively with this ukimwi that we all fear

on the occasion of international women's day two thousand and five
here is our message to our fellow kenyans, our fellow sisters and our fellow human beings
we are still alive, we the women of kenya living in mombasa, malindi, kilifi
lamu, takaungu, voi, wundanyi, mazeras, mariakani, kaloleni, bura, ukunda and all over pwani, we are still alive we the women of kenya living all over kenya
we need your solidarity and your concrete support
we embrace your love and your affection
we welcome your concern and your care
but we can certainly do without your pity
we can certainly do without your patronizing and your matronizing
we are not statues of udongo about to break into pieces at the slightest touch
we laugh, we cry, we eat, we sleep, we work, we play, we love, we fall out of love and back again
we are women just like other women
we are human beings just like other human beings
we care about freedom, we care about democracy, we care about justice, we care about equality
when one of our sisters is raped, we shake with indignation
when one of our aunties is violently attacked we too seek redress and even vengeance
we have men in our lives whom we love and who love us back
and when we are with them we do what other women do with their men
our lives including our love lives did not end the day we found out about the unwelcome guests who had taken over our bodies
so we still love, but we love ever so safely, ever so carefully
for if you love, you cannot purposely harm the one that you love
for if you love, you cannot deliberately maim that one that you adore
if we sat here and told you all our love stories, it would never end
and that is why in closing, we say to all the women of kenya and women of the world:

for international women's day two thousand and five
let all the women of kenya come together in sisterhood and solidarity
to support each other, irrespective of hiv status
let us not allow medical walls to separate us
we are all the grand-daughters of me katilili
we are all the nieces of wangari maathai sisters of zarina patel and cousins of micere mugo
today we say with our late spanish sister la pasionaria dolores ibaruri:
no pasaran!
no pasaran to those who block access to better health for kenyan women!
no pasaran!
no pasaran to those who hate women and their children
no pasaran!
no pasaran to those who demonize and vilify women fighting for equality
no pasaran to those who are enemies of democracy for kenyan women and kenyan men
today we say with graca machel, frelimo and the people of mozambique:
a lutta continua
today we say with winnie mandela and the people of south africa:
amandla nga wethu!
today we say with assata shakur and the african-american women of the states:
no justice, no peace!
today we say with rigoberta menchu and the people of guatemala:
el pueblo unido jamás será vencido
today we say with vandana shiva and the women of india:
mother earth and all her seeds and resources belong to the wretched of the earth!
today we say with hanan ashrawi and the people of falastin:
sexists and misogynists: yalla yalla, get out of our lives
let us push our kenyan intifada until ultimate victory for all wananchi- especially women and their children
today we say with zap mama and all progressive musicians and artists:
it is never too late to work for a new world!

© 2005 Onyango Oloo
Montreal

mzalendo kariuki thirty years later....

2005-03-02T07:56:00.000+03:00

they flung your carcass to

the hyenas of

ngong
not knowing that a

maasai mchungaji
known as musaita ole tunda
would retrieve your remains
and expose moi's brazen canard
about your mythical excursion to zambia
they bombed the otc buses in late february
to provide a

red herring
for the execution
they were planning, the sadistic festival they were plotting
not knowing that your blood was already crying out for justice
ndugu jm, even you know that what was killed
in march nineteen seventy five was not your populism from nyandarua
but the paralyzing fear of the red eyed devil known as mzee jomo kenyatta

dear jm thank you for your bloody sacrifice
for your death allowed our generation
to come up into political consciousness
we say ahsante to ben gethi, we say shukran to mark twist,
we say heko to benard hinga and pongezi to mbiyu koinange and his cohort mzee
for capturing you and for torturing you to death
not many of our people remember

that you were detained as a mau mau stalwart
how many have of us have heard
this rare sound of your patriotic voice

defending your mau mau comrades
here we bring it, keeping you alive
thirty years after they killed you
here with a simple click you come back, booming and very much alive...
your death

signalled the beginning of the death of the kanu dictatorship
your death allowed the young seedlings of kenya's freedom forests
to sprout all over kenya

from wundanyi where ndugu mwandawiro was
cutting his teeth on patriotism and pan africanism
to bondo where adongo ogony
was beginning his apprenticeship in anti-imperialism
and kadima's older brother was making sure the osundwas
were well represented among the ranks of the unbwogable wazalendo from mumias
ndugu jm here you are
thirty years later

living through your children and your family
still very much alive in our memories,
in our dreams, in our thoughts, in our hopes
while your callous killer kenyatta is stiff and motionless
useless in that

overpriced mausoleum which should be smashed open
and his old thieving landgrabbing remains furiously ejected and rejected
by our people's unforgiving and relentless wrath

a wrath which is still seething and simmering under the surface
a wrath that they will one day wake up to see

consuming the entire kenyan countryside

as an unstoppable revolutionary fire, burning bright
burning to cinders all these homungati, all these wagongaji
all these wasaliti, all these wauaji
all these wanyanganyi all these majambazi
mzalendo kariuki, all over kenya our mothers, our sisters,our aunties
our fathers, our brothers, our uncles are still naming their kids jm
but nobody remembers the homungati remnant called hinga
and nobody remembers the hired hitman called mark twist
and the only living thing
that can inherit patrick shaw's dastardly name
is a vicious canine trained in kiganjo
barking and leaping on a leash for utumishi kwa wote
kenya is now a nation of thirty multi-billionaires
and thirty million kenya mafukara hohe hahe
so we remember your admonitions
oh so ever ruefully
today in two thousand and five

we have more than one thousand nine hundred and seventy five kariukis

waiting to march against the inheritors of kenyatta and moi
today in two thousand and five

we have more than one thousand nine hundred and seventy five women
who are militant, who are defiant, who are determined to strike a blow for kenya's freedom
in your memory
today in two thousand and five

we have more than one thousand nine hundred and seventy five vijana
who are forever chanting the anthem of do klan revolution
singing in unison, vijana kwa vijana ni sisi kwa sisi
long live mzalendo kariuki long live!
mzalendo kariuki the young wazalendo called sinpare
are keeping your spirit alive with their song mabepari
hamba kahle mzalendo kariuki viva!

Onyango Oloo
Montreal

even the gravestone will not stifle

2005-02-25T09:08:00.000+03:00

even the grave-stone will not stifle
the voices
of those who insist on speaking truth to power
so what can a mere technical block to a site do
even death will not quiet our voices
which will live on through our writings
so what would cowardly censorship do

i chuckle when i see the lengths
that people go to
to silence, to throttle the brave
and uncompromising voices
of people who refuse to kiss ass

how will you stop
what years of internment
behind massive maximum security walls
could not stop

tomorrow
we will still be here
chuckling at the latest feeble attempts
to censor our uncomfortable truths

the hotel called kamiti

2005-02-23T10:55:00.000+03:00

a wag, a kenyan wag
was chortling, braying loudly
when the abu ghraib torture scandal broke loose
during the first half of the year just past
this wag, this kenyan wag
an avid reader of a right wing rag
known as the national review
chortled with delight
at the sizzling details of the inhumanity at abu ghraib
and nodded approvingly of the monstrosities at guatanamo
musing with regret
why moi did not slaughter the political inmates of naivasha
and shimo-la-tewa, kingongo, kodiaga and kibos, not forgetting kamiti
this kenyan wag, in his delirious mirth wondered
what it was that the onyango oloos were complaining about
when after all, kamiti maximum was a five star hotel
without the star treatments meted out at the most notorious american prisons
outside america
the wag wished the oloos were in orange jumpsuits, blind folded
forced to repeat the unspeakables of abu ghraib

i then remembered that this same wag
once boasted that on the days we were arrested
he was an armed supporter of the moi dictatorship
pumping innocent civilians in nairobi with the deadly bullets
of the brutal counter-coup and its repressive aftermath...

the complicity of virtual cyberstrangers

2005-02-23T10:29:00.000+03:00

back then in the lonely years of
the early to mid eighties
we plodded on
as our friends and relatives
who lived in kahawa west, githurai and zimmerman
and our age-mates
who lived in ruwenzori, aberdares and other halls
at kenyatta university
avoided like the plague
the feared gates of kamiti

our imprisonment
scared and scarred forever
those left behind in education theatre two
hall six, hall seven, hall eight
the box and mary's hall
those who ate their ostrich size portions of kuku
at the ccu
vowing never to repeat
the horrible mistakes
of the oloos, the ogegos, the kinyuas
the jeff mwangis, the ongele opalas
the mutuses and the simiyus
the students sieved from the sixty seven rounded up after eighty two
to be jailed for five, six, ten or more years
several of the ones left behind
vowed never to repeat the folly of the incarcerated
of being involved in politics
except of course, for the adongos, mwandawiros, obandas
mwakduas,kangethes, thiongos, njugunas, kishushes who
followed later during the mwakenya crackdown

the ones left behind
learned well
the virtues of keeping your mouth shut
of remaining silent when atrocities
unfolded before your eyes
they learned the lessons so well
that even today, almost thirty years later
i see them, silent, sullen in cyberspace
mouths still clamped firmly shut
because they live the lesson
of keeping their eyes open and their mouths shut
having trained themselves
never to lift a finger
to protest an indignity or grumble at an outrage
some of these people
will witness their own mothers
being raped
and their own fathers having their throats cut
and still
they will keep silent
because self-preservation
is the number one game in town...

cybervandals urinating on kenyan history books

2005-02-23T09:51:00.000+03:00

cybervandals urinating
on kenyan history books
from their lairs in the internet
urchins too young to remember
the terror of the early eighties
spend sleepless bug-eyed crazed nights
hounding the survivors of industrial area and kamiti

when some of them were drinking powdered milk
and rehearsing the sychophantic praise songs
of the nyayo dictatorship
some of us were eye-witnessing
our comrades coughing blood
as they expired from treatable diseases
in the dungeons of kamiti

today,when no one has to fear
and cower,
looking fretfully over their shoulders
for the menacing special branch goons
alcoholic luo pranksters in california
see in our collective incarceration narratives
a football to be kicked around
in their deranged, unhinged daily outpourings of hate online

we watch, grimacing
as they deny our very existence
trying to steal our names
and rob us of our experiences
because their own names are sullied
muddied with turgid boasts
of dating the daughters of american presidential wannabes
and sipping cognac with celebrity african-american entertainers

it is surreal and bizarre
to contemplate
the hourly, the daily yelps
of insecure drunks consumed by self-hatred
twisted by blind envy
and deformed by their own complexes
about accidents of birth and upbringing

in their self-loathing
they lash out
digging dead parents of people they hanker to be
molesting teenagers they have never met with their lies
raping women they will never see with their constant defamation

still we hold on to our memories:

we remember titus adungosi and how he died a needless death in kamiti
after years of negligence in naivasha
we remember unda kombe
the ex-airforce soldier who died when he should have lived
we remembered the nameless social prisoner
who died in our arms on the night of august sixteenth nineteen eighty four
as we were carrying him out in a lice ridden blanket
in ward number eight, cell block b, kamiti maximum
having coughed out his lungs in the shit splattered
overflowing toilet
that was shared by sixty prisoners in a space meant for fifteen

we remember the sad night of wednesday july ninth nineteen eighty five
when ochuka,okumu, mirasi, ogidi, njereman,ojode and other kaf prisoners
were hanged horribly in the midst of the nairobi women's conference

we remember the days we spent in the punishment cells
naked without blankets freezing on half rations
after being condemned by yet another prison based kangaroo court

we remember, how could we forget the day on july twelve eighty five
when the writer of these lines was dragged by sergeant mutua
yes the same brute that our online stalkers adopt as their heroes
dragged to the duty office where superintendent mbuthia
ordered fifteen goons to kick and punch, hit and slap
the writer of these lines
for his audacity at saying hi to mwandawiro mghanga
when they both waiting for the bi-weekly prison hair cut

today in the year two thousand and five
a jackass who was three years old with mucus running down his filthy face
dares to insult that memory, to take away that memory...

well, this small spontaneous, instant poem
is onyango oloo's simple way of informing him and his cyber ilk
that it was not for nothing we survived solitary confinement
in the punishment block
transcended maximum security walls
it is not for nothing that we lived when we could have died
as the nyayo house survivors said in their anthology
those of who were jailed by moi
we lived to tell our tale
even to you who mocked us then
even to you who were too young to know anything
even to you with whom we continue to grapple

we lived to tell

and one day, we will recite these poems as we see your remains
picked apart by jackals, hyenas, wolves and vultures...

we did survive imprisonment
we will shake off the daily yelps of deranged maniacs in cyberspace...

On Identity Theft in Kenyan Cyberspace Circles

2005-02-20T20:37:00.000+03:00

I have continued to be perplexed by the insistent calls by one anonymous young man living in America but posting every single minute on the Kenya forum over at www.rcbowen.com who has been DEMANDING that HE be given the carte blanche to TAKE OVER my actual, given, legal, real names as one of HIS many HANDLES on this forum.

In other words, this individual is insisting that Rich Bowen, the owner of this site should LEGITIMIZE Identity Theft by allowing this person to purloin the name of Onyango Oloo while the real Onyango Oloo would then be COMPELLED to use a fake name because his real name has been taken over by the DEMENTED identity thief!

Since I am convinced that very few people outside that forum will actually believe me, I thought I should reproduce the latest such tirade. Here it is verbatim:

Small question to Rich on FRAUD and monikers
From: typo's corrected! - Sun, Feb 20, 12:00 PM

i see that you went to great lengths and pain to explain how rigthful name owners are entitled to use their names. pray do tell how does one establish rightful name ownership in online fora given that some names like john kamau are as common as weed in the sping?
why would you feel justified defending one kamau not the other? as indicated from an earlier post the combo /permutation of names onyango and oloo is common place. in the abscence of a third (or fourth) name, this combo of names can not be claimed to be uniquely owned

WILL THE REAL Onyano Oloo, please stand up?? Here are some oloo's:

Onyango Oloo contender of the Kisauni Parliamentary seat

Eliud Onyango Oloo of Ottawa
http://crystal.usask.ca/~oloo/

George Onyango Oloo
(Onyango Oloo & Company Advocates)

A million other Onyango Oloo from the lake region (as there are many john smiths in the west)

David Onyango Oloo
(from the annals of kenyan criminal law)
http://www.eastafricanlaw.com/LawArticle/judicial_review.htm

David Oloo dropped David from his name after serving time for CRIME, having being jailed for looting during the abortive 1982 coup. He was admitted to Nairobi University as David Onyango Acwhal.

QUOTED:
"Kenyan courts in the case of David Onyango Oloo-v- A.G 4 applied procedural ultra vires. It was an appeal from a high court decision. Appellant was convicted of an offence under section 46 (2) of the Penal Code5 and sentenced to five years imprisonment on 1st November 1982. Upon his admission into the prison, the appellant was entitled under section 46(2) of the Prisons Act 6 "to be credited with the full amount of remission to which he would be entitled at the end of the sentence if he loses no remission of sentence".

NOTE: section 46 (2) of Penal Code 5 pertains to robbery with violence of being an accessory to the crime.

WHAT IS THE POINT HERE?
Oloo called Rich Bowen A racist for not allowing another Onyango Oloo (George) to use his own name.

did Rich feel compelled to defend oloo wa montreal because he was labelled a racist by Oloo?

In his desperation to make his dubious case, this person INVENTS a FICTION that "Oloo" (which one now?) called Rich Bowen a "racist"- an obvious falsehood that can be quickly debunked using the search engine at the site in question.

To his credit, the owner of the site has politely rebuffed this BIZARRE overture. Again, let me quote Rich Bowen's succint and sober response:

In response to Small question to Rich on FRAUD and monikers posted by typo's corrected!

From: Rich - rbowen@rcbowen.com Sun, Feb 20, 12:11 PM

: i see that you went to great lengths and pain to explain how rigthful name owners are entitled to use their names. pray do tell how does one establish rightful name ownership in online fora given that some names like john kamau are as common as weed in the sping?

I would hardly say that I went to "great lengths" to do anything at all. I merely said that pretending to be someone else is generally considered to be fraud.

: why would you feel justified defending one kamau not the other? as indicated from an earlier post the combo / permutation of names onyango and oloo is common place. in the abscence of a third (or fourth) name, this combo of names can not be claimed to be uniquely owned

I think that it is *extremely* obvious in this context when one person is pretending to be another person, usually for the purpose of smearing their character. Trying to muddy the waters in order to make this sort of behavior more acceptable doesn't confuse anyone.

: did Rich feel compelled to defend oloo wa montreal because he was labelled a racist by Oloo?

You're funny. I don't recall defending anyone, and I don't feel compelled to do so.

What we're talking about is the basic courtesy of not pretending to be someone else, in a context where such a pretence will necessarily tend to confuse the general audience about the views of a particular person.

The fact that these names are, for the most part, assumed aliases, does not in any way alter the expectation of courtesy.

--Rich

What becomes even more galling is when we look deeper we discover that the individual who is being so shrill and strident is NONE other than the same individual who posts up to TWO HUNDRED HATE MESSAGES against Onyango Oloo, often using the fake moniker, "Onyango Oloo" to defame the real Oloo, to link Oloo to forged "Standard newspaper" stories alleging that Chris Murungaru has been involved in a road accident and so on. This is the very same individual who has started FAKE anti- Onyango Oloo blogs POSING as either "Oloo Onyango" or even " Onyango Oloo"; this is the same person who has started startling INTERNATIONAL petitions online to remove Onyango Oloo as a moderator of a small section of a Kenyan forum that is when he is not appealing to INTERPOL of all bodies, to have the real Onyango Oloo ARRESTED as a dangerous felon for "crimes" made up by this person; this is the same person who has STOLEN Onyango Oloo's original essays and brazenly submitted these to the Kenya Times where they were PUBLISHED using the fake monikers, 'Dr. Onyango "K'Oloo", "Daudi Onyango Oloo" or a variant of the same. In the case of the Kenya Times, the real Onyango Oloo was FORCED to contact the editorial board and go through a rigmarole of PROVING that the real Oloo WAS NOT the one who submitted the DOCTORED essays stolen from the real Oloo by the fake Onyango Oloo.

Here is a letter written to this individual by the Deputy Editor-in-Chief of the Kenya Times on August 17, 2004:

From : Kenya Times Media Trust Ltd
Sent : August 17, 2004 2:20:54 AM
To :
Subject : contact address

Dear "Mr Oloo",

The 14 hours Kenyan time deadline we gave you passed without your response. We had received complaints that you were lifting articles from the site of your namesake who is based in Canada and sending them to us for publication.

We therefore instituted investigations.

We have no doubt now that surely you are an imposter who has been plagiarising the works of a fellow Kenyan purporting them to be your articles. You have not only embarrassed our publication but dented our reputation and soiled our image. This is unforgivable. Henceforth, we shall not entertain any material from you in whatever form. You owe us and Onyango Oloo an apology.

Yours
David Lumbasi.
Deputy Editor-In-Chief
Kenya Times

But even after that letter from the Deputy Editor in Chief of the Kenya Times, the individuals persisted, THIS TIME stealing an essay by my good friend Adongo Ogony and submitting it as coming from one, " Dr K'Oloo" prompting me to write to the Kenya Times one more time last November(2004):

From : demokrasia kenya
Sent : November 9, 2004 3:05:05 PM
To : kenyademocracyproject@hotmail.com, kenyatimes@nbi.ispkenya.com
CC : oloo@, adongo@
Subject : The Fake "Dr. David Onyango K'Oloo"

Dear Editor:

I recently brought to your attention that the current Insight piece purportedly written by " Dr.K'Oloo" is a forgery because there is no individual by that name and the original piece is actually by my good friend Adongo. You may have even published the original in the very same Insight column!

Onyango Oloo

The same individual who is INSISTING that he has a RIGHT to STEAL MY NAME is the same individual who has registered at least THREE EMAIL addresses as "Onyango Oloo" even though NONE OF HIS GIVEN NAMES are "Onyango" "Oloo" or a permutation or combination thereof.

This same individual has gone over to the Mashada forum and REGISTERED on at least FOUR OCCASSIONS, handles as "Onyango Oloo" and this done, when I was not only an active participant there, but a moderator of the very section where he posted fake anti-Onyango Oloo flames as "Onyango Oloo".

Mark you this is the very same individual who SCREAMS to high heaven when his real name is posted here to expose his THREE YEAR vendetta against my person. This is the person who talks in such PASSIONATE terms about "privacy of identities online" when he spends every waking minute making up stuff about Onyango Oloo, his son, his ex-partners, his parents and his deceased siblings.

Why is this person so strident about using my actual,given real names as his HANDLE?

Well, a clue can be gleaned by looking at HIS REACTION when Rich Bowen briefly blocked me from using my two names, Onyango Oloo. You saw the person rush here to chortle, "You will NEVER be able post on RC Bowen as Onyango Oloo AGAIN!" Now, tell me if that is NOT a DOCUMENTED instance of certifiable INSANITY.

I have my own theory about this person's CAMPAIGN to TAKE OVER my name.

This individual is not only totally OBSESSED with me, he is INSANELY ENVIOUS of the real Onyango Oloo.

Why?

I am NOT wealthy and I am certainly not powerful. Since we do NOT share sexual orientations, there is NO DANGER that I would prevent him from hooking up with a gay lover of his choice. If you were to listen to his daily diatribes against me, we are NOT even in the SAME LEAGUE educationally- I am a STANDARD SIX ILLITERATE DROP OUT WALLOWING IN WELFARE POVERTY in Montreal, whereas he is a POST-DOCTORAL FINANCIAL WIZARD SIPPING COGNAC WITH AMERICAN SUPER STAR CELEBRITIES.

So where is the envy?

In one area:

I do have a GIFT for writing and this person RECOGNIZES my talent as among the MANY GOOD WRITERS Iin Kenyan online discussion forums. The IDENTITY THIEF, on the other hand, is unfortunately TOTALLY BEREFT of ANY literary potential with posting after posting riddled with grammatical errors- when he is NOT passing off well-researched academic papers by other intellectuals as his own work.

Identity Theft is a CRIME which can see a perpetrator JAILED. That is why I am AMAZED that a self-confessed IDENTITY THIEF comes here launching posting after posting after posting DEMANDING that he be allowed to STEAL MY NAME and DEPRIVE ME of the right to USE MY OWN NAME when I am one of the few people on this forum who has INSISTED on bucking the trend to use handles.

I recall that this individual has often railed against me about my foolishness of using my real name- saying that this is what has propelled TRASH TALKERS LIKE HIMSELF to launch tirades after tirades against my person. I am surprised that one of Onyango Oloo's leading FLAMERS, someone who never loses an opportunity to remind people how USELESS, CORRUPT, TRIBALISTIC, CRIMINAL, DEVIOUS, VIOLENT, SEXIST and IRRESPONSIBLE Onyango Oloo is, keeps on DEMANDING the mantle of Onyango Oloo as his own EXCLUSIVE HANDLE.

It is beyond my comprehension why this individual who was born with a name and can actually choose from millions of available handles(of which he already controls a virtual monopoly) would now launch tirades after tirades against Rich Bowen and Onyango Oloo because he cannot be Onyango Oloo because there is actually an Onyango Oloo who not only exists, but is known to post regularly on this forum under his real name Onyango Oloo.

Let me inform this individual that I will resist tenaciously, using all the means at my disposal, including resorting to a court of law if necessary, any attempts to execute IDENTITY THEFT,especially if such identity theft is perpetrated solely and chiefly for the purpose of the further defamation of my character. To compound identity theft with defamation of the identity you have stolen is a feat that is exclusively reserved for someone with an advanced case of a serious mental health defect.

Let me further inform this individual that after TOLERATING HIS HOURLY STALKING and DAILY OUTPOURINGS of HATRED against my person for the LAST TWO PLUS YEARS, I have now gathered ENOUGH evidence to link him to criminal instances of identity theft, defamation of character, sexual harassment, online harassment and other crimes. I will exercise my legal options at my own discretion.

Onyango Oloo
Montreal

affirmed by the perilious gifts of life...

2005-02-20T10:46:00.000+03:00

smiling through adversity

chucklng through tough travails

laughing when your boat is capsizing

strolling through a snow storm

striding past the forest fires

humour is the twin sibling of optimism

laughter helps maintain your seriousness

a light touch keeps the rock within smooth

been through death of loved ones
deprived of parents and siblings
been through incarceration and exile
survived heartaches and breakups
seen friends kill themselves in despair
and drown their pain in alcoholic stupor

and still i sleep soundly
still i wake up sans nightmare, minus cold sweats
fortunate that i bypassed stress induced ulcers
and transcended anxiety powered eating disorders

life is not a peach
for i carry the baggage of my tortured past
in my optimistic present
dennis brutus and his dictum of stubborn hope
has ensured that this baggage contains no demons

indeed my past has been a river, a gold mine
a fount for creative inspiration
my ordeals have formed the fabric of my tapestry
of interwoven tales of struggle and triumph

the thorny roads of my experiences
have inspired my poetry, my songs, my stories, my essays
i would not trade this rich life for anything safe
tapioca is not my favourite dessert
i like things zesty and feisty

the wealth of my existence is not locked up in a corporate bank account
it is embedded in all that forms and informs my daily connections
hey, i do not envy your life
and would never give up my own without a fight

on being stalked by a jackass

2005-02-19T07:00:00.000+03:00

there is a bizarre stranger i accost on the internet
every single day
an uncouth youth who lies in wait for me
armed with his own fecal matter ready to fling at me
strange to say, this cyber apparition
has never had the opportunity of seeing me
yet strange soul
spends twenty seven hours every day strip mining
the deepest recesses of the internet
for any hints of my name
he has saved, in his demented reservoir
everything i have ever posted online
he keeps an eagle eye on every chat room
that i log on to
i discovered to my amused shock
two years ago
that the uncouth youth was a closeted and tormented
compatriot
who developed a crush, a very sexual crush on me
every single week on one forum
posing as a woman he would drop love notes
on one of my private inboxes
using one persona
while sending me explicit
gay porn using another
when he realized
i was straight
and had a woman for a lover
he threw a very queenly hissy fit
abusing me all day and all night
as if that was not enough
he bombarded and still bombards me
with over two hundred hate messages
every single day
whenever he can find me
he will make up
lies about my son, his mother
my siblings and my parents
and this largely because
i cut him off
told him
never to call or email me
when i discovered he
was seriously mentally disturbed
often
spontaneous lines like these
are the ways i prevent myself
from giving my lawyer the go ahead
to file a case in his state
for internet based harassment
which is a crime
that can earn time....
poor young man...

post valentine zawadi to my mshefa

2005-02-19T06:28:00.000+03:00

i thought
it would be
too obvious
i mean,
to write
you
a poem
on valentine's
poetry
for me,
is not
like a sizzling pizza
made hastily
for take out
with the requisite toppings
for an impatient
slightly irate
customer
famished
and weary
looking for a non-descript
instant dinner to gobble down
before they collapse
on their futon
after a grueling day
working for the landlord and the utility and phone companies
on the contrary
a poem
for me,
is not even like a meal
not even the leisurely one you make at home
a short story, is that meal
no, a poem
for me
is more like
a smooth pebble
or a cowrie shell
that you pick up
as you stroll down diani, nyali or bamburi beach
a pleasant surprise
that you pick up
with a knowing smile
and subsequently invest
with your own mystery and
paint with your own mystique
imparting it
with your own meaning
injecting it
with your silly fantasy

everyday
we greet each other with
i love you so muchs
and say good bye
with i miss you so so so much
we talk and talk and talk and talk
till the phone cards finally run out
and then we call each other back
or rather i call,
because it would be ridiculous if you tried
on the other cards we keep
in stock
and we laugh,
and we joke,
and we flirt
and we dream,
and we pine
and occasionally
we fret together
reminded each time
of the oceanic expanse
between us
and the temporal borderlines
that makes my midnight
your breakfast time
of late
you have taken
to calling me
your mshefa
and i still prefer
the ever so endearing
mshikaji
one
is often
surprised
at how
the telephone
and the internet
can build
a bond
that is
so often overlooked
in the feverish rush
to entangle limbs
and lock lips
rip lingerie and
slip into moist crevices

every single time
we talk,
our minds
make love
to each other
and not
always
in that
erotic,
sensual expected sense
lovers
develop
an uncanny
telepathy
that find them
anticipating
each other's
thoughts
and rescuing
those
trailing phrases
from fading
into
transatlantic
cross continental
oblivion
remember
that
short story
i told you
i was writing
from five months ago
well,
at some point
i had abandoned it,
too busy
experiencing
our real life
love story
to immerse myself
in that one
and yet,
our story
has suffused
that story
even though
i must
take parts
of you
and parts
of other people
and parts of me
and parts of
other people
playing
an authorial
deity
conjuring up
characters
who breathe
their own
fictional oxygen
in the demi-monde
i have imagined for them...
when
you are forty four
and a half
as i am
right at this very second
in fact
exactly fort four
and a half
because
it is
already
the nineteenth
of
the shortest month
you no longer
pen lines like
you are
the sweetest
rose
in the most
beautiful
garden
you no longer say
you are
the
beautiful
butterfly
that flutters
in my heart...
you simply say
to your lover,
who is your age-mate
you tell her:
ahsante
for being you
nashukuru
for you being
in my life....

kikomo....

Can Long Distance Relationships Work?

2005-01-08T23:22:00.000+03:00

C’mon.

That is a NO BRAINER.

Of course they DO.

Onyango Oloo is in one.

Yawa!

Tosha Gari.

Next.

Mettre les bouts!

Hopo!

Scram!

Hebu Potea!

Dhi Nakucha!

Ũma Ũthee!!

Onyango Oloo
Montreal

Hey!

Hallo Nani?

Just a sec.

Usiende.

Wait a Minute.

Ngoja!

BEFORE the door hits you on the way out, consider this afterthought…

PS

Can Long Distance Relationships Work?

2005-01-08T23:12:00.000+03:00

Sankara Talks Peace, Justice Etc from Norway

2004-12-28T03:25:00.000+03:00

Sankara Kebaara is a Toronto-based Kenyan-Canadian youth who turns 14 in January 2005. Both of his Kenyan-born parents are long-time social justice activists: his mother, Kathure Kebaara is a feminist who has worked for many years with women combating violence against women. She was part of the Nelson Mandela Reception Committee and a founder member of the Kenya Human Rights Organization in Canada. Sankara's dad is the individual typing these lines.

In mid December 2004, Sankara

got on a plane for the first time in his life. And he was making a trans-contintental flight across the Atlantic all by himself. The journey took him from

Pearson International Airport in Toronto, Ontario,

via Schiphol Airport, Amsterdam, Holland to the outskirts of

Oslo, Norway where he was met by Omondi K'abir, a close family friend.

On XMas Eve, they travelled by bus across the Norwegian border to

Uppsala, Sweden as special guests of Mwandawiro Mghanga and his family. Mwandawiro is currently the MP for Wundanyi.

Onyango Oloo interviewed Sankara Kebaara via phone on Monday, December 27, 2004.

You can listen to that conversation by pressing on this link.

You can listen to earlier interviews with Sankara from 2002 by going here where you will hear him reviewing

Michael Moore's

Bowling for Columbine;

Finally, you can listen to another interview with Sankara Kebaara from January 2003 when he is reflecting on the then looming war

in Iraq and

the nuclear threat from North Korea.

Introducing Kahoro wa Kibochi...

2004-12-04T05:53:00.000+03:00

A Gikuyu-American Who Composes in Dholuo and Speaks Flawless and Fluent Kiswahili

An audio-text PROFILE by Onyango Oloo

“Baba Lali” is a very good friend of mine, a Swahili-Canadian truck driver who lives in Hamilton, Ontario. We met in Toronto over 15 years ago but our mutual family ties go back over twenty years to certain neighbourhoods in Mombasa, Kenya. He has a dedicated weekly run between the United States and her northern neighbour.

The other evening, earlier this week, on a late fall November day “Baba Lali” called me from a pit stop in southern Ontario.

We spoke for a very long time about a lot of things.

In the course of this conversation he told me:

“Oloo, there is a very good friend of mine that I would like you to meet one of these days. He lives in New York City and I have known him for over thirty years. He has a very interesting story. He was once on the Kenyan national boxing team, but now he is a musician in America. The interesting thing about him is that even though he is a Mgikuyu he composes songs in Dholuo and having lived in Mombasa for such a long time, his Kiswahili is so perfect that you would think he is indigenous to the Coast Province. His name is Boniface Kahoro Kibochi.”

I was very excited.

“We must have him on DUNIA! Can you please give him my number?”

That very evening there was a message on my voicemail from the 718 area code. After a brief phone-tag between my apartment, my cell-phone, my office and the above area code we finally made contact on Thursday afternoon when Kahoro finally got through to me at work. After the ritual of mutual formal introductions we agreed that we could catch up for a pre-recorded long distance interview for the DUNIA show and Kenyans around the world listening online.

Boniface Kahoro wa Kibochi was born in the Kenyatta Estate

of

Nairobi.

In the early 1960s, when he was still a teenager, Kahoro wa Kibochi moved to the ancient Indian Ocean port city of

Mombasa

Where he soon joined the

the Kenya Navy, specializing in Communications.

Even before his move to Mombasa, he had expressed a precocious interest in amateur boxing. Under the tutelage of Mzee Owiso, he picked up the craft of pugilism and later on fought at different berths for the Armed Forces team, eventually landing a slot in the Kenyan national squad. He was a contemporary of such
legendary Kenyan boxers like Philip Waruinge, who won a gold medal at the 1970 Commonwealth Games and a silver at the 1972 Olympics Games before becoming one of the first Kenyans to turn professional when he moved to Japan and acquired a Japanese name. The other legendary boxer was the stylish flyweight powerhouse

Steve Muchoki who retired in Denmark in the 1980s after a fairly decent professional career.

In that Golden Era of Kenyan boxing, the neigbouring country of Uganda produced some of the most ferocious opponents and rivals like former World middle weight champ

Ayub Kalule.

Many Kenyan boxers like the late Robert Wangila, the late Modesti Napunyi the late Stephen Moi as well as the colossus from yesteryear

Dick Tiger Murunga either were dispatched to early graves due to ring related injuries or
found themselves grappling with a host of health and economic challenges that were largely met with widespread public and government indifference despite the fact that it is Kenyan sportsmen and women, almost as much, if not more than our lions, giraffes, lakes, mountains, beaches and rift valleys that have put our country on the world map.

In the early 1980s after retiring from the Kenya Navy, Kahoro wa Kibochi became the first trained referee for professional boxing in Kenya and was soon elected to be secretary of the Kenya professional boxing body that was set up in 1983. He was involved together with titans like David Attan in popularizing professional sports in Kenya despite the hurdles and numerous teething problems.

At the end of the 1980s he moved to New York City where he once more reinvented himself.

This time he went back to an early love that he had been dabbling with- music. He decided to take formal guitar and music lessons from

Karlus Trapp, an African-American musician and band leader with Caribbean roots well known in New York artistic circles.

It was from this professional context that their 2003 collaboration, Vernacular Songs of Kenya sprung. Kahoro wanted to go back to his Nairobi childhood, the multi-ethnic cosmopolitan milieu to compose songs of love, politics, community; songs suffused with humour and social commentary. In an innovative twist, Kahoro penned lyrics not only in his mother tongue Gikuyu, but in Dholuo which he had spoken fluently in his youth, and Kiswahili which he speaks flawlessly with that musical Mombasa accent to this day, despite living in America for almost twenty years. But the creativity did not stop there. He decided that his voice was not good enough for his lyrics so he taught his teacher the Luo, Gikuyu and Kiswahili lyrics a remarkable feat because as Karlus notes on his own web site, Mr Trapp had never uttered a word of “African” before laying down 90% of the vocals in their independent CD release that recently got an “honourable mention” from Billboard when Kahoro submitted two songs from the 7-track EP for competition.

On Thursday, December 2, 2004, Onyango Oloo had an 84 minute conversation in Kiswahili with Kahoro wa Kibochi about many of the above issues, plus much much more. It was an infectious, fun filled exchange as you can hear for yourself if you want to listen to the interview right now…

Listen to a sample of the song,
"An Jarabwoon JaGatundu Part 1"

Here is "An Jarabwoon JaGatundu Part 2"

Check Out "Ndimugikuyu-Mwamerika"

And This is "Siasa rach-JoKenya Ber"

Click Here to purchase your own copy of Kahoro and Trapp’s Vernacular Songs of Kenya from CD Baby.

To contact Kahoro wa Kibochi, send him an email at:

bonkaki@worldnet.att.net

I hope you have enjoyed that leisurely ride,
Sincerely,
Onyango Oloo,Montreal

Hard Kore Nigga Komix: The Incendiary Politics of Mooney, Rock, Chappelle & Pryor

2004-10-31T00:50:00.000+03:00

A Tribute from Onyango Oloo in Montreal

Without wasting a micronanosecond, let us FIRST, launch the hottest video in the world right now.

Here are the English lyrics which go with those images and audio.

Do you know who this woman in the pictures below is?

That is Siouxsie who fronts the band called Siouxsie (say it like this: Suzie)and the Banshees.

Tell you what, listen to their song called Kiss Them for Me and you can actually sing along to the lyrics.

You know WHY?

Because that is the ONLY time we are going to see, hear or talk about that legendary UK punk band in this essay.

This essay will be more infused with an ambience of another British band. Now most of you know just their poppy easy listening songs like Red, Red Wine.

But

UB40(named after the form the unemployed UK workers fill out when they are laid off) first made their mark with their political songs like Sing Our Own Song

The great flood of tears that we`ve cried
For our brothers and sisters who`ve died
Over four hundred years
Has washed away our fears
And strengthened our pride
Now we turn back the tide

We will no longer hear your command
We will seize the control from your hand
We will fan the flame
Of our anger and pain
And you`ll feel the shame
For what you do in God’s name

(chorus)

We will fight for the right to be free
We will build our own society
And we will sing, we will sing
We will sing our own song

When the ancient drum rhythms ring
The voice of our forefathers sings
Forward Africa run
Our day of freedom has come
For me and for you
Amandla awethu!

(chorus)

We will fight for the right to be free
We will build our own society
And we will sing, we will sing
We will sing our own song

as well as their other classic, One in Ten

I am a one in ten a number on a list,
I am a one in ten even though i don't exist.
Nobody knows me, but im always there,
A statistic a reminder of a world that doesn't care

My arms enfold the dole queen,
Malnutrition dulls my hair,
My eyes are black and lifeless
With an underprivileged stare
I'm the beggar on the corner
Will no-one spare a dime
I'm the child that never learns to read
Because no on spared the time.

(Chorus)

I`m the murderer and the victim
The licence with the gun
I`m a sad and bruised old lady
In an alley in a slum
I`m a middle aged businessman
With chronic heart disease
I`m another teenaged suicide
In a street that has no trees

(Chorus)

I`m a starving third world mother
A refugee without a home
I`m a house wife hooked on Valium
I`m a Pensioner alone
I`m a cancer ridden spectre
Covering the earth
I`m another hungry baby
I`m an accident of birth.

(Chorus)

And speaking of political songs and political bands,who ON EARTH would have thought that

PRINCE, the Artist Formerly Known as a Symbol would be so effing POLITICAL. Here is a cut from his hit
Musicology CD. The song is called 'Dear Mr Man'

The words speak for themselves:

What's wrong with the world 2day?
Things just got 2 get better
Show me what the leaders say
Maybe we should write a letter
Said Dear Mr. Man, we don't understand
Why poor people keep struggling but U don't lend a helping hand
Matthew 5:5 say "The meek shall inherit the earth"
We wanna b down that way but U been trippin since the day of your birth
Who said that 2 kill is a sin
Then started every single war that Ur people been in?
Who said that water is a precious commodity
Then dropped a big old black oil slick in the deep blue sea?
Who told me, Mr. Man, that working round the clock would buy me a big house in the hood
Cigarette ads on every block
Who told me, Mr. Man, that Eye got a right 2 moan?
How about this big old hole in the ozone?
What's wrong with the world 2day
Things just got 2 get better
Dear Mr. Man, we don't understand
Maybe we should write a letter
Listen, Ain't no sense in voting--same song with a different name
Might not b in the back of the bus but it sure feel just the same
Ain't nothing fair about welfare
Ain't no assistance in AIDS
We ain't that affirmative about your actions until the people get paid
Ur thousand years r up
Now U got 2 share the land
Section 1--the 14th amendment says "No state shall deprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law"
Mr. Man, we want 2 end this letter with 3 words:
We tired a-y'all

It is almost Halloween.

As an African, I never knew White people were SO SUPERSTITIOUS before I landed on these shores in the late eighties. My goodness: there is first of all that old Roman Saturnalia Pagan bacchanal that has been transformed into the climax of the biggest shopping bonanza on the Western calendar; then you have that excuse to make flower workers in Kenya and elsewhere be exploited even more in the run up to Valentine's Day and of course you have that plain old urogi, ugagula na kumanga manga ukiwanga na kushtua majirani called Halloween-with people literally dressed as witches, wizards, ghosts, ghouls and apparitions

The DAY AFTER Halloween, it is the turn of the Haitians and all other people who practice Voodoo to celebrate the fete called Gede:

And of course, two days after Halloween and the morning after Gede, millions of Americans thoroughly pumped from all these superstitious rites, rituals and holdovers will march confidently to polling booths across the great United States to prove to the rest the of the world that this nation is the most advanced on earth.

Good luck!

One thing I know for CERTAIN.

A rich white man who went to Yale and belonged to the even more ghoulish Skull and Bones will be crowned President of the United States before Tuesday night is over.

Which Skull and Bones insider will ascend to the unipolar superpower throne?

The preppy frat boy with Iraqi and Afghani innocent blood on his hands or the lanky New England billionaire's spouse with innocent Vietnamese and Geese blood on his hands and champing at the bit for the chance to kill hundreds of innocent Arabs under the pretext of fighting the terrorists?

Even though they say the Wish is Father(why not Mother?)to the Thought, I do really believe that millions of American voters are going to hand George W. Bush his ass by the time the ballot counting is done.

Do not believe the hype.

Forget those yumba yumbaring soccer moms in Iowa and those dithering wizened wheat farmers in Nebraska or those conflicted gun owners in South Dakota.

And especially forget those blathering pundits that Daily Show host Jon Stewart skewered so beautifully when he was mocking and poking merciless fun at that bow-tied Republican twit called Tucker "I-Am-Only-35-Years-Old" Carlson.

Whoever wins the election this year is going to win DECISIVELY.

Ralph Nader WILL NOT be a factor.

George Bush and his kid bro Jeb can steal ALL THE VOTES THEY WANT IN FLORIDA, they are still going to lose handily.

You just do not step in the same river twice.

History WILL NOT repeat itself.

John Kerry will defeat George W. Bush to become the next President of the United States. Since I am in the mood for reckless predictions, why don't I go all the way and say that John Kerry will win by 51% to 48% and that the Supreme Court will not have to use their dirty bag of tricks because the Democrats will get both the popular as well as the electoral college victories.

And yet,I WILL NOT BE AMONG THE PEOPLE DANCING IN THE STREETS because Dubya has gone down to defeat.

Why ever not?

Well, I agree with a lot of the analysis I have been seeing over at the Counter Punch website lately. They are firmly in the Ralph Nader camp which I think is rather sectarian. I am supporting the people who are voting for Kerry not out of any love for the rightwing Democrats who control that Republican clone, but rather because defeating George Bush on November 2nd is a GLOBAL IMPERATIVE and PREREQUISITE for the normalization of international relations and definitley a precondition in the quest for world peace, global equity and sustainable development.

One article that I read a few days ago should provide a REALITY CHECK even before John Kerry's inaugration in mid January 2005. Here is the link to that essay at the Counter Punch website.

It is precisely because of this AMERICAN TWO PARTY CORPORATE DICTATORSHIP in the States that I do not take their mainstream pundits on CNN and other media outlets seriously.

When I want to feel the pulse of America,I go to the experts.

And HERE are some of them:

Paul Mooney is definitely one of them.

You can find out more about Mooney from this link

Many people consider Richard Pryor to be the doyen of African-American comedy and of the most brilliant comic talents produced in America in the last thirty years.

Chris Rock is another brilliant political commentator that I admire, even though he has cleverly disguised himself as a stand up comic.

And Dave Chappelle is riding very high at the moment with his show, his multimillion multi-year contract and mainstream embrace, despite the fact that his tongue remains one of the most acerbic when it comes to denouncing racism as you can see from these two skits-one on the overt racism in the States which unlike Canada, is out in the open south of this border and this hilarious send up of
"Angry White Men".

Paul Mooney does not hold back when it comes to expressing his distaste for ex radio shlock shock host Howard Stern.

The humour of Richard Pryor, Paul Mooney, Chris Rock, Dave Chappelle and other African-Americans is rooted in that experience that Black people in the States have undergone as descendants of slaves; as predominantly WORKING CLASS(as opposed to the Welfare Underclass dreamt up by Daniel P. Moynihan et al) as members of a community of communities with a long tradition of progressive and democratic values; as members of a people who have opposed Reagonomics and Star Wars and were the target of the so called domestic War on Drugs which has ended up with up to 25% of African-Americans in some stage or part of the criminal justice system.

That is why the best of African-American humour is not to be found on prime time network television. It is not an accident that two of the most political Black comics-Chris Rock and Dave Chappelle have won mainstream acceptance after going the cable show route rather than those empty headed vehicles that are cancelled after 7 to 13 episodes to replaced with some vanilla concoction before a little bit of chocolate is placed back on the menu in the next season.

Funny as this humour is and politically deep as it often is, we must remember that these African-American(predominantly male) comics are products of the very same American society that they critique and therefore one should not shocked to see the often UNFUNNY SEXIST and HOMOPHOBIC so called jokes, leave alone the standard mocking of people with speech impediments, physical and mental disabilities and the jingoistic put down of almost all immigrants whether they are Nigerians, Vietnamese, Mexicans, Haitians, Chinese, Russians or Germans. The utter idiocy of these sexist, homophobic, ableist and xenophobic forays undercores the time tested dictum that often "jokes" form part of the cultural and ideological conduits to transmit the twisted values of the dominant social groups in power-which is kind of ironic to find African-American (men) at the edges of mainstream US society finding someone BENEATH THEM to trash and vilify.

Having said all that, it is my opinion that comics like Paul Mooney, Chris Rock, Dave Chappelle and Richard Pryor have politicized a wider cross section of younger Americans (especially of African descent) than many of the mainstream politicians and media talking heads.

Well as we say, talk is cheap, so let us hear from the comics directly.

We will start with Paul Mooney who used to write most of the material for Richard Pryor's famous stand up routine and has a recurring slot on Dave Chappelle's hit show(Mooney also had a small part in Spike Lee's brilliant Bamboozled panned by the mainstream because of its brutal honesty but well received in progressive circles).

Here is Paul Mooney LIVE

And Chris Rock is definitely not to be outdone.

Bring The Pain was a HBO special that garnered him TWO Emmy nods in 1997 while Bigger and Blacker won him a Grammy.

To understand why Dave Chappelle is so hot, check out his Killin'Them Softly recording.

If you have NEVER EVER listened to or watched a Richard Pryor show then you should approach this next link with EXTREME CAUTION and know ahead of time that this comic genius is wild, he is ribald, he is raw, he is vulgar, he swears a lot, he says a lot of upsetting things while remaining one of the most stubborn shit disturbers on the American pop culture scene. If you are offended by colourful language please stay away from Richard Pryor. Also, in ways very similar to Mooney, Rock, and Chappelle, you will find his act peppered with a lot of sexist putdowns that often wipes away a guffaw induced by one of his rib cracking running jokes.

At the same time I am assuming that my readers are mature adults who deal with explicit material every single day of their lives and can exercise the necessary discretion.

So without further ado, I present our final act:

Richard Pryor from his album, "That Nigger's Crazy" with material which dates back to 1975.

Onyango Oloo
Montreal

The Infectious Magical Genius of Alpha Blondy

2004-10-23T01:43:00.000+03:00

[A Review of the October 20th, 2004 Concert Performance: Alpha Blondy and The Solar System; Live at Club Metropolis Montreal; Quebec]

Written by Onyango Oloo

Seydou Koné was born on New Year’s Day, 1953 in a small village called Dimbokro in West Africa.

When he was in his twenties Seydou Koné flew from an African country considered one of the most francophilic on the continent to go and train as an English teacher in two universities in the New York area. There was a time when Koné's own parents were so convinced that he was losing his mind because of Seydou's love for Rastafarianism that they had him committed to a psychiatric hospital for TWO YEARS. A police raid left Seydou Koné so battered that he almost died. He once helped to negotiate a truce that led to a lull in hostilities in a nation ravaged by civil war. When Seydou Koné tours, he speaks Arabic in Israel, Hebrew in the Arab world and English and French elsewhere. He comes on stage with a Bible and the Koran. Born into a Muslim family, Seydou Koné worships Haile Selassie as Jah.

And he just so happens to be one of Africa’s most lovable and authentic superstars.

Of course, if you call him "Seydou" no one will know who you are talking about.

If you want people to know who you are talking about, call Seydou Koné by the nickname that his grandmother(who reared him) gave him.

What’s that?

Try “First Bandit”.

Who are we talking about?

Well, here he is:

An Alpha Blondy concert is a magical, incredibly and totally indelible, mind blowing experience as millions of his fans around the world can readily testify:

Details about Alpha Blondy’s life can be gleaned here and also over here and on this link as well this one.

The essence of Alpha Blondy’s credo and world outlook, for me, is captured in this excerpt about Dimbokro, the kijiji where he was born:

" ... a small village where all the big politicians went to school. There is a Catholic missionary school that we all attended...and then during vacations they sent me to Koranic school. In Dimbokro we are so mixed. So do not judge somebody by his Muslim name ...he may go to church, he may drink wine...Christian make baby with Muslim...The Imam of the biggest mosque in the Ivory Coast [has a Catholic wife].' (Maroni p. 50). This exposure to religious diversity and tolerance influenced his universal outlook. He told Maroni that : 'People who do not know where I come from do not understand. But me, I feel very confused. When people ask me the difference between Muslim and Christian, or Jew and Muslim, I don't have no answer. The Bible says God, the Koran says God, the Torah says God. God is the common denominator.' (Maroni p.50). It is not only religious but also national identity that is challenged by Blondy's perspective. He has said that 'I don't believe in geography ... whether I am in America, or Paris, or Abidjan...I am living in the big Israel, because creation began in Israel.' (ibid p.73).

You can read the rest of the profile by clicking on this link.

Cote D’Ivoire has been wracked by a debilitating civil war. At the time of the coup in 2000, Alpha Blondy SUPPORTED the ouster of the then civilian government. His views have drastically hardened. His brand new, yet to be released song “Sankara” expressed the dour view that coups only breed more coups.

On October 19th and 20th, 2004, Alpha Blondy and the Solar System performed at the Metropolis Club located at St. Laurent and St. Catherine in downtown Montreal. Onyango Oloo was among hundreds of enthused fans who attended the last show.

Local reggae mainstay Kali and Dub was the opening act and they did not disappoint.

But nothing could have prepared me for the next two hours.

Alpha Blondy kicked off the show with a deep spiritual moment, clutching a holy book (was not sure whether it was the Bible or the Koran) as he gave a very somber rendition of his classic "Jerusalem” in a very moving delivery that captured the crowd from the get go.

That unforgettable concert can not be reproduced on the pages of a blog stashed away in one of the most obscures corners of the internet. You simply had to be there at the Metropolis Club in downtown Montreal this last Wednesday to capture the joy, the verve, the vim, the laughter, the high energy, the melancholy and of course those nostalgic roots reggae vibrations that evoke the golden era of reggae music before all the tuneless sexist and homophobic slackness of latter day overproduced dance hall throttled that one love one heart feel good spirit…

Surveying the crowd, I marveled for the umpteenth time about the unsung heroic role of Black musicians as promoters of racial harmony, international cooperation,global unity and inclusiveness. Believe it or not, MOST OF THE PEOPLE at the concert were of Caucasian origin and the people of African descent ran the full gamut from a fiercely patriotic Ivorian contingent next to the stage throwing T shirts emblazoned with the their national flag and a message of peace to the musicians; to the Jamaican Rastafarian who waved a giant Ethiopian flag throughout the duration of the show (on two different occasions, Seydou grabbed it and waved it triumphantly in solidarity) to Kenyans, Sri Lankans, Quebecoise, Algerians, Montreal Jews, Sudanese Arabs, Southern Christian Sudanese, Portuguese Canadians, American students studying at Concordia, Japanese tourists having a good time, Somalis with their unmistakable flag, you name it. There were as many women as men and it terms of age, you could see the salt and paper tomes of graying reggae lovers jostling with bobbing dreads of twentysomething Nyabinghi adherents. And the crowd kept moving, dancing, waving, shouting and cheering.

There is simply NO WAY on earth for a mega group like Guns and Roses or a superstar like Garth Brooks or any of the rock and roll or country and western icons could come even remotely close to matching the racial, multi-cultural, linguistic, age, gender and sexual orientation diversity that African griots like Alpha Blondy, Baaba Maal or Miriam Makeba are GUARANTEED to pack in wherever and whenever they appear in Canada, the United States, Europe, Japan, India, the Caribbean, Latin America and other parts of the world.

At one point, Seydou Kone turned off the music to address us in French about the plight of his tortured Ivory Coast and the rest of Africa. Without going into a lot of details, let us just say that he had a lot of very uncomplimentary things to say about the Eyademas, Mois, Barres and other neo-colonial African despots.

The one thing that stands out for me about Alpha Blondy is his commitment to two ideals: peace and global harmony. That seems to be what drives his music and he practices what he preaches even in his band: his rhythm guitarist is a lanky European who proudly donned a jersey of the Spanish national soccer team; one of his two female back up singers is a continental African while the other one is obviously of mixed heritage which may or may not point to a Caribbean origin; the rest of the band is similarly diverse.

So, why do people love Alpha Blondy?

His enormous generosity of spirit and easy camaradarie with his audience.

You can see this clearly as you observe him interacting with the crowd that this is an artist with hardly any airs, someone who genuinely loves interacting with people- Alpha Blondy kept shaking and clasping hands throughout the show and accepted all the gifts(from T shirts to cold hard cash) except the marijuana joint that a very mellow fanatic tried to slip him right at the beginning of the concert.

The guy is not only a gifted artist but a consummate professional to boot and as one of my fellow radio programmers here in Montreal commented wryly- he does not skimp on the sound system. You could feel the pulsating reverberations of the bass right inside your rib cage and knocking on your liver...

The Alpha Blondy/Solar System stage show is not contrived- not at all, even though it it is obvious that Seydou and his crew work very hard to prepare for a great performance judging by the synchronicity of the band and its leader( only one discordant moment when Alpha Blondy sheepishly and impishly blurted out the confession that he had forgotten some of his own lyrics and redid the song three times before he got it right) no, there is no artifice-in fact apart from being a an intense and passionate singer, Alpha Blondy at times is more theatrical than musical making me wonder at such junctures whether or not Seydou ever tried acting as a career alternative because he seems to have the charisma, athleticism, presence, vocal mastery and rapport with audiences that distinguishes the great performers and entertainers from the ham actors who as they say in Kiswahili, ni fungu peni.

If I were to rate Alpha Blondy and the Solar System, I would put them up,way, way, way high up theerrrre along with such legendary performers that I have seen live like Angelique Kidjo, Zap Mama, Oumou Sangare, Rokia Traore, Femi Kuti, Baaba Maal, Salif Keita, Papa Wemba, Mzwakhe Mbuli, Suzzana Owiyo, Samba Mapangala, Amampondo, Maryam Mursal and Oliver Mtukudzi.

Of course, a big chunk of the world wide army of Alpha Blondy's fans have never seen him and will never see him live in performance.

And yet they love him so.

How so?

The quality of his recordings sets him apart from other wannabe reggae stars who try, perhaps too hard to clone Bob Marley, Peter Tosh, Dennis Brown, Black Uhuru and Burning Spear instead of just doing their thing.

It is music you can dance and sing to, even if you do not know the words or understand the tongue.

One of the most rewarding moments as far as appreciating the talent and contribution of Alpha Blondy came within the last few days when I started researching for this very essay you are perusing right now. I rummaged around and came across some of the lyrics of his well known classics.

And so, for the rest of this digital intervention, I will let the voice, the sounds, the beats and rhythms and yes the LYRICS of Alpha Blondy delineate the journey of the boy who was named after his Muslim grandpa and renamed Blondy (a corruption of the French word for “bandit").

Let us start with Seydou’s ROMANTIC SIDE because this artist seems to have the charisma, eloquence, melody, harmony and poetry to completely and easily seduce the negligee and lingerie off many a female with a fluttering heart and racing pulse and heaving bosom by his crooning professions of amour and affection.

Those of us who are from East Africa think that “Fanta” is the name of an orangish pop drink bottled and marketed by the Coca Cola corporation. In actuality, it is also a woman’s name prevalent throughout West Africa.

So.

Give a listen to the song called “Sweet Fanta Diablo” composed by Alpha Blondy many years ago. It is in English, but just in case you want to sing along, here are the lyrics:

SWEET FANTA DIALLO

Sweet sweet Fanta Diallo
ouh! ouh! Fanta Diallo

FANTA walking on the rainbow now!
FANTA shivering in moon light waves
FANTA hogging on the mountain top
FANTA kissing me on the burning rock

Sweet sweet Fanta Diallo
ouh! ouh! Fanta Diallo

One day, one day Fanta flee away
with the sun
one day, one day, Fanta ,melt away
under the sun
one day, Fanta flee away
with the sun
over and over I guess
she melt away under the sun
again and again
I keep on wondering
where she's gone
the last time I saw her,
psychiatric hospital
Now I know that I did you wrong
Yes I love you rainbow
And I love you rainbow ray
please help me rainbow
you got to lead me rainbow

Next give a second, third and fourth listen to the song called “Rendez-vous” and once more you can sing along below:

RENDEZ-VOUS

When the night, all right
and the full moon light shinning so bright
don't go away, please stay
my love for you so strong
we just can't go wrong
tears in your eyes, you can't deny
You've been crying, crying all along the day
tears in your eyes can't lie
Stop crying, crying before it gets too late

Barbozi, Barboza
rendez-vous tonight at Barboza
Barbozi, Barboza
rendez-vous tonight at Barboza

Yes, I know that youe first love hurt you so
I wish my love could heal your broken heart
and if you want tomorrow to be a brighter day
Now! Oh Lord love me the way you love no one else
love me the way you love no one else
I beg you love me the way you love no one else

So Barbozi, Barboza
rendez-vous tonight at Barboza
Barbozi, Barboza
rendez-vous tonight at Barboza

Before he made it big with “Jerusalem” Alpha Blondy had a giant hit in Ivory Coast with a song called “Brigadier Sabari”(poor silly me, I had made up my own title and Kiswahili lyrics for this number). He composed the song to give testimony to a very brutal police raid during which he was beaten within an inch of his life. Click here for “Brigadier Sabari” and once more here are lyrics:

Brigadier Sabari

Soufé yara magni dê
Niya sêbê man dafa
N'ko bandiya mangni fêssê fêssê
Hôronya lé gnongon têssan

Opération coup de poing
Opération coup de poing
Opération coup de poing yeh!!
Opération coup de poing

Néko wohouho woyo yohi
Brigadier Sabari
Néko Aïe Aïe Aïe
Brigadier Sabari
Néko koutoubou sakidi!!!
Brigadier Sabari
Néko koutoubou sakidi!!!
Brigadier Sabari
Néko Pati sanganan!!!
Niyongon téné sôrôtougou

Brigand ya mangni dê de N'Téri
Hôronya lé gnongon têssan
Soufé yara mangni fêssê fêssê
Nyia sêbê man dafa

Opération coup de poing
Opération coup de poing
Opération coup de poing
Opération coup de poing

Néko wohouho woyo yohi
Brigadier Sabari
Néko Aïe Aïe Aïe
Brigadier Sabari
Néko koutoubou sakidi!!!
Brigadier Sabari
Néko Pati sanganan!!!
Niyongon téné sôrôtougou

Thanks goes out to Esben I. Jensen for this one

Another mainstay of all Alpha Blondy shows is “Cocody Rock” which you can hear if you press on this link. Apparently Cocody is one of the neighbourhoods of Abdijan:

Cocody Rock

Rockin' Rocker
Rockin' Rocker from Zion I.C.
We're ready ready ready, ready to rock
We are the rockers from Zion Ivory Coast
We're ready ready ready, ready to rock

We sayin'

Coco, Coco, is Cocody Rock
Coco, Coco, is Cocody Rasta
Coco, Coco now, Cocody Rock
Coco, Coco, is Cocody Rasta

Somebody, somebody is working out the sound system
(the sound system)
Say Jah Jah rythm
(Jah Jah rythm)
We movin through space and time
Brother Tom fear
Ain't got nothin', he's beatin' down the bass line
Why don't you get on board the Zion Express

We sayin'

Coco, Coco, is Cocody Rock
Coco, Coco, is Cocody Rasta
Coco, Coco now, Cocody Rock
Coco, Coco, is Cocody Rasta

Rockin' in, rockin' out
Rockin' in, rockin' out
We're gonna rock you
In the Night, in the day
We bound to rock your soul
We positively movin up - oh
Weavin' Jah time
No matter what you say or do
Jah bound to rock you down

That's why we're sayin'

Coco, Coco, is Cocody Rock
Coco, Coco, is Cocody Rasta
Coco, Coco now, Cocody Rock
Coco, Coco, is Cocody Rasta

-----------------------------------------------------
Annotations:

Cocody is an upscale quarter of Abidjan (Capital of I.C.)
-----------------------------------------------------
Thanks goes out to Esben I. Jensen for this one
-----------------------------------------------------

Probably the most recognized song by Alpha Blondy is his monster hit “Jerusalem” that features Hebrew, Arabic, Dioula, French and English words:

Jerusalem

BAROUH ATAT ADONAÏ
(BAROUH ATAT ADONAÏ)
BAROUH ABA YÉROUSHALAÏM
(BAROUH ABA YÉROUSHALAÏM)
BAROUH ATAT ADONAÏ
(BAROUH ATAT ADONAÏ)
BAROUH ABA YÉROUSHALAÏM
(BAROUH ABA YÉROUSHALAÏM)
From the Bible to the Koran
Revelation in JERUSALEM
SHALOM, SALAMALEKOUM
You can see Christians, Jews and Muslims
Living together and praying
Amen! Let’s gives thanks and praises
BAROUH ATAT ADONAÏ
BAROUH ABA YÉROUSHALAÏM
BAROUH ATAT ADONAÏ
BAROUH ABA YÉROUSHALAÏM
JERUSALEM here I am
JERUSALEM je t’aime
JERUSALEM here I am
JERUSALEM je t’aime
ISRAELA YAKIRATI
ISRAELA YAKIRATI
ANI OHÊV OTARH
ISRAELA YAKIRATI
ISRAELA YAKIRATI
ISRAELA YAKIRATI
ISRAELA YAKIRATI
ANI OHÊV OTARH
ISRAELA YAKIRATI
From the Bible to the Koran
Revelation time
SHALOM, SALAMALEKOUM
You can see Christians, Jews and Muslims
Living together and praying
Amen! Let’s gives thanks and praises
BAROUH ATAT ADONAÏ
BAROUH ABA YÉROUSHALAÏM
BAROUH ATAT ADONAÏ
BAROUH ABA YÉROUSHALAÏM
JERUSALEM here I am
JERUSALEM je t’aime
JERUSALEM here I am
JERUSALEM je t’aime
ISRAELA YAKIRATI
ISRAELA YAKIRATI
ANI OHÊV OTARH
ISRAELA YAKIRATI
ISRAELA YAKIRATI
ISRAELA YAKIRATI
ISRAELA YAKIRATI
ANI OHÊV OTARH
ISRAELA YAKIRATI
JERUSALEM here I am
JERUSALEM je t’aime
JERUSALEM here I am
JERUSALEM je t’aime

When Seydou is singing about Masada, what is he talking about? Well follow along with your ears and eyes, if not your mouth, throat, nose and tongue:

MASADA

I'm gonna sleep by the dead sea
and rise up with the birds from the hills
and clean up my sins
while the birds sing
I'm gonna walk up to the top
of the rock od sacrifice
cause I know now, that life
ain't no dice
yes I know now, that life is a sacrifice

I'm gonna withness the rising sun from Masada
Withness Jah rising sun from Masada... (Bis)
Sleep by the dead sea
and rise up with the birds from Jah hills
and clean up my sins
while the birds sing
I'm gonna climb to the top
of the rock od sacrifice
'cause I know now
That the Lord had conforted his people
yes the Lord had conforted his people
and the Lord had conforted his people

Elohim YEVARECH ETE MASADA
YEVARECH, ELOHIM ETE MASADA... (Bis)

Withness the rising sun from Masada
Withness JAH rising sun from Masada
Yes from Masada... Song for Masada

In the waning years of the last decade of the 20th Century and tentative years of this new one, all Africa was abuzz and ablaze with the craze that the late Mwalimu Julius Kambarage Nyerere called “Coca Cola Democracy.” Here is the song MULTIPARTISME (MEDIOCRATIE) by Alpha Blondy and the Solar System:

Missikara djarati wari!! Wari!!

Wari-banan, wari banan Gbêrêya bé bê-kan
Wari-banan, wari banan Gbêrêya bé bê-kan
Wari-banan, wari banan Gbêrêya bé bê-kan
Wari-banan, wari banan Gbêrêya bé bê-kan

Angné bin Kélé man, M'badé lou Eh!
Angné bin Kélé man!!
Angné bin Kélé man, M'badé lou Eh!
Angné bin Kélé man te

Multipartisme c'est pas tribalisme
Multipartisme yeah, c'est pas tribalisme

Ni-kouibé kouman oh! Tais-toi, tais-toi Dioula
Ni-kouibé kouman oh! Tais-toi, tais-toi Bété
Ni-kouibé kouman oh! Tais-toi, tais-toi Baoulé
I kouibé kouman dôni Tais toi Bôyôrôdjan!!

Les militaires sont fâchés
parce qu'ils sont mal payés
les policiers sont fâchés
parce qu'ils sont mal payés
Les professeurs sont fâchés
leurs droits syndacaux baffoulés
Les étudiants cont fâchés
ils veulent plus de liberté
"Papier longuer" le mourouti
parce qu'ils ont été cognés
les médecins sont fâchés
parce qu'ils sont mal payés
les ouvriers sont fâchés
parce qu'ils ont été compressés
Le gouvernement est fâché
les caisses de l'état vidées... vidées...

Wari-banan, wari banan Gbêrêya bé bê-kan
Wari-banan, wari banan Gbêrêya bé bê-kan
Wari-banan, wari banan Gbêrêya bé bê-kan
Wari-banan, wari banan Gbêrêya bé bê-kan

Missikara djarati wari!! Wari!!

Abidjan ya drap
A Cotonou ya drap
A Bamako drap bâtard

A Lome ya drap
A Conakry ya drap
A Monravia drap bâtard

A Lome ya drap
A Kinshasa ya drap oh!
ADDIS ABEBA drap bâtard...

Abidjan ya drap oh!
A Cotonou ya drap
A Bamako drap bâtard

Wari-banan, wari banan Gbêrêya bé bê-kan
Wari-banan, wari banan Gbêrêya bé bê-kan
Wari-banan, wari banan Gbêrêya bé bê-kan
Wari-banan, wari banan Gbêrêya bé bê-kan

Angné bin Kélé man, M'badé lou Eh!
Angné bin Kélé man!!
Angné bin Kélé man, M'badé lou Eh!
Angné bin Kélé man te

Ni-kouibé kouman oh! Tais toi PDCI
Ni-kouibé kouman oh! Tais toi PIT
Ni-kouibé kouman oh! Tais toi USD
I-kouibé kouman dôni oh! Tais toi FPI

Tout'l monde est fâché, Fâché, Fâché

What does Alpha Blondy think of God?

Well the lyrics below are self explanatory:

GOD IS ONE

Some call him Allah
Some call him Adonaï
Some call him Jehovah
JESUS, HIAVE, Buddha, Krishna
But he is one, yes He's ONE
Like a tree with many branches
Many in ONE...
Alleluja God is Great
Alleluja God in ONE
See the sunrise
and see the sunset
no one can explain this mistery
Alleluja God is Great
Alleluja God is ONE
Some call him Allah
Some call him Adonaï
Some call him Jehovah
JESUS, HIAVE, Buddha, Krishna
But he is one, like a tree
with many branches, many in ONE
Alleluja God is Great
Alleluja God in ONE
(DUB)(KORA)

If Seydou Kone was an American voter, would he cast his ballot for the dimwitted frat boy having empty headed dreams in the White House or for the lanky humourless lawyer and Vietnam Vet? Does Seydou approve of the invasion of Iraq and the overthrow of Saddam Hussein. I did not see anything speaking specifically to these questions when I mined the internet for 411 but I did come across this composition called DESERT STORM:

Arrêtez! Ne tirez pas
Arrêtez! J'ai des amis là-bas
Arrêtez! Ne tirez pas
Arrêtez! J'ai des frères là-bas

Je ne voudrais pas me mêler de ce qui ne me regarde pas
mais à la télévision on ne voit plus que ça
à la radio dans les journaux
on ne voit plus que ça
C'est la guerre du Golf, war in the Gulf
War in the Gulf, crisis of the Gulf, we say!!
Libérez le Koweit
Libérez le Koweit
Libérez le Koweit
Libérez le Koweit
Je ne voudrais pas me mêler de ce qui ne me regarde pas
Apparemment pas!!
Mais dans un pareil cas, un cessez-le-feu se doit
négocier, renégocier, éviter le sang versé
Comment peut-on envoyer des enfants de Dieu
tuer d'autres enfants de Dieu
au nom de Dieu, hm!! Je n'y comprends rien
C'est pas saint
No Holy war, no Holy
War is not a holy thing to do no, no holy war
Ne tirez pas sur me frères les Français
Ne tirez pas sur me frères les Anglais
Ne tirez pas sur me frères sénégalais
Ne tirez pas sur me frères américains
Ne tirez pas sur me frères égyptiens
Ne tirez pas sur me frères saoudiens
Ne tirez pas sur me frères koweitiens
Ne tirez pas sur me frères istraéliens
Ne tirez pas, ne tirez plus, ne tirez plus
Ne tirez pas, ne tirez pas...
Libérez le Koweit
Libérez le Koweit
Libérez le Koweit
Libérez le Koweit
Je ne voudrais pas, surtout pas
me mêler de ce qui ne me regarde pas...
mais dans un pareil cas, un cessez-le-feu se doit

Ne tirez pas sur me frères les Français
Ne tirez pas sur me frères les Anglais
Ne tirez pas sur me frères sénégalais
Ne tirez pas sur me frères américains
Ne tirez pas sur me frères égyptiens
Ne tirez pas sur me frères saoudiens
Ne tirez pas sur me frères koweitiens
Ne tirez pas sur me frères istraéliens
Ne tirez pas, ne tirez plus, ne tirez plus
Ne tirez pas, ne tirez pas...

Libérez le Koweit!!
Libérez le Koweit!!
Libérez le Koweit!!
Libérez le Koweit!!

And there is nothing ambiguous about his attitude to Liberia a neighbouring country where he did his high school education after being expelled from a series of schools in his native Ivory Coast. Here is his song, PEACE IN LIBERIA

We want peace in Liberia
Peace in Monrovia
We want peace in Liberia
Peace in Monrovia
Cause Babylon shall not rise again
Babylon shall not rise again
Babylon shall not stand again
Babylon shall not stand again
'Cause everyday they talking about
the Liberian civil war
and everywhere over JAH land
muddy rivers of blood oh Lord!!
No matter who wins, Liberia is crying
no matter who loses, Liberia still crying
no matter who's right, they've got to stop the fight
no matter matter who's wrong, the devil still stronger...
So we want peace in Liberia
Peace in Monrovia
We want peace in Liberia
peace in Monrovia
Cause Babylon shall not rise again
Babylon shall not rise again
Babylon shall not stand again
Babylon shall not stand again
We calling on Jesus Christ to save I and I
We calling Jesus Christ to save I and I
We calling on Allah to save I and I
Calling Adonaï to save I and I
cry, cry Liberia...

My bilingual French readers will tell me which dogs is Alpha Blondy singing about in LES CHIENS

WAHO WAHO!! (Bis)
WAHO WAHO!! (Bis)

Les chiens aboient!!
Les chiens aboient!!
La caravane passe...
La caravane passe...
Elle n'a pas le temps de ralentir
tu peux continuer à ma trahir
je sais que je vais mourir
mais de ma tombe je vais te haïr

Petit chiens galleux
Gros chiens pouilleux
Petit chiens baveux
Tu me tueras s'il plaït à Dieu
Tu me tueras s'il plaït à Dieu

WAHO WAHO...
WAHO WAHO...
Ils aboient de jalousie
ils se glorifient dans l'hypocrisie
je serais le sacrifice qu'ils ont choisi
le sacrifice choisi
Tu peux continuer à me trahir
mais de ma tombe je vais te haïr
oui de ma tombe je vais te haïr
et de ma tombe je vais te haïr
Toujours aux abois, les chiens aboient
Toujours aux abois, le mêmes chiens aboient

And what are the following lyrics about?

SCIENCES SANS CONSCIENCE

Sciences sans conscience
n'est que ruine de l'âme
Sciences sans conscience
n'est que ruine et larmes

Je ne m'y connais pas en balistique
je me méfie de la politique
armes chimiques ou bactériologiques
défient toutes les lois de la logique...
Je vous dis...

Sciences sans conscience
n'est que ruine de l'âme
Sciences sans conscience
n'est que ruine et larmes

Devant l'escalade de la violence
l'homme découvre son impuissance
il appelle à l'aide le maître du temps
c'est un S.O.S. su tu m'entends

Sciences sans conscience
n'est que ruine de l'âme
Sciences sans conscience
n'est que ruine et larmes

Les océans sont radioactifs
avec les missiles qui réfléchissent
la terre entière s'asphyxie
c'est un vrai suicide collectif

Sciences sans conscience
n'est que ruine de l'âme
Sciences sans conscience
n'est que ruine et larmes

Je ne m'y connais pas en balistique
je me méfie de la politique
armes chimiques ou bactériologiques
défient toutes les lois de la logique...
Je vous dis...

Sciences sans conscience
n'est que ruine de l'âme
Sciences sans conscience
n'est que ruine et larmes

Let us end with the ultimate tribute that Alpha Blondy could give to one of his main role models Bob Marley. This is Seydou’s rendition of the Wailers standard “War”.

Now, I know I am asking Bob Marley fan club members to lynch me when I boldly say the following:

Alpha Blondy’s LA GUERRE that you can hear here is BETTER THAN THE ORIGINAL COMPOSITION by the World’s most famous reggae poet and philosopher:

Tant que cette philosophie qui fait
Une race supérioure et une autre inférieure
Ne sera finalement et permanament
Discréditee et abandonée
Partout sera la guerre
C'est la guerre!!
Tant qu'il y'aura
Des première classes
Et seconde classes citoyens dans toutes les nations
Tant que le colour d'un humain
Aura de la signification comparée à ses yeux
Et j'en passe!!
Tant que le droits universels ne seront attribués à tous
Sans distinction de race... Et j'en passe!
En attendant, ce jour, le reve d'eterniser la paix
Entre citoyens du monde
Ne sera qu'une illusion désespérée
Qu'il faudra pourtant trouver le moyen de
Transformer en réalité
Et partout c'est la guerre... C'est la guerre.
Guerre à l'est!!
Guerre à l'ouest!!
Guerre au nord!!
Guerre au sud!!
Guerre! Guerre! Hommes de la terre!!
Mais en attendant ce jour
Le continent Africann'aura pas de paix
Nous Africains nous nous battrons
Si cela est nécessaire
Et nous savons que nous vaincrons
Car nous sont confiant
En la victoire
La victoire finale
Du bien sur le mal
La victoire finale du bien sur le mal
C'est la victoire de Dieu
De Dieu sur le Diable
Sabari Sabari Sabari!!
Sabari Sabari Sabari!!
Massa nitche Allah nitche
Massa nitche Allah nitche
Sabari Sabari Sabari Sabari
Aye Sabari! Enterrez les haches de guerre
Enterrez les haches de guerre
Mais pourquoifont-ils la guerre, ont-ils pensé aux enfants
la race des Dieux ne doit pas s'entretuer
Il faut se rendre aux Nation Unies
Et en discuter eh! En discuter eh! En discuter eh!!

I hope you have enjoyed that musical journey in meeting and getting to know Seydou Koné a little better than you thought you already did…

Hey almost forgot to give you one last treat. You can WATCH a brief video clip of an Alpha Blondy concert by pressing here if you have Real Audio and over here if you have Windows Media.

Enjoy the show....

Onyango Oloo
Montreal

Karen

2004-09-07T04:14:00.000+03:00

KJ
Who would have thought
That today
in two thousand and four
When you are supposed to be
a sprightly forty two year old
writer in Cleveland Heights
You would instead,
be residing as a pile of ash
in an urn in Ohio
Who would have seen you dying
Leave alone dying
as an African-American
Jewish mystic

Cancer claimed you at forty
Five days before Xmas
of two thousand and two
A year and a half
of swift excruciating pain
That you endured
While laughing and writing
And whoosh, you were gone
Leaving behind
a twenty year old daughter
And twenty dozen friends
From Guyana to Germany
Across races, fashion styles,
religions and ideologies
We all claimed you
And you left a piece of you in us

In the last seven years
of your life
We were lifelong friends
I still store
your curvy calligraphy
Poetically telling me how
And when you did
your groceries in Cleveland
Still have those mix tapes
You made for me of
Burning Spear blended with Salif Keita
And have those kick ass
feminist mags from the UK
That you gave me
when you came over
In the summer of ‘95
For the wedding of
Shelina and Grace
At the Cathedral on
Sherbourne and Bloor

Still touches me
That I was among four or five
Friends and family
You invited
To come with you
to the health food store
Next to the Greek restaurant
on the Danforth
In Toronto's east end
When you were seeking
A non-toxic alternative
to chemotherapy
At the beginning of
two thousand and one

You were so brave and
unafraid I recall
As you listened to
the east European woman
Tell you about stevia and thyme,
ginger and gingko biloba
And all the other organic
flipsides to the capsuled recipes
From the white robed dispensers of deathly cures

Do you remember the laughter we savoured
In that dramatist’s basement
just south of Eglinton West, east of Oakwood
And even though you were weak and coughing
Your intellect was keen
your eyes were glinting with mischief
As you joked about those frightened friends
Who came to see you
And how YOU had to console THEM
Reminding them that
you were not dead yet

And then one day in December
A cold email in my Outlook inbox
Told me
you had breathed
your last
A sense of loss
engulfed me for I was not
The only who had lost you
But with that same loss
Also a sense of relief
That at last you had escaped
From the Abu Ghraib terrors
Of the cancerous torturers
The ruthless tiny tormentors
That had to choose
The healthiest, cleanest living
Most vivacious generous woman
I had ever known
And destroy all her internal organs one by one
First with this melanoma then with the other carcinoma

Karen I refused
to say my goodbyes to you
Since you never left me
And forget Karen
You will always be KJ to me
Your poems are still here
As are all your letters, your tapes
Your magazines, your photos
And of course all those memories
We shared when
we were lovers
in the early nineties
Your lesbian friends
were shocked
When you left
another woman
for me
Your were not fazed
Already a mother
of a teen daughter
You simply told me
I fall in love with people
Not orientations
Sometimes you fell in love with men
Sometimes you fell in love with women
You told me
That it just so happened
That you fell in love with me

That love declaration has never and will never
Leave me…

Muthoni

2004-09-07T04:05:00.001+03:00

You will not remain hidden
under a sheaf of yellowing manuscripts
filed away from the clutches
of feline creatures driven to their death beds
by their proverbial curiosities
or shielded from the pesky peeks
of slovenly peeping toms
totally unfamiliar
with the voice of grace jones
singing about private lives
no you will not buried
like a clandestine love letter
In one of the bottom drawers
Far away here
in my Montreal home office
I refuse to conceal you and the joy
You brought into my life
For twenty eight days in the year just past
I refuse to hide you and the happy memories
You bequeathed to me
From anyone in this wide wild world

I told my mshikaji about you
And even though
She did not jump with joy
She still told me not to worry
She too
checked out other people
In the twenty two odd years when
We were separated by circumstance
And you too
Told me about your man
Who left you for America

I am old enough to realize
That one man can love
More than one woman
And one woman can love
More than two men
At the same time

Some say that
It is often pragmatism
That compels us
To choose the one we remain with
Among the many we could be with

Is monogamy congenital,
genetic and hereditary
I often wonder
Even as I shudder at
the misogyny of polygamy
And muse about
the rarity of polyandry
I recognize the patriarchic privileges
That sanctions us men to have
nyumba ndogos and ndogo ndogos
Even as we jealously
With notorious male double standards
time anxiously
with our ever ready stop watches
the arrival of our bibi wadogo
Coming back into the living room
After a quick trip to the bed room
In our insecure male paranoia
We fret, we worry, we panic
Wondering and pondering
if those few minutes
Away from our male gaze
Was not enough for her
To do something
Sexually subversive
Behind our suspicious backs
Not sure if a secret lover
And unknown male rival
Is stashed under the king size bed
In the master bedroom
Ready to unleash an unforgettable quickie
Leaving her secretly
quivering with delirious delight
As she carefully adjusts her beautiful dress
covering her moist mound of Venus
above the twitching tingling button
at the head of that
ever contested juicy valley
Between which
a sweet smelling feminine
river runs contentedly
As she makes her way back to us
Even as the mythical he
Jumps out of the window
Into the treacherous night
Of our impotent imagination
Leaving us cruelly and coldly cuckolded…

Even as I prepare
To live with a woman from Kirinyaga
For the rest of my life
I simply cannot edit
The woman from Nyeri
from my reveries and not so ancient history

Muthoni
I want you to be frank
Please tell me something
Am I a dog
for publicly acknowledging you
When everybody has read
all the romantic poems
I composed for Njeri?

You welcomed me to your city
With open arms
And open legs
You invited me to your kiosk
And told me
That none of your fruits
Were forbidden to me

In your arms
I discovered the potency
Of a Nyeri woman’s passion
On both sets of your lips
I found out why
We often go back
to the same beach
To dive deeply and
do the breast stroke
in the same embracing waters
To be engulfed by the same welcoming waves
Of sensuous excitement
Driven by our erotic thirst
Our ceaseless quest
For the familiar sizzling gropes and thrusts…

What we had between you and I
Was a private thing, never a fling
We accepted
the inevitability of impermanence
You asked me no questions
Of my past, my present or my future
And I did not want to know
If they had been other lovers
Even as I could clearly see and feel
That they had passed this way

You were never the other woman
And I was never the other man
You were just you, Muthoni
And I was just me, Oloo
Two Kenyans enjoying
each other’s intimate company
In the private spaces of Nairobi
Often after midnight
And for hours and hours and hours
Before that central Kenyan dawn
Clasped together relaxed and dreamy in sated stupor

Let the magistrates of morality
Haul us to their courts of hypocrisy
And try us for gross immorality
But even before they begin
Let us plead guilty
To the charge of loving each other
With no strings attached
Of cherishing each other
Without a motive to own
and possess the other

Why did we do what we did?
In self-defence can I argue
That I had not yet reconnected
With the one who is now my true love?

That sounds
awfully callous
As if you
were just a conduit
for my lust
The fact is
I met you and you fascinated me
And you were more than a little interested in me, shall we say
We went out
for a date
ate some food, had some drinks
talked a bit
and then we went out on another date
ate some food, had some drinks
danced with each other
to the gyrating beats of
a live African band
in one of those nyama choma
makuti thatched clubs
And we took a break from the dance floor
And sat in a quiet corner chatting
Getting to know each other
Candidly recognizing
The familiar knots
girding our respective loins
And making our voices dry
In spite of the drinks we sipped
Somehow, before the night was out
We ended up at your place
And in your space
we had time to explore
One another
Leisurely, hungrily, eagerly
Within the four corners
of your bedroom
You gave me
an explosive
reintroduction to Nairobi
After all these years
That will stay with me
for ever and ever

The world of latex,
coy foreplay
kinky erotic background music
and steamy safer sex
Provided a twenty first century context
To the mysteries of feverish
Contemporary sexual intimacy
Even at a time when
copulation can be lethal
Love can still be
expressed with a carnal caress

Am I therefore a veritable hound,
a certified canine
The verified cousin of a terrible dingo,
An incorrigible coyote or simply a detested jackal
Am I a greedy wolf, a shifty fox
or any of the doggish K-9 relatives
related to the common dog
Because here I am
Logging in my blog
Announcing to the whole world
The dozens of orgasms that you showered me with?

Is it true what they say
About us men
That we really are like dogs
That sooner or later
We begin to bark
Obeying our animal natures
As we go woof, woof woof!
Goof goof goof!
just because of nyaf nyaf nyaf?

Anyways
Say hi to your shy cousin
And your bright younger sister…

Sincerely Yours,

Reading the Toronto Dailies on a Montreal Afternoon

2004-08-29T03:47:00.000+03:00

A Short Story by Onyango Oloo

Inspired by the following real life incident:

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Twenty seven minutes past twelve on a sweltering Quebec summer week day.

A mild panic hits as he realizes that he has to be at President-Kennedy & University in less than half an hour.

Over here on the third floor of a McGill office building it is muted bedlam.

All day, indeed all week, fresh faces, mostly Caucasian, from Boston, Calgary, White Plains, New Haven, Toronto, Windsor, Vancouver, Winnipeg and elsewhere have been floating in and out of the office.

Dozens of new university students, it would appear, are those who want to give the mainstream Frosh a wide berth- it is heartening to find out each year that not all first year McGill students are driven to distraction by alcohol fueled fantasies of sexual bacchanals and cheap beer orgies in the Ghetto, the Plateau, Mile End, Cotes des Neiges, Place St. Henri, the NDG and other enclaves that students in this four campus town (McGill’s cousins are Concordia, UQAM, Universite de Montreal and Sherbrooke) roost in during their undergraduate domicile in Montreal.

The mainstream Frosh organized the main students society, like other orientations/rite of passages in campuses all over North America is rife with disturbing and persistent anecdotes of date rapes and similar unsavoury nocturnal happenings…

He works for an organization that has been on this campus for at least 15 years; a group that is a network of campus based social justice and environmental action organizations that were first inspired by a Ralph Nader speech in Waterloo (home of Research in Motion and a thousand other techie whiz kids) way back in the mid 1980s.

For the last two years they have been calling their Frosh, “Radical Frosh”. For years they dubbed it “Alternative” Frosh until that term was co-opted by everyone from weed addled fiendish rock DJs to neo-conservative Ayn Rand junkies. The “radical” in the Frosh denotes a conscious political attempt to orient incoming students to a militant social justice consciousness.

A glance at this weekend’s program says it all:

Organizing against police brutality; rethinking globalization; walking tours of working class neighbourhoods; Indigenous Rights 101; Food Security and Veganism as a Lifestyle Option; Power and Privilege for Student Activists…

He is the facilitator for the last named workshop and in fact right now he is tapping out the last paragraph of a scenario he wants to use in the role play after the power flower exercise for his session with the “froshers” happening on Sunday.

Another glance at his watch tells him he has to abandon the scenario right there. Dashing down the stairs(ironically his employer is not wheelchair accessible, in spite of railing for disability rights) he remembers what Manjit Singh, the coordinator of the action group fighting a Canadian mining multinational in India told him: just walk down University up to Sherbrooke, turn right on Aylmer and you should see the Delta right there. Try the Sherbrooke entrance, but you may have to go down to President-Kennedy because that is where the lobby is.

On his way, he passes more faces that ruefully remind him that summer is indeed over and the new school year is lurking around the corner ready to pounce forward next week.

Here he is already inside the Delta and it takes him a few minutes to find out that he is not only looking for the floor above him but that there is more than one trade union function taking place. A couple of burly but friendly labour organizer types tell him politely that he is hovering around the wrong room- Manjit Singh is presenting the video to the union’s international solidarity committee over on the other side of the building, just past the restaurant.

He finally locates the room, and Manjit is almost half-way into his presentation.

But he has not come for the presentation.

Instead, he has come to meet Ben Richards, a veteran Canadian socialist who has been with this union for over thirty years and is somewhat famous for having written a classic history of the South African trade union movement way back in the 1970s.

For almost half a year they have been playing telephone and email tag between Montreal and Toronto over the possibilities of a joint labour research project in one of the east African countries. As soon as Manjit’s video ends, he sidles over to Ben’s side who tells him to leave a message at his Delta hotel room number so that they can hook up later to discuss the proposal before Ben flies back to Ontario.

Mission accomplished, he bids bye to Ben and exits from the room. Since he is looking for Sherbrooke, he walks north down the corridor past the lobby instead of going up one flight and onto the street. He soon discovers that there is no real exit that way and so he turns around heading for the main entrance and lobby again. On his way, he notices a newspaper rack on his left with some complimentary National Post copies for hotel guests. He helps himself to a free copy-even though he is neither a guest nor a particular fan of the rightwing broadsheet that was unloaded by the Lord formerly known as Conrad Black to the media mogul no longer living called Izzy Asper.

The headline immediately grabs him.

A 45 year old Black man in Toronto, holding a 20 year old Black woman as a hostage was shot dead the previous day after a dramatic stand off which saw the Black man try to murder his wife with a sawn off shotgun and later a brutal beating in public in the middle of Canada’s busiest subway and railway hub.

He is reading that newspaper on the street and he does not even realize, until he is walking up Parc that he turned EAST on Sherbrooke, instead of left and that he was walking up Parc rather than University. Past the Provigo supermarket he decides he may as well take his lunch break now so he strolls over to the food court just below Cinema Avenue du Parc, just north of Milton.

Plopping down on a seat directly in front of a television showing 3 Black men in US attire take the 1-2-3 in the 400 metres at Athens, he requests the kindly looking lady to give him both a glass of water and a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice plus a menu. He orders something to eat and even by the time it comes, his mind is no longer on Parc, on the food, or even Montreal.

He is on a mental flight across the Atlantic, traversing thousands of miles and going back years into time past.

He is thinking of the two Black women who were almost killed by the Black man and he is also thinking of his own sister, Black like him, who was killed by another Black man in Kenya- a man she happened to be married to at that time. And the immediate thought is that even he, a Black Man in Montreal, would NOT have hesitated to pull a trigger on that Black Man from Ajax who wanted to kill those two Black women in Toronto yesterday.

The paper in front of him is all blurry, because his eyes are welling up. He does not realize until she speaks that the kindly lady has been standing next to him trying to find out whether he is enjoying his meal. He nods, or rather shrugs, because the food is virtually untouched. She takes one look at the headline and gently snatches the paper away from him, pushing it to the side.

Eat, she says, come on, eat; do not let it bother you; read the paper later; right now, just eat, the food is very good, I made it myself…

Something in her- she looks like a southern European but she could be easily Lebanese or Moroccan Jewish, for all he knows-maybe it is those soft, almost sad eyes-something about her makes him blurt out that the incident triggered painful memories of how his own sister was killed by her abusive husband before her 33rd back day back in his “home country” of Kenya about five years ago.

She nods sympathetically, but does not utter a word.

He stabs absently at his food with his fork, eating an isolated morsel every few minutes. He actually decides to dash over to the Metro grocery store and buy a copy of the Globe and Mail even though it is getting on in the day. He comes back to his seat and apart from the stuff he had already seen in the Post he notices for the first time details that bring the dead Black man to life: he had worked at the Bay for almost 25 years before being laid off and becoming a carrier delivering the Globe to homes; the man had just been released from jail after spending a month there following a domestic incident when he threw his wife down the stairs and held a knife to the neck of his daughter; on the day he was released his wife filed for divorce, citing a long history of battery including repeated death threats….

Today the abuser was a dead man, executed by a sniper in Toronto police uniform.

In the papers they described a teary eyed old man shaking with sorrow as he relayed how he had watched his son being gunned down on national television.

Back in the restaurant below Cinema Avenue du Parc, a flurry of questions floating around the head of a Black man whose sister had been killed by another Black man:

Would the Hostage Taker in Toronto be a dead man today if he had been a White Man instead of a Black Man?

If the police sniper could aim at the Black man’s head why couldn’t he aim at his hands and disarm him?

Does a police bullet between the eyes prevent another man, Black, White, Brown,Yellow,young, old from assaulting another woman of any race in Toronto?

He thinks of the woman in Montreal who suffered so much from a stalking ex partner who the police ignored because he was one of them.; he thinks back to the late 1980s when the Toronto police caught and released the Scarborough Rapist twice- released him because, with his blue eyes and blond hair he was too much the boy next door to be the monster in the media- until Paul Bernado graduated into a grisly killer who raped, taunted and tortured his teenage female victims before killing them. If Paul Bernado had been of Jamaican or Haitian extraction, would he have met a different fate?

True, Toronto felt safer this afternoon with the Black man transformed by a police gun shot into a dead man; but was this not just another episode in the open hunting season against men of colour in this city where the police have a long history of shooting Black men?

For a very long time he just sits there, with all these conflicting emotions and thoughts shaking him up.

Finally he pays his bill, tips the kindly lady handsomely and walks over to the pay phone to make one long distance call using his phone card before going back to work.

He is calling Kristina Mwasi, a Kenyan woman he has known for many years. Kristina works in a shelter for battered women.

After the pleasantries he asks her about the story on everyone’s mind.

To which she simply says:

“May he rest in PIECES. The only reason why his wife is alive today is because his gun JAMMED and he MISSED when he FIRED DIRECTLY at her. All I know is that today that woman and her daughter are glad that THEY ARE NOT the bodies in cold storage. Last night a woman walked in here all bloodied and bruised. That woman is convinced that her husband will find her and kill her.”

THE END

CHELAGAT

2004-08-21T01:08:00.000+03:00

A Play in 3 Acts

By Onyango Oloo

© Onyango Oloo 1995

[PUBLIC ADVISORY:This is a play about RAPE. Mature subject matter. Coarse language. Graphic depictions.Some incidents in this FICTIONAL work may be disturbing and even traumatizing to certain individuals. Discretion is advised-author.]

SETTING: Toronto, Canada, early 1990s

Dramatis Personae:

CHELAGAT: a Kenyan political exile in her late twenties;
ODHIAMBO: a Kenyan political exile in his early thirties;
ZUHURA: a Canadian citizen in her mid thirties who was born and raised in Kenya
RAHMAN: a Canadian landed immigrant in his early forties who grew up in Mombasa
SHARON: a Trini-Canadian domestic assault counsellor
CAROL: a Jewish-Canadian lawyer

ACT ONE

SCENE ONE

As the curtain rises, a giant Canadian flag slowly descends. A deafening rendition of O, CANADA!.

Silence.

Hearing Room No.15 of the Immigration and Refugee Board.

A table with 6 microphones and a tape deck. 3 thermos flasks and several clear plastic cups around the table.

On the right, 2 IRB PANEL MEMBERS. Facing the audience, THE REFUGEE HEARING OFFICER. Opposite him, the CLAIMANT'S LAWYER. Next to the lawyer, THE REFUGEE CLAIMANT.

The PANEL MEMBERS, THE R.H.O. AND THE LAWYER all have larger than life masks. With the exception of the LAWYER, all the masks are identical.

The hearing into the REFUGEE CLAIMANT'S claim is conveyed through mime. It ends with the PANEL ruling that the CLAIMANT is not a genuine refugee.

There is an order that the CLAIMANT be detained immediately pending deportation from Canada.

4 IMMIGRATION GUARDS march in and grab the CLAIMANT who is dragged kicking and screaming off stage.

The LAWYER watches as the CLAIMANT is carted off to the Celebrity Inn Detention Centre.

The LAWYER leaves the stage with his arm around the R.H.O.

O, CANADA! floods the room as the scene ends.

ACT ONE

SCENE TWO

[DARKNESS.LIGHT. A group of African women enter performing a traditional dance. The spotlight follows CHELAGAT as she dances to "Our Song", a ballad which chronicles the struggle for freedom in Kenya.]

CHELAGAT

Yes, we refused to follow their foot steps leading Kenya to the edge of a gaping crater. And for that, here we are, scattered all over the world. Go to Stockholm, to Oslo, to London and Baltimore and you'll find us. We are in Tanzania, in Uganda, Zimbabwe, India and Yemen, far away from our mothers because we are all working for a new tomorrow to dawn in Nairobi. We came to Canada with hope only to be repelled with the insecticide of racism and prejudice. The Anglo Saxon refugees cowering from us in Rosedale, Oakville and Markham see in our black faces yet another wave of alien scum landing to pollute the land of the maple leaf with yet another variety of stinking meat curries.

(Enter a man with a mask and a typical Anglo-Canadian accent.)

MAN WITH MASK

I'm sorry but did I hear you say Kenya or Somalia?

CHELAGAT

No. I am not a Somali. I am not from Mogadishu.

(Enter a woman with a mask and a typical Anglo-Canadian accent.)

WOMAN WITH MASK

Do you come from...

CHELAGAT

No!I am not a granddaughter of Emperor Haile Selassie the First!

MAN WITH MASK

Are you...

CHELAGAT

No sir. I am not a South African. I am not a card carrying member of the African National Congress.

WOMAN WITH MASK

But wait a minute! There is no civil war in Kenya! We thought the drought was in Mauritania! Wasn't that Liberia they were showing on the News last night? O God! Africa is such a confusing place! Everywhere it seems, from north to south, east to west women and children are dying like flies from starvation and black tribalism! What could have happened to Kenya, the one sane place left on that mad continent? We always thought Kenya was an island of stability in a very turbulent sea of African chaos.

MAN WITH MASK

Didn't the Queen herself fly over to Nairobi to personally hand over independence to Mzee Jomo Kenyatta in 1963? What is wrong with these people? Correct me if I am wrong but I thought Moi was right there along with the NATO allies during the difficult and triumphant days of Operation Desert Storm. Anyone running from Kenya must be a communist, an Islamic terrorist, a drug addict or a pervert.

CHELAGAT

They know more about our country than we Kenyans ourselves. Their Kenya, their Africa, is populated by fugitives from Out of Africa who live in the Flame Trees of Thika. Their Kenya is a Kenya I have never lived in.

Enter a North American tourist complete with cameras, maps, sunglasses and a colonial cap.

TOURIST

I've been to Kenya three times. I loved the safaris at the Amboseli National Park. The wild primitive dancing at the Bomas of Kenya. But I especially adore the animals. Kenya's got wonderful flora and fauna. You should come over to my house in Bayview to see the videos and slides we shot. Big handsome hunky elephants. Gorgeous lions. Cute chimpanzees. Sexy zebras. Tall exotic Maasai men. Full breasted Giriama women gyrating and ululating to the vigorous rhythms of the famous Sengenya dance...

Enter young woman reading the Toronto Star.

YOUNG WOMAN

Paul Simcoe has just come back from an exciting holiday at the Kenyan coast. He has fond memories of the fun times at Salt Lick Lodge in the Taita Hills. He particularly relishes the day he caught sixteen giant tilapia fish while snuggling on the back of the friendly hippos from the nearby lake... And there was the night he took a break from civilization to wrestle with the dazzling beauties who prey on their Western victims at the world famous Sunshine Day and Night Club in the exotic Indian Ocean city of Mombasa....

CHELAGAT

Well Paul, we Kenyan women whom you bump into on your annual sex safaris are perhaps too friendly for our own good. Were you at the Sunshine Day and Night Club the night they killed Njeri? Do you remember Monica Njeri? Monica, a single mother from Kiambu was forced by Reaganomics Moi style, to the Mombasa meat market to lease her body to the groping hands of Japanese, European and North American seekers of the African orgasm. In return for a few francs and a couple of kronor we are expected to do S&M tricks even with your dogs. It seems like only yesterday, that night in 1980 when Njeri was picked up by that All American marine boy, Sundstrom. He wanted her body as a toy for the night. After huffing and puffing he was deflated for the night. But then like so many before him and since, he refused to do the one simple thing that had made Monica endure all his childish indignities. He refused to hand over the ten or so dollars which was the price they had agreed upon. He completely refused to pay and an argument flared up. She asked him to leave her room and went to the toilet to go and wash off his filth from her body. Behind her back the All American marine boy sneaked into her handbag to steal the few shillings left in her purse. Monica caught him red handed and she flew into a rage screaming obscenities at him to leave immediately. Red faced, Sundstrom took out his big sharp knife, grabbed poor Njeri and stabbed her over and over again. In the morning they found her, belly ripped open, drowning in her own blood with her entrails spread out all over the cement floor of the boarding and lodging room. Later, Sundstrom emerged from his hideaway in the nuclear destroyer docked at Mtongwe to appear in a Simi Valley trial in Mombasa.[Slides show old Kenyan newspaper clippings and pictures of the trial.] The British expatriate judge was so moved by the testimony of Sundstrom's wonderful mother and hard working father who came all the way to Kenya from far away middle America... The judge was so moved by the character of this strong, upright Christian boy who had always dreamed of serving his great country... The judge was so convinced with the mitigating circumstances of this case that he set Sundstrom free on a 500 dollar peace bond.

A slide projector shows images of American soldiers in the Middle East, Vietnam, Somalia and Kenya. In the background we can hear "Satisfaction" by the Rolling Stones . Pictures of Third World women. The finale image is just a slide covered from top to bottom with the colour red. "Satisfaction" plays over and over again until it finally fades off...

FADE OUT

SCENE THREE

[CHELAGAT'S apartment. It is a neat bachelor. On the wall are posters depicting African, Middle Eastern, Latin American and First Nations struggles. A bookcase full of magazines, books, audio cassettes, compact discs and videos. An 18" colour TV. A tiny short wave radio. An old Mac computer sits on a small table. Two chairs, an African stool and a reading lamp. A futon which doubles as bed and sofa. Kenyan music in the background. A big NO SMOKING sign. CHELAGAT and ZUHURA are sitting on the futon. RAHMAN is on the stool leafing through a recent Society magazine from Kenya.]

CHELAGAT

Things are really happening at home! Sometimes when I listen to the news or read the papers I can't believe it is the same Kenya that I left four years ago.

ZUHURA

It is not. Two years ago who would have dared to play anti-government music full blast in an overcrowded matatu?

RAHMAN(skimming)

Imanyara exposing tribalism. Odinga calling for a government of national unity. Rubia and Matiba challenging Moi to a public debate on multiparty democracy...

CHELAGAT

And Wangari Maathai, standing dignified and strong against the KANU big wigs...Wangari, defiant Kenyan womanhood personified... Wangari, denouncing them for their shameless attempt to erect a 62 storey monster in Uhuru Park. But we forget, we always do, the tens of thousands who were not interviewed by the London Observer and the New York Times, the nameless teenagers who are the first to sniff the tear gas and feel the rungus of the GSU.

[In the following exchange between Zuhura and Rahman, their body language contrasts sharply with the seemingly hostile bantering.]
RAHMAN

I saw Kamau Kuria the other day on the MacNeil\Lehrer News Hour, listened to him narrate how he hid at the American embassy after the Saba Saba pro democracy rally.

ZUHURA

Isn’t that funny? Today it is the Americans who are "leading" the fight to restore democracy in Kenya. It was just last week that they were training the special branch goons of Nyayo House. These Americans! But as we say,"bendera hufuata upepo", the flag follows the wind.

RAHMAN

I know the Americans are not perfect but I don't think you are being fair. America has been supporting Moi because whether we like it or not, it is a fact that Moi has been the most consistent defender of Western interests in Eastern Africa. Look at the Marxist tyranny in Ethiopia, the clan anarchy in Somalia, the ethnic cleansing in the Sudan, the guerrilla madness in Uganda, and the Ujamaa confusion in Nyerere's Tanzania. If you were Reagan, Bush or for that matter, Thatcher, who would you support?

ZUHURA

Am I glad that not even a miracle would ever transform me into Reagan, Bush or for that matter,Thatcher!

RAHMAN

Come on, with all its faults, America has been the leading beacon of change and champion of democracy around the world. Look at Russia. Albania. Poland. Czechoslovakia. If it wasn't for the Voice of America and Radio Free Europe, the Berlin Wall would still be standing between the East Germans and their freedom in the West.

ZUHURA

You mean the freedom to roam the streets of Frankfurt unemployed, window shopping on empty stomachs? Or you mean the freedom the Aryan youth of Berlin and Leipzig now have to firebomb the hostels of immigrants and refugees from Turkey, Mozambique, Bosnia and El Salvador?

RAHMAN

Zuhura, let me ask you something. Why is it that with you even ordinary conversations degenerate into sterile ideological debates?

ZUHURA

Every commonplace remark hides an ideological assumption. Five years ago, before I even thought of moving in with my ex boyfriend here in Toronto, I used to live in the Bronx right in the core of the Big Rotten Apple. Living in the New York projects is worse than sleeping in a trench in the Mathare shanty town back in Nairobi. The crime. The drugs. The trigger happy cops. The racist thugs on the streets. Racists in the stores, racists in the night clubs, racists everywhere. All those years living underground without papers, staring at an empty fridge twenty days out of thirty. Sneaking into the subway penniless dropping dimes instead of tokens...Bravely boarding a bus hanging on to a crumpled transfer long after it expires, hoping to flash it past the redneck driver...Crossing your fingers, praying you never fall sick in a country which does not recognize universal health care. Going to college by day...Washing mountains of dishes and cleaning acres of office space by night... All this in a country which brags about being the land of the free and the home of the brave. Don't tell me about America The Beautiful. I am more familiar with Malcolm X's Yankee nightmare...

[Chelagat serves masala tea with mahamri buns]

CHELAGAT

Here, have some of this.

ZUHURA

What did you put in it? I know there is ginger and cinnamon.

CHELAGAT

Oh. Cloves. Cardamom. Mint. Mace. Other stuff.

RAHMAN

Did you make the mahamri yourself?

CHELAGAT

No. I bought them from that new Swahili donut shop in the east end. You two are always jumping on each other. Sometimes it is hard to believe we are all on the same side, fighting for democracy in Kenya.

RAHMAN (with an ironic smile)

Are we, all on the same side, fighting for democracy in Kenya?

ZUHURA

At least we all agree that Moi must go.

RAHMAN

To be followed by what? Communism???!!

[A persistent ring followed by loud thumps.]

CHELAGAT

There is someone at the door.

[She goes and looks through the peep hole. Slowly unlatches the door.]

CHELAGAT

Odhiambo! You were here yesterday! Surely you know that the bell is still new. You don't have to knock down the walls to enter my apartment.

ODHIAMBO [out of breath]

I've just been speaking to Hamadi's room mate. He went to see him last night at the Celebrity Inn Detention Centre.

CHELAGAT

How is he?

ODHIAMBO

He is being deported on Friday.

CHELAGAT

That gives us only three days!

ODHIAMBO

Saidi said Hamadi is in very bad shape. His right arm is broken.

ZUHURA

What happened?

ODHIAMBO

They tried to force him to sign a statement claiming that he had agreed to go back home voluntarily. He refused. Remember Robertson, remember him from the last time we went to bail out Kamau and Mutiso in Mississauga? Robertson called Hamadi an African monkey who was being taken back to his jungle home. Hamadi kicked him in the balls. That's when the three other guards began kicking and punching Hamadi. He can't remember exactly when his arm was broken but he is pretty sure it was Robertson who did it.

RAHMAN

Are you sure about all this? I am a true African and even truer Mswahili and I know that we can be very, very creative with the truth. After all, this is Toronto, Canada.

ZUHURA (very angry)

Rahman can you shut up! I am sick and tired of you putting down your own people! Why do you always do this? I have never seen somebody filled with so much self hatred as you!

RAHMAN

Who are you to speak about what I know and feel about my own community! Tell me about Somali customs and traditions...

ODHIAMBO

I am not a Mswahili but...

RAHMAN

You are one of those land grabbing Kikuyus!

ODHIAMBO

Actually, for your information, I am a Luo.

RAHMAN

So what? Luo Kikuyu, Kikikuyu, Kijadholuo, who cares? It doesn't matter. All you Muslim hating, Swahili dharauring people from up country think you can just come to Mombasa and other parts of Pwani and grab whatever you want! Do you know how many Luos were hired at the Ports when Moi made Okundi Managing Director of KPA?

CHELAGAT

I know that I too, don't qualify, being a Kalenjin from Baringo Central, Moi’s own back yard. Rahman, I won't be surprised if you accused me of taking part in the so called ethnic clashes. But don't you think it is rather childish to be wasting precious time on these backward tribal arguments when a Kenyan is languishing in detention?

ZUHURA

From the way Rahman is talking one would think that Hamadi poked himself in the eye and broke his arm over his own knees to get a little extra attention.

CHELAGAT

Which flight are they putting him on?

ODHIAMBO

We don't know yet. He told them he'd rather die in Canada than be sent back home to face Moi's terror. That's when they told him he was a suicidal nuisance. One of them was laughing as he told Hamadi that they would give him medication so that he could not disrupt the comfort of the other passengers on the flight back to Nairobi.

RAHMAN

They what?!

ODHIAMBO

Hamadi has refused to eat.

ZUHURA

What about his lawyer?

ODHIAMBO

Nowhere to be seen. Yesterday he was in court all day. According to his secretary. He has not returned any of our calls.

CHELAGAT

How about the Amnesty people?

ODHIAMBO

Kate Shields who looks after the East African cases told us that there is very little Amnesty can do for somebody once the Refugee Board rules that a claimant has no credible fear of prosecution.

ZUHURA

What do they want? Should we arrive at Pearson International Airport with fresh gun shot wounds? Or do they want a two hour video tape of the Nyayo House torturers doing the third degree?

RAHMAN

I think Amnesty has tried their best. Let's give them some credit. For God's sake we have to know who are our enemies and who are our friends! Why are we always whining about discrimination? Amnesty can't go beyond their mandate.

ZUHURA

Look at you, making excuses already for their dithering!

RAHMAN

Frankly,I think there is very little that even we can do.

ZUHURA

So what should we do? Throw ourselves off the CN tower in despair?

CHELAGAT

Let's call a meeting and see what the Kenyans in Toronto think.

RAHMAN

That's a rather tall order. You expect all these people to agree with each other just because they come from the same country? If at home Luos don't see eye to eye with Gikuyus and Watu wa Pwani resent Watu wa Bara, what makes you think that they will agree to come to a meeting about a refugee claimant they don't even know? Besides, are you inviting the York University and U of T students as well? Half of them are the sons and daughters of ministers and permanent secretaries!

CHELAGAT

There is only one way of finding out who will come to the meeting. Let's see how many will show up. We have to start calling them right now. And we have to get a place. Remember that place on Spadina and Bloor? The Four Twenty Seven. There is a Caribbean sister who works there as a wife assault counsellor. Sharon Persaud. I met her last month at the solidarity benefit for Cuba. She is very good. I am sure she can help us book the place and link us with some good doctors. Hamadi must be examined by a doctor before we can do any public action.

ZUHURA

She has dreadlocks doesn't she? I saw her in the Share newspaper leading the protest against the police shooting of Sophia Cook.

CHELAGAT

No. Not her. You are talking about Malaika Manley from the African People's Defence Committee.

RAHMAN

Why do these Jamaicans call themselves Africans? I wouldn’t want to be mistaken for a Jamaican. These people and their drugs. No wonder the police are always shooting them.

CHELAGAT [grabs Rahman by his collar and shakes him VIGOROUSLY]

Listen Rahman! This is not the time to deal with your usual narrow minded garbage! We have someone in detention who might be deported any day from now!

PAUSE.

Like I was saying, Sharon is a very good sister.

ODHIAMBO

I'll go and see her first thing in the morning.

CHELAGAT

Try her in the afternoon. With all these provincial government cutbacks they can only afford to pay her part time. I'll phone some lawyers.

ZUHURA

I can handle CKLN, CIUT and CHRY. Odhiambo, why don't you add Share,METRO WORD, the African Times etc to your list for tomorrow?

ODHIAMBO

Sure.

RAHMAN

We must do the big media as well. I have nothing against all those tiny community radio stations and papers you just mentioned but what is the use of talking to three listeners for eight minutes on a Thursday night?

CHELAGAT

Why don't you work with Zuhura on a press release? You can then fax it to the Toronto Star, the Globe and Mail, the CBC, CTV, NOW, Maclean's... You name it...

ZUHURA

And we must not forget all those community and solidarity groups. Rahman can we work on these ones as well?

RAHMAN

Yes and we can get Wamalwa, Njoroge wa Ciku and Kathini Kavisi wa Mbingu to help. They volunteer for half the groups in Ontario.

CHELAGAT

I'll go and see Dan Heap tomorrow. He seems to be the only Canadian MP with a moral backbone when it comes to standing up for refugees in this country. Jamani, there is no time to waste. My God! Look at the clock! It's one thirty already. I have to throw you folks out.

ACT TWO

SCENE ONE

[Winter. Outside CHELAGAT's apartment which she now shares with ODHIAMBO. We can hear their voices as they argue and shout about sharing the housework. The sound of furniture and kitchen utensils crashing and breaking. ODHIAMBO slaps CHELAGAT, who screams. A door opens and slams. CHELAGAT hurriedly puts on her winter coat and stomps off with a Kenya bag over her shoulder. Moments later ODHIAMBO comes out of the apartment to throw out CHELAGAT's TV which is shattered beyond repair. He slams the door. Our eardrums are almost shattered when ODHIAMBO plays Lingala music at full blast.]

FADE OUT

SCENE TWO

[Inside ZUHURA's apartment. It looks like CHELAGAT's except for the furniture and the African textiles on the walls and the carvings on the fridge and table. She does not have a TV. ZUHURA is busy at the ironing board with walkman headphones on her ears. From time to time she goes over to the stove to check the food. At first she can not hear the banging on her door. It gets louder. She takes off the headphones.]

ZUHURA

Who is it?

CHELAGAT (from without)

It's me.

ZUHURA (opening the door)
Karibu Ndani.

CHELAGAT

(She takes off her coat and hangs it carefully on the rack next to the door and puts her boots on the mat)

Ahsante. It is freezing out there.

ZUHURA

They said the wind chill factor would make it minus eighteen. What are you doing in Etobicoke at this ungodly hour?

CHELAGAT(sitting down wearily)

I should have called. I just found out as soon as I got to our place that I had locked myself out.

ZUHURA

Is Odhiambo still doing that night job?

CHELAGAT

No. The temp agency sent him there for only a month. The Alliance for Employment Equity chose him as a delegate to yet another conference. He is in Vancouver for this seminar on Visible Minority Workers And The Canadian Trade Union Movement. Another talk fest funded by the provincial government in British Columbia.

ZUHURA

When is he coming back?

CHELAGAT

I expected him yesterday but he called last night to say he would be in over the weekend.

ZUHURA

Something to drink? Sorry I only have hot chocolate.

CHELAGAT

Thanks a lot. Don't worry, I'll fix it. Want some too?

ZUHURA

Sure. Open the last cabinet and look in the left corner of the top shelf.

[CHELAGAT starts preparing the drink. ZUHURA stops ironing, walks over to CHELAGAT and holds her by the shoulder from the back, turns CHELAGAT around and looks her keenly in the eyes.]

ZUHURA

What's wrong Chelagat?

CHELAGAT(fiercely)
Nothing.

ZUHURA

You look very down to me.

CHELAGAT

Just tired. Shuffling boxes in a factory is not fun.

ZUHURA

No less stressful than being a legal secretary. If it wasn’t for the recession I would have quit a long time ago.

PAUSE.

ZUHURA

Have you been crying?

CHELAGAT

No! It's just my allergies. Living near the Gardner Expressway and Lake Ontario does not help either.

PAUSE.

ZUHURA

What's that swelling on your temple? There is a nasty bruise on your left arm.

PAUSE.

CHELAGAT

Oh... I... slipped and fell. Didn't see the ice when I got off the streetcar. This is the second time I have landed on my butt this winter...

PAUSE.

The hot chocolate is ready.

[She takes out the mugs and pours a drink for ZUHURA and herself.]

CHELAGAT

So how are things between you and Rahman.

ZUHURA

OK, I guess. Rahman still goes for physiotherapy. They don't know whether he will ever walk again.

CHELAGAT

And that Canadian driver went scot free.

ZUHURA

Surprise, surprise.

PAUSE.

CHELAGAT

Remember how surprised we all were to find out you two were seeing each other?

ZUHURA

On the other hand, who didn't know that you were stroking Odhiambo?

[They both laugh.]

ZUHURA

Rahman is a great lover. I mean before the accident. But he still drives me bananas with his tongue!

CHELAGAT

You mean tongue lashing you over your position on Thailand and the Virgin Islands?

ZUHURA (with a chuckle)

You'd be surprised over the number of positions we agree on when we are all alone. The Rahman you know is so different between the bed sheets. What's up with you and Odhiambo? Still fighting over the dishes?

CHELAGAT

I wish you wouldn't make it sound so trivial. Odhiambo is a wonderful comrade. I just wish he wasn't drinking so much. And yes, things would be much better if we both did our share of housework. We both come home after eight thirty yet he still expects me to cook and do the dishes. It's a battle to get him to take out the garbage on Wednesday night.

ZUHURA

But Odhiambo is so advanced compared to Rahman around women's issues. He is always helping out during International Women's Day and taking on his friends for using words like "bitch","mankind" and "postman".

CHELAGAT

I wish every day was International Women's Day. And there is more to sexism than just chauvinistic language. It looks guys are injected with this virus even before they climb out from their mothers.

[The phone rings. ZUHURA answers it. Puts her hand over the receiver.]

ZUHURA

It's for you. Odhiambo.

CHELAGAT

(She picks up the phone. Listens for about a minute.)

Can you stop bothering me? Why did you call here? Who told you I was here? I hate you! I hate you!

[She bangs the phone angrily and breaks out into uncontrollable sobbing. ZUHURA takes CHELAGAT in her arms and comforts her.]

ZUHURA

Don't worry Chelagat. Everything will be OK. You will be fine. Everything will be OK.

[CHELAGAT is now weeping openly, loudly. ZUHURA holds her tightly wiping the tears away from CHELAGAT's eyes.]

FADE OUT

SCENE THREE

[Inside SHARON PERSAUD's office. Prominently displayed on the walls are posters with captions like: "Wife Assault- It's A Crime" "Break the Silence", "End The Violence Against Women". Sitting in a triangle facing each other are CHELAGAT, ZUHURA and SHARON.]

ZUHURA

And I was telling her that if it had been me I would have left the guy after the very first beating.

CHELAGAT

But you see Zuhura, I am not you.

ZUHURA

What I don't understand is how you can take all this crap. You have always been the strongest among us. You have been the core of our movement in Toronto. You have taken on the Kenya government. You have taken on the Canadian state. You don't take nonsense at work and you don't let landlords push you around. Why can't you just dump him?

CHELAGAT

I am not some kind of superhero woman OK? Besides I am actually in love with this guy. He is a pig when it comes to housework and all that but he has so many other good qualities. I can handle the shouting and the cursing because I do that too. I only wish he wouldn’t hit me. And he only does that when he is drunk.

ZUHURA

Stop making excuses for him!

SHARON

Chelagat, under the law, any assault on your person is a criminal offence which should be immediately reported.

CHELAGAT

It is not that simple. You two don't see where I am coming from. Do you know what would happen if I called the cops? Sure they would come and arrest Odhiambo. I would then be forced to testify against a comrade that I have done so much with, both personally and politically. I just don't see myself being the star prosecution witness who will earn Odhiambo a few years in the Don Jail and a one way ticket to Nairobi after that. It is not going to be me.

ZUHURA

A true comrade should never have to resort to violence to win an argument.

SHARON

This is about power and control. Abuse never gets better it gets worse, unless there is some intervention.

CHELAGAT

Maybe if he sought help with his drinking problem then he wouldn’t be so violent.

SHARON

Chelagat, for once stop and think about yourself! Why is it that women are always thinking about taking care of others and neglect their own needs?

CHELAGAT

I am an African who was raised to think of the good of the community. I have been a political activist for most of my adult life. I have always struggled against the individualism borne of this selfish Western culture.

SHARON

You forget that I was born in the Caribbean where we have the same community values. Before you become anything you are first and foremost a person, an individual.

CHELAGAT

I am not really in the mood for an academic debate. I came here to seek your help.

ZUHURA

That's what she is trying to do! Whether you look at yourself as an individual or as a community activist the fact remains that you have to deal with this abusive relationship right now.

SHARON

Perhaps you should go to a shelter for a while.

CHELAGAT

I will never do that!

ZUHURA(exasperated)

So what do you want us to do?!

SHARON

Why don't you want to go to a shelter?

CHELAGAT

I don't need some patronising advice from some white woman gloating at the spectacle of yet another Third World victim. I can almost hear her: "Isn’t that terrible what he did to you? Those kinds of things never happen here in Canada.."

ZUHURA

I told you about my ex husband. You get no whiter than Alexander Campbell's family. Seventh generation Canadian of English stock. Family owns a car dealership in Don Mills. Alex is a chartered accountant. We met in New York and he fell in love with me. Or that's what I thought. He came across as very liberal and open minded. A member of Green Peace. A volunteer with the Toronto Anti-Apartheid Committee. Subscribes to Mother Jones. Listens to CIUT and watches PBS. We even adopted an Ethiopian child through World Vision. All that did not stop Alex from beating the living daylights out of me. I remember how he threatened to withdraw the immigration sponsorship if I left him. I tell you, boys will be boys will be boys whether they are white, black, brown, yellow, red, green or blue.

SHARON

Chelagat, look at me. I am from the Caribbean and I work here as a wife assault counsellor. Not all shelters are run by white middle class women. You can go to Shirley Samaroo, Ernestine's or Nellie's.

CHELAGAT

I still want to try and work things out with Odhiambo before I consider going to a shelter. Things are bad but not out of control.

ZUHURA

Are you waiting for him to bash your face in before you do something about it?

CHELAGAT

Come on Zuhura, it's Odhiambo we are talking about. Not Jeffrey Dahmer or some serial killer for God's sake!

SHARON

I don't think there is anything more we can do. It's your life. All the same, why don't you take down these numbers just in case something does happen. You never know.

ZUHURA

Don't say I didn’t warn you. Like I told you, my place is your place. You don't even need to call.

CHELAGAT

I guess we better be going.

[ZUHURA and CHELAGAT leave SHARON's office.]

BLACK OUT

SCENE FOUR

Early evening at CHELAGAT's apartment. She is at home, busy at the computer. From time to time she picks out a book from the shelf for reference. After a few minutes, Odhiambo comes home. He takes off his jersey and jacket and throws them on the floor. He walks all over the carpet with his wet boots. Goes to the fridge and takes out a beer. Walks over to the phone to order a pizza.

SILENCE.

ODHIAMBO pops in a Tracy Chapman CD into the music system . He goes to the fridge takes out another beer and forgets to close the fridge door properly. He picks up the remote and increases the volume. CHELAGAT looks up from her work but does not say anything. ODHIAMBO gets up again, goes to the table where CHELAGAT is working and picks up an old magazine which is lying next to the computer. He goes back to his chair. CHELAGAT pauses to go and put the kettle on and make some coffee. She prepares two cups. Puts one in front of ODHIAMBO, who ignores her. CHELAGAT resumes her work at the computer. The CD ends and ODHIAMBO puts on a Bob Marley album. He increases the volume when it gets to Redemption Song. CHELAGAT again looks up, this time with obvious irritation but she still does not say anything. Goes back to her work. ODHIAMBO goes to the fridge for another beer. He opens the beer with his teeth and the froth overflows on to the floor. He does not bother to mop it up. Plunks in his seat and continues listening to Bob Marley. CHELAGAT finishes what she was doing exits from the program, switches off the computer and replaces the books in the order in which she found them. She goes to the sink, washes her cup, picks up ODHIAMBO's untouched coffee pours it down the drain and puts away the cups to dry. She wipes the table and mops the floor where the beer spilled. She goes into the bathroom and we can hear her running the water and brushing her teeth. She comes out in her kimono ready to retire for the night. She switches off the light by the kitchen and goes to sofa/futon. She looks at ODHIAMBO indicating she would need his help to make it into a bed. He ignores her. She struggles with the futon. Finally it is transformed into a bed. She gets out the sheets and the duvet. She gets an extra comforter which she places on one side of the bed. She gets into bed and covers herself.

ODHIAMBO

Your mother wrote you a letter.

[CHELAGAT does not say anything.]

ODHIAMBO

She says that things are really bad at home. A loaf of bread is now fifty shillings.

PAUSE.
She wonders what devil it was who possessed you to get mixed up with a Luo like me.

CHELAGAT(shocked)

Odhiambo! You have started going through my mail!

ODHIAMBO

You two thought that you were being quite clever writing to each other in your language. You forget that I was born in Eldoret and went to school at Kabarak.

CHELAGAT(furious)
Give me that letter right now!

ODHIAMBO

It is inside that new Society magazine.

[There is a buzz at the door. ODHIAMBO opens the door. It is the pizza delivery person. ODHIAMBO pays him and starts wolfing down the pizza at the door. CHELAGAT gets up from the bed to retrieve her mother's letter. She reads the letter two or three times before putting it away. For a long moment she sits up on the bed staring ahead of her in deep thought. Finally she gets into bed. ODHIAMBO finishes eating and leaves the pizza box on the table. He switches off the light and then gets into bed. In the darkness we can hear both of them twisting and turning. The fumbling and groping of hands and rustling of bed sheets. Tossing and turning, CHELAGAT grunts with obvious disapproval.]

CHELAGAT

Odhiambo, I'm not in the mood OK?

[We can hear her moving away from ODHIAMBO. After a few minutes, ODHIAMBO jostles closer again, trying to fondle CHELAGAT.]

CHELAGAT

Odhiambo! Can you please leave me alone?! How can you even think of sleeping with me when we have been fighting for the last week?

ODHIAMBO

Chelagat, I'm really sorry... I don't know what I should do about this terrible temper of mine. Why don't we just forget about all those bad things?

CHELAGAT

What do you take me for? Some kind of a fool or something? You think you can give me hell the whole day and then expect me to open my legs for you to fuck me at night? You must be joking.

PAUSE.

Besides, you are not even wearing a condom.

ODHIAMBO

How many times must we go over this? You know perfectly well that I am not seeing anybody else. You know that I have never been one to sleep around.

CHELAGAT

You are making the dangerous assumption that I ever believed your stories in the first place. That is not even the point. Here we are in the nineties and I still have to persuade a self declared revolutionary that safer sex is the way to go.

PAUSE.
But why are we even wasting time over this? The furthest thing from my mind right now is sex. I am trying to find some sleep.

ODHIAMBO

Chelagat you know that I don't have AIDS. Even before I went to prison I used to live a very disciplined social life. Just ask the comrades who knew me at the campus.

CHELAGAT

So when did you start drinking? And did you live a disciplined life in prison as well?

ODHIAMBO

Chelagat, what are you trying to say? Are you suggesting...

CHELAGAT

You were in Naivasha prison for all those years. You are only human. Don't tell me you were wanking off by yourself all those years. You must have craved for some punani.

ODHIAMBO

Ooh Oh! So! What a twisted filthy mind! I never thought I would live to see the day when I would hear something like that from you of all people. How can you even suspect me after we have been living together for this long?

CHELAGAT

Odhiambo, sex to me, is not a crime whether it is outside or inside prison walls. What I am trying to say is that having lost so many friends to AIDS I can no longer assume that anyone is safe including myself. I am going to the Hassle Free Clinic to be tested next week. Like I told you last week, I am serious. You are not getting anywhere near me without a condom. And for the last time, as for tonight, condom or no condom, you are not sleeping with me!

ODHIAMBO

(enraged, he punches CHELAGAT, who screams)

So that's why! That's why you treat me with so much madharau. You think I am a bloody homosexual hiding in the closet. You don't think I am man enough for you? Well I'll show you tonight that I am a full blooded African MAN!

[There is a vigorous struggle as ODHIAMBO tries to rape CHELAGAT.]

CHELAGAT(crying)

Odhiambo you are hurting me! If that's all you want please stop twisting my arms and squeezing my breasts. I'll let you do whatever you want. Just stop hitting me please.

ODHIAMBO

Hurry up you bitch!I am going to give you a lesson you'll never forget! So you think I am gay?! Let's see if a fucking faggot can do to you what I am about to do!

[We can hear ODHIAMBO breathe heavily as he tears off the clothes from CHELAGAT. We can also hear the wheezing, grunts the thumps and the thrusts...CHELAGAT is sobbing. Suddenly, a frightening blood curdling scream. It is ODHIAMBO. CHELAGAT jumps up and runs out of the apartment.]

ODHIAMBO

(Writhing in agony, he fumbles to switch on the light.)

Uuuuuwiiiii!!! My stomach!! What have you done to me Chelagat?!! This woman has destroyed me!

[We see ODHIAMBO clutching his abdomen with a puddle of blood at his feet.]

BLACK OUT

ACT THREE

SCENE ONE

[A donut shop in Toronto's east end. About a dozen Kenyan men in their twenties and thirties are huddled over coffee tables talking excitedly.]

MAN 1

I tell you! I don't know what I would have done if somebody did that to me...

MAN 2

Ali was saying that she almost cut it off.

MAN 3

It must be all this Lorena Bobbit thing on television. I am sure that's where she got the idea from!

MAN 4

She is lucky it wasn’t me! A woman could never get away with that in my case!!!!!!!!

MAN 1

That's why I am importing direct from my sweet home in Nyalgunga. You can't trust any of these Kenyan women here in Canada even if they are from back home. Drunk with dreams of equality! When things are good you think you have a nice Kenyan woman in your arms and then one day you wake up to find this feminist monster sleeping in your bed. You can't trust any one of these filthy double crossing creatures.

MAN 3

Call me old fashioned but I am letting my old man handle all the arrangements. My fiance is from a good family and there will be no question as to who is the boss when she gets here.

MAN 2

Chelagat has been charged with aggravated assault.

MAN 1

I can't wait for the trial to begin next week. She must be taught a lesson. Imagine what kind of example she could set for our women here. She has ashamed all Africans in Toronto.

MAN 4

And yet Chelagat has done so much for us. if it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t be here today. Do you know how many times her telephone has been disconnected because of long distance calls about human rights violations in Kenya? I have seen her in every demonstration against Moi. How many people from the President's own tribe are prepared to work for his downfall? Chelagat is usually the first one to sign a petition or post bond for someone detained by immigration. Who knows more refugee lawyers than her?

PAUSE.

Why did she have to be such a fucking crazy feminist bitch?

MAN 3

I always had problems with the way she tries to look like a man, speak like a man and dress like a man. She is so beautiful. Why doesn't she put on a skirt like a proper lady. Somebody told me that she is a secret lesbian.

MAN 2

Now we are all agreed that Kenyan women these days are brainwashed but what you are saying is absolute nonsense. These are the 1990s not the 1890s!

MAN 1

Well guys, I have to go. I am on night shift this week.

MAN 3

I am on night shift every week. At home !

[Several of the men scatter. The rest chatter on.]

END OF SCENE.

SCENE TWO

[ZUHURA is in SHARON's office.]

ZUHURA

Who is this lawyer you were telling me about?

SHARON

Her name is Carol Blackman. She has a very good record. Remember the Margaret McKenzie case?

ZUHURA

You mean the woman who took the Etobicoke fire department to court for not hiring Canadian women as fire fighters?

SHARON

She helped Margaret get a handsome settlement. She is also involved in the appeal against the Thibbadeau decision.

ZUHURA

It sounds like she has more experience in civil matters.

SHARON

All I know is that she is a strong feminist lawyer. And that is what Chelagat needs right now.

ZUHURA

Does she take legal aid cases?

SHARON

Of course. Do you want to try other lawyers?

ZUHURA

No. Why do you say that?

SHARON

It's just that I was beginning to get the impression that you don't really like Carol?

ZUHURA

What's wrong with you this morning Sharon? Can't I ask you a question without you thinking I don't trust your judgment?

[SHARON reaches out and gives ZUHURA a long affectionate hug. For a few minutes they do not say anything.]

ZUHURA

It's been a nightmare ever since they arrested her. I remember that night when she showed up at my place with the bloody knife in her hand and the fire in the eyes. But she was not afraid. She was not happy. But then she was not sad either. She said she just came to tell me what had happened. She insisted on calling the police. I tried to persuade her to leave town, tried talking her into going to stay with my friend in Vancouver for a while until things cooled down... She wouldn’t hear of it. She said she had done nothing wrong, nothing to be ashamed of. Before I could say another word she was dialing 911... Oh my God! What an experience! I have never seen so many cops in one room at the same time. Uniformed police, detectives in street clothes, the special guys from the SWAT team... Firefighters stumbling over ambulance drivers... And I don't know how City TV and the Toronto Sun got there so fast... The worst part was when they pinned her against the wall and searched her for weapons... The handcuffs.. I just could not bear the sight...

[ZUHURA breaks down and sobs.]

SHARON [still comforting ZUHURA.]

Chelagat will be alright. Don't worry. We'll see this thing through to the end...

SCENE THREE

[A court room in downtown Toronto. It is packed with spectators and the media. A judge. A prosecutor. A jury. CHELAGAT is in the prisoner's dock. Her lawyer is skimming through a thick law text as the prosecutor makes his final submissions.]

PROSECUTOR

Your honour the crown had the burden of proving that the accused assaulted the complainant, Odhiambo Otieno, causing actual bodily harm. We have attempted through our witnesses and the introduction of material evidence to discharge our burden of proof.

Your honour I believe the crown has successfully discharged its burden of proof.

We have the recorded testimony of the accused herself. In that document, which the accused wrote herself after being advised of her rights there is a direct admission of guilt.

The accused goes into graphic details to show how she planned and carried out this heinous act on the unsuspecting complainant.

She states, and we quote her: " I took the knife to bed with me. I was determined to teach him a lesson if he dared to touch me that night. I stabbed him the moment he tried to penetrate me by force. I had been waiting for this moment. My only regret is that I cut him in the abdomen. I wanted to chop his ding dong thing off."

PAUSE.

Your honour, those are the words of a cold, calculating, diabolical and violent felon. This was not a crime of passion. This attack did not occur on the spur of the moment. It was no accident.

No amount of abuse would justify the callous way in which the defendant took the law into her own hands.

Your honour, she is no victim who deserves your pity or mercy.

All that Chelagat Sabina Chepchumba deserves is to be punished to the full extent of the law.

Members of the jury, you have seen the demeanour of the accused. She has shown no remorse.

She has not denied that she took a sharp knife and deliberately ripped open the belly of a man who thought of her as a lover and a companion.

Members of the jury, we urge you to return the only verdict which is consistent with the law and with the facts. That verdict is "guilty as charged."

Your honour, members of the jury the prosecution rests its case.

JUDGE [Motions to Carol Blackman to make her submission]

CAROL

Your honour, members of the jury this case is about aggravated assault. It is a case about violence. It is a case about a cold premeditated crime.

PAUSE.

The only problem with this case is that the wrong person has been charged. It is not my client Chelagat Sabina Chepchumba who should be on trial. She is not the one responsible for perpetrating an act of violence on a defenceless human being.

PAUSE.

Your honour a crime has been committed and it should be punished. Justice must be done and seen to be done. Members of the jury there is somebody who is guilty of the offence of aggravated assault.

PAUSE.

That person is right here in this room. Your honour, members of the jury, it is not my client who should be standing trial today. The real culprit is the complainant.

PAUSE.

It is the complainant who is guilty of systematically assaulting my client. My client has medical records showing a history of physical abuse at the hands of this man.

Members of the jury, you heard the testimony of Sharon Persaud, a respected wife assault counsellor affirming and verifying the horrible psychological nightmare that my client has had to endure at the hands of this man.

You heard from Chelagat herself testifying how this man raped her and put her life at risk by sexually assaulting her without even bothering to use a condom.

PAUSE.

Your honour, members of the jury, is this not assault? Does her pain count less? What is rape if it is not one of the worst forms of physical assault? Why are we
here today trying a woman who was at risk at the hands of this brutal monster?

PAUSE.

Members of the jury, it is our submission to this court that Chelagat was a victim at the hands of this man who has the nerve of prosecuting somebody he had so shamelessly degraded and abused.

Your honour it is our submission that Chelagat is a victim suffering from the Battered Women's Syndrome.

SILENCE.

[Chelagat who has been impassive throughout the trial breaks into a sudden shout.]

CHELAGAT

NO!!!!

[Several people gasp in shock. There is a murmur throughout the court room.]

JUDGE

Order! Order!

CAROL

Your honour can we go on a five minute recess so that I can consult with my client.

JUDGE

I will grant that request on condition that we resume the submissions and finish this case.

[Brief recess. Carol Carol can be seen talking animatedly to Chelagat who keeps shaking her head vigorously. An obviously flustered Carol tears at her hair in frustration. She goes back to her desk, collects her books and files and waits for the judge to reenter the court.]

JUDGE

The court is now in session. Counsel, have you conversed with your client?

CAROL

Yes, your honour.

JUDGE

Are you prepared to continue with the case?

CAROL

She is your honour.

JUDGE

Can you finish your final submissions counsel?

CAROL

Actually your honour, I am afraid that I cannot proceed.

JUDGE

I don’t think I am quite following you counsel.

CAROL

Your honour, during the recess I had the occasion to talk to my client. She told me that she objected to being classified as suffering from the Battered Women's Syndrome. I explained to her that this was a key element of the defence's case. I emphasized that her actions could not be explained or justified without reference to the Battered Women's Syndrome. She persisted in her belief that she was not a victim of the Battered Women's Syndrome. I made it clear to her that I would be unable to continue with my final submissions without such a key plank in my arguments. Your honour, I have done a great deal of research (pointing to the heap of files and books on her desk) on this subject and I was going to cite case law and precedents to support my arguments. I was going to demonstrate how the facts in this case fitted similar circumstances where the courts have ruled in favour of the accused in cases where domestic violence could be proved to have been a factor. Your honour I was going to recommend that the accused be acquitted subject to psychiatric assessment and treatment. I had explained the gist of my strategy to my client and there was no objection. I am therefore surprised and disappointed at this turn of events. Your honour, I have given the best legal advice to my client. She has chosen to disregard my expert opinion. Under the circumstances, I have no option but to withdraw forthwith from this trial. Your honour, I would like to apologize for this inconvenience to the court. I deeply regret it.

[With that, she scoops up her files and books and exits the court after a brief bow.]

SILENCE.

[Everybody seems to be talking at once. Rustling of feet. The media people in the court are feverishly jotting down notes.]

JUDGE

May the accused stand up.

[CHELAGAT complies.]

Chelagat Sabina Chepchumba.

CHELAGAT

Yes, your honour.

JUDGE

You have heard what Ms. Blackman has said.

CHELAGAT

Yes, your honour.

JUDGE

Did you understand what she had to say?

CHELAGAT

Yes, your honour.

JUDGE

Do you realize the full implications?

CHELAGAT

Yes, your honour.

JUDGE

Do you wish the court to grant you more time to retain another lawyer?

CHELAGAT

No, your honour.

JUDGE

Are you then prepared to proceed with this case without legal counsel?

CHELAGAT

Yes, your honour.

JUDGE

Are you sure? Do you need some time to reconsider your decision?

CHELAGAT

No, your honour.

JUDGE

Can we then proceed with your final submissions immediately?

CHELAGAT

No, your honour.

JUDGE

Miss Chelagat Sabina Chepchumba, did you not, a minute ago, indicate to this court that you wanted to go ahead with the trial without a lawyer?

PAUSE.

CHELAGAT

Yes, your honour. But I have only one small request that I want the court to grant me.

JUDGE

What is that request Miss Chepchumba?

CHELAGAT

Can the court give me five minutes to prepare my submission?

JUDGE (relieved)

The court hereby is going on another five minute recess to enable the accused person finish final submissions for the defence.

[COURT RECESS. The same excited chatter from people in the room. After five minutes the Judge calls the court back in session]

The court will now hear from the accused who has opted to act in her own defence.

CHELAGAT

[Standing up. She looks dignified, calm and in control.]

Your honour, members of the jury, I stand here before you accused of assaulting Odhiambo Otieno causing him actually bodily harm. In a few minutes you will pass judgement on me.

The main facts are not in dispute. I stabbed Odhiambo Otieno in the abdomen. He required medical attention. I called the police and gave myself up. I wrote a statement in which I admitted that I had assaulted Odhiambo. I was charged with
committing a felony contrary to section... of the criminal procedure code. I am here before you today awaiting judgement.

What is in dispute is the characterisation of my actions and what motivated me to do what I did.

I reject the image painted of me by the prosecution.

The notion of me being a cold, calculating felon is as ridiculous as it is monstrous and false.

I have been living with Odhiambo Otieno for four years. I have been madly in love with him for three of those four years. This mad love blinded me to the gross abuse that I had endured at the hands of Odhiambo. This man who was supposed to be mylover, my comrade, my best friend tortured me in a way familiar to most of the women in this room.

I had to cook for him, wash his clothes for him, clean up after his mess every single time.

I had to have sex with him every time he felt like having sex with me, no matter whether I was in the mood or not. If he felt like having sex with me five times in the night I would have sex with him five times in the night. If he felt like having sex with me at 7:30 or 8 O'clock in the morning before I went to work I had sex with him at seven o'clock in the morning. If he was in the mood for action at six o'clock in the evening when I had just arrived from work we would have to do it then.

On the other hand, if I wanted to have sex and he was not in the mood then I would not have sex. If I wanted to do it a different way, in a different style he would stick to the missionary position.

In the meantime Odhiambo used to beat the shit out of me whenever we had an argument. What were our arguments about? They were about what some of you may call " the little things". You know, so called "trivial matters" like doing the dishes, sweeping the floor, not leaving the toilet seat up... throwing out the garbage.. If I asked a question like "Odhiambo, why didn't you take the garbage out last night?" I would get a tongue lashing about how I was always nagging him when he had more important things to think about.

Two of my ribs were broken by Odhiambo three months ago. Last year he knocked out one of my teeth. I have a scar on my chest from the time I cut myself on a broken beer bottle during one of the many beatings I endured. Odhiambo has tried to literally choke the life out of me on two occasions. A year and a half ago I miscarried after Odhiambo kicked me in my belly because I did not have dinner ready and had pleaded with him to stop drinking.

The first time I said no to Odhiambo's constant demand for sex he went ahead and raped me anyway, forced himself on me without a condom to punish me for suggesting that he may have had a homosexual encounter when he was a political prisoner in Kenya several years ago.

That night when I said no for the first time was the same night that I stabbed Odhiambo. It is true what the prosecution said, I was trying chop off his dick and I honestly and sincerely regret I was not able to do that.

PAUSE.

You have seen a very capable lawyer walk out of this court unable to continue with my defence. I respect Carol Blackman for her professional competence and the strength of her feminist convictions.

I thank Zuhura and all those women who rallied to find a lawyer and raise funds for my case.

PAUSE.

However I cannot agree with Carol Blackman's characterization of me as a victim suffering from battered women's syndrome.

I am not a neurotic or psychotic woman who needs psychiatric help.

I refuse to be pathologized.

PAUSE.

Fighting against oppression is not an abnormal condition which needs psychiatric intervention and years of therapy and counselling.

PAUSE.

What syndrome are the South African people suffering from? How about the Palestinians and the Irish? What mental illness are the militant people of South Korea grappling with? Under what strange delusions and feverish hallucinations do the people of Guatemala and El Salvador find themselves?

Are working people insane when they resist exploitation? Are colonized people mad when they struggle against imperialism?

Are people of colour off their rockers when fight against racism?

Are people with disabilities neurotic when they reject the madness of the able bodied power elites? Are young people demented when they tell grown ups to get off their case?

How about lesbians, bisexuals and gays? Are they crazy when they stand up against homophobia? Are we women raving mad, are we really insane, are we actually psychotic when we take up arms against sexism, when we say no to patriarchy and defend ourselves against male violence?

PAUSE.

Your honour, members of the jury, that is all I have to say.

LONG SILENCE.

[The jury retires to consider the verdict. They do this by going to sit among the audience. After a few minutes a member of the jury stands up in the audience indicating that they have reached a verdict.]

JUDGE

Members of the jury, have you reached a verdict?

FOREMAN

Yes, your honour, we have.

JUDGE

What is your verdict?

THE END

On Oloo, Raila and Rampant Luophobia

2004-08-05T05:21:00.000+03:00

0.0. In Lieu of the Lord’s Prayer, I Offer Some Zen Koans

As many of you know by now, Onyango Oloo does not worship the Living God.

Nor does he bow down to Baal, or any of the frisky horny, multi-limbed Hindu gods and goddesses dotting the intricate facades of the erotic temples on that populous sub continent.

Truth be told:

I stopped searching for my non-existent soul eons ago.

But there is something to be said for meditation and personal reflection.

As I grow older, I become more and more attuned to various aspects of what makes up the core of my multi-layered inner and outer being.

There is a place in all of us, long claimed by organized religion that makes humanity to seek an essence higher than humdrum existence.

Some people call it a quest for the elusive, ethereal spirit; the religious among us are convinced they are deep mining for the deity within and above.

As a Marxist-Leninist, on the other hand, I recognize the very earthly and material origins of this life long journey.

For are revolutionaries not the greatest idealists and dreamers?

We visualize societies yet unbuilt and even when we are sitting in our solitary cells or tossing and turning in uncertain exile, we are already singing the victory songs and penning the pronunciamentos to be declared on the day REVOLUTION catches on like an unstoppable cleansing fire driving away vice, cant and political mice.

As a man I have seen how corrosive is the cancer of unbridled machismo; the reckless braggadocio that deludes chest-thumping alpha males that they are invincible even as they ignore the warning signs of the massive coronary or the sneak prostate attack that will fatally claim them suddenly a few years down the road.

When I was sixteen years old, I read a Reader’s Digest (is that what it was?) article that showed compelling evidence that women tend to outlive men in many parts of the world- excepting those communities where women die earlier because of gender based systemic poverty and marginalization.

But in societies where men and women have roughly the same access to opportunities, women it would appear, live longer.

One reason that has been put forward is the female mindset which is totally different from the male one, inspiring authors of this planet to transport men and women to different philosophical and psychological “heavenly” bodies.

Unlike the testosterone infested breed of the species, the bulk of the insiders of the female Homo sapiens are not driven by the same ME ME First and Screw Everybody Else mentality.

Women tend to be more honest and expressive about their inner turmoil; tend to ask for and reach out for help and generally are much more grounded psychologically for the long haul.

And yes women DID NOT stubbornly wait for the invention of the GPS gizmos to avoid the ordeal of screaming out for help when they are lost in the depths of some Idaho wheat fields (if farmers in fact grow that cereal there still, unbeknownst to Monsanto and its GMO alternatives).

That is one reason why women outnumber men among my immediate circle of friends.

And you CAVE MEN, go ahead and call me a SISSY while massaging your MICROSCOPIC peckers.

Apart from all the foregoing gender wisdom, I think EVERYBODY can learn from the Eastern philosophies, particularly the non theistic systems like Buddhism.

Zen Buddhism fascinates me particularly and the Koans are more than a bit intriguing to me at least…

Reflect on these as we rev up for yet another digital essay take off.

I select Koans # 97, 6, 28, 5, 18, 3, 28 and 21 but you can have your pick:

Bonyeza Hapa

1.0. Retracing a Fateful Train Journey on the Day I Was Arrested

On August 3, 1982, I boarded a Mombasa bound train from the Nairobi Railway station. It was sometimes after six in the evening.

This was only two days after the abortive coup by servicemen of the defunct Kenya Air Force.

That Sunday had started very strangely for me.

It was two days after I bid a steamy goodbye to my then Samia girlfriend Lois D who was leaving reluctantly for further studies in India.

I say reluctantly because I remember having to convince her to follow her father’s advice and go abroad for further studies- she had marched off on the Thursday before, abandoning her bewildered folks in town in the middle of some frantic last minute shopping to come and spend the night with me on campus, sharing my microscopic cot perched on the fifth floor of Hall 9 (Mboya) at the University of Nairobi- I lived in room # 513 with Henry Langat, a very amiable and soft spoken Commerce student- I wonder where he is these days…

Lois and I were two young Kenyans fiercely in love with each other back then and we had met through some mutual friends at the California Estate just three months previously.

We had been to movies together, shared Tandoori chicken and sumptuous chapati at that dainty little Indian Restaurant that used to be at the bottom of Koinange Street near Kenyatta Avenue.

Lois still lived at home and the one night she spent with me was an act of major defiance from an otherwise goody two shoes church going loyal daughter.

We always had to make sure that she did not miss the last matatu to her place- a couple of times I went all the way with her to make sure she got home safe.

I distinctly remember bumping into the late Titus Adungosi on State House Road near the hostels just before the St. Paul chapel and exchanging pleasantries with him.

Lois at that time lived in Kirong'othi Street in Eastleigh and on this Friday morning (July 30th, 1982) we walked leisurely along University Way, down Koinange Street to that place opposite the old Halian’s Night Club where you got the # 9 Mathree to akina Wood Street and other parts of Eastleigh.

I was a hopeless romantic even back then- shocking my teenage lover(she was 19) by kissing her hotly on the lips, in broad daylight in the gawking streets of Nairobbery.

I was not to see Lois again until July 1987 exactly five years later.

She was then working with a certain Ministry in a very well known tall building in the city which used to be green and near the sun…

After my release from Kamiti I had stayed with my family in Mombasa for a couple of months before coming to live with my auntie Joyce in Onyonka Estate (those sides of Langata Road and beyond) and I had made it my mission to seek Lois out. I therefore went to her parent’s home in Kirong’othi Street where one of her siblings told me that she was now a married woman who worked with Wizara Fulani around the corner from Garden Square.

When I finally tracked her down way up on the thirty second floor of that un-named building, she was pleasantly surprised to see me.

I chuckled and reassured her when she tried to mumble an “apology” for falling in love with a wonderful fellow Kenyan in India, told her not to worry and wished her happiness- she appeared to be in a very loving and successful marriage complete with rambunctious kids and great in laws.

She told me that she had only heard about my arrest via a letter which reached her weeks after she landed in India.

We made small talk and before you could say, “mshikaji wa zamani bado wapendeza sana”, her lunch time was over and she had to go looking for some files….

The thing I remember most about Lois is her warm, sincere smile and how her entire face lit up when she did that.

I cherish her brief entry into and exit from the ongoing soap opera that is my roller coaster existence on this turbulent planet…

When the Nation did a profile of me last year, they included a photo I took with Lois on the rooftop of Hall 9:

Where did the years go?

Like most university students I was woken upo n that fateful Sunday by with the sound of gunshots around the main campus just before dawn.

Peeking out of our windows we saw these smiling faces of these young men in blue uniform totting rifles and beckoning on us to come out and celebrate.

Given the unpopularity of the Moi-KANU regime among the Kenyan youth and students at that time, we did not need any prodding to start chanting Power! Power! Power! Pambana! Pambana! Pambana!

That sunny Sunday morning was surreal in many respects:

Knots of students gathered around the roundabout near St. Paul listening to one spontaneous student orator declaim how we students wanted a “government of intellectuals!”(observing the cruel charade of the present well educated NARC cabinet, we know Kenya needs more than eggheads to save her); a bizarre encounter on Harambee Avenue as naïve unarmed university students(I was among them) defied fully armed red beret donning GSU units to shoot them; Titus Adungosi pleading with over-excited students near the New Stanley Hotel not to loot; rich brats driving around in commandeered vehicles; later after the coup had been crushed, long, long faces at the CCU wondering worriedly about their fate; I remember having a very hushed conversation with this African- American post-graduate exchange female student I used to hang out with; remember a trip to “The Box” to check in with my fellow Mombasa residents Grace Waita, Flora Kamala and others; a restless Sunday night playing scrabble in Hall 9 as we fretted and fretted. The same night I was able to sneak out of campus to go to Hurlingham where my late uncle Walter Wandolo lived. He was quite stern with me and other students who had so rashly come out to celebrate the coup. Nevertheless, he was brave enough to drive me personally back to the university the very next day to retrieve my belongings- yes, everything including the newish blanket that tribalists and juveniles on the internet have manufactured an entire, envious myth about, claiming that a resident of humid Mombasa would be stupid enough to “loot” a THICK BLANKET to take to Mombasa- obviously these are ignorant upcountry rural folk who know nothing about the climatic conditions in the Coast Province.

Yes, where was I?

At the train station going to Mombasa.

The trip itself was uneventful, even though I was briefly arrested and then released in Nairobi by some jittery askaris, just because I was a university student boarding a train.

One of my uncles who worked at the station successfully intervened and I proceeded to board the train.

I remember traveling Third Class and moving from compartment to compartment in a train that was chock full with university students.

For most of the journey I was chatting with this Third Year BA student who was formerly at Allidina Visram.

And then we left Mtito Andei and were heading towards Voi.

Halfway to Voi, the Railway Police on board started with their inspections, demanding everyone’s ID and insisting that each passenger identify their luggage.

Their main preoccupation was to ferret out any “Air Force Rebels” traveling incognito.

Before I knew it, they were at our seat.

My friend fished out his national ID, saying nothing of his status as a student. Being more naïve I foolishly flashed my University of Nairobi ID and blurted out that I was a student traveling home to Mombasa.

That is when my world changed.

The cops became very hostile-demanding to see my luggage and asking sarcastically whether I was slated to be Foreign Minister if the coup had succeeded- in a way their stupid comments echoed the inane outbursts that I encounter daily on the www.rcbowen Kenya forum-same stupidity and stolidity.

What first got me in trouble were my two huge pieces of luggage.

I had this humungous suitcase full of my clothes and what not and this other gigantic carton box where I had hurriedly stuffed my text books, files, writing pads and magazines.

Covering the books and files was a bed sheet and the now infamous newish blanket that I had bought in MOMBASA when I first joined NAIROBI University.

Just like the freaks on RC Bowen the semi-literate cops asked me:

“Kumbe Uliiba Blanketi Nairobi?”

Now people who are familiar with my online jousts know that sometimes I can be slightly sarcastic and even a bit foul mouthed and this abrasiveness never fails to land me in hot soup.

I fired back:

“Afande, tafadhali tizama hii gari ya moshi yaelekea wapi? Mjinga gani ataiba blanketi kupeleka Mombasa? Watu wanalala uchi Mombasa kwa ajili ya joto!”

Translation:

“Officer: please observe the direction where this train is headed. What kind of an IDIOT will loot a blanket to take to Mombasa? People in that town sleep practically naked because of the heat and humidity!”

That youthful outburst sealed my fate.

"Kijana utakaa kando. Macho Nne, Mbona wewe ni Mjuaji hivyo?”

Translation:

“Step aside. Mr Four Eyes, why are you such a Smart Ass?”

The 3rd Year student practically disavowed me-but not before nodding vigorously to my plea that he should head straight to our home in Mombasa and tell my Dad that I had been nabbed.

Long story short, when the train arrived at the next station Voi, I was ordered out together with my belongings and marched straight to the railways police cells where I found almost a dozen other students arrested- on flimsy excuses such as not having a RECEIPT to prove that the watches on their wrists were indeed their own…

I probably would have been released the very next day, had they not start rummaging through the big carton box.

Strangely, because of their semi-literacy, they did not find ANYTHING WRONG with the thick volume of Das Kapital by Marx, the thin manual, “What is to Be Done? “ by Lenin or the text book looking “Dialectics of Nature” by Engels or even Frantz Fanon’s “Wretched of the Earth”.

As Kenyans, they were more scared on coming across Ngugi’s "Detained” and several position papers from the late Ooko Ombaka and the late Prof. Mkangi and the exiled Shadrack Gutto.

But even as politically dimwitted as they were, they knew that it was NOT illegal for a university student to be found in possession of legal position papers distributed publicly by well-known university lecturers-nor could they charge me with treason for buying Ngugi’s books.

It was when they were going through the contents of one of my three box files that they came across this draft of an essay that I had started in late June 1982 after the arrests of Willy Mutunga, Maina wa Kinyatti, Al Amin Mazrui, Edward Oyugi, Kamoji Wachiira and others.

Still a work in progress the essay (yes, ESSAYS have come to define Onyango Oloo’s political expressions) was tentatively titled “A Plea to Comrades.”

What caught their attention was my opening paragraph, which like many I have penned over the years usually has something catchy to ensnare my readers from the get go.

As far as I can recall, the first sentence went something like:

“On December 12, 1982, Kenyans will “celebrate” Jamhuri Day having successfully detained university lecturers and made our country a one party state...” or words to that effect.

Now did those askaris sit up and notice!

The rest of the essay talked about the role of students and youth in the struggle for democracy and freedom in Kenya.

My plea was to my fellow “comrades” (used in the sense of the slang we used on campus to refer to fellow students, not members of communist cells) not to turn a blind eye when our teachers were dragged from theatre halls to detention and to remain silent when people like Anyona and Jaramogi were hounded.

Bear in mind that I was still TWENTY ONE YEARS OLD, a university student in a very militant campus in Kenya at that time.

Would you be shocked if I told you that the cops REFUSED TO BELIEVE that this baby faced university kid could conjure and compose those incendiary words?

They immediately accused me of manually transcribing a passage from Pambana(that they had obviously NOT read) on the orders of one of my professors and PROMISED me a ten year sentence before rushing to radio Nairobi that they had just apprehended one of the chief suspects of the December 12 Movement!

As a self-respecting writer even back then, I took considerable umbrage at the allegations of plagiarism and vigorously insisted that it was I, Onyango Oloo who had authored that hand written draft and that as a university student enjoying academic freedom, this was perfectly legitimate.

By the time my father

(a former senior prisons officer)

arrived in Voi just before noon on August 4th, matters had progressed to the point where the Special Branch and CID folks in Nairobi were ordering that I be taken back to the Kenyan capital pronto.

My father’s parental pleas fell on deaf ears.

A day later I was back on the train, this time traveling Second Class with TWO ARMED police officers headed back to Nairobi…

The rest of my story has been told in the Kenyan press:

monday, november 1, 1982 around 10:30 am, after the sentencing, en route to kamiti to begin the five year jail term;

monday, may 11, 1987 at around 2:30 pm, about an a hour and a half after leaving kamiti, doing an interview in the newsroom of the old nation house on tom mboya street;

my paternal grandparents and my parents before they had any of us(my dad at 26 and my mom at 19)

mombasa, 1975; when my grandma doris awiti came to visit us;

mombasa, august 1975, as a 15 year old with my dad and other siblings;

my late kid bro john otieno oloo, a russo-kenyan friend, my late sis beatrice ombiro oloo and her daughter jacqueline; my late younger bro joseph ochieng oloo; beatrice with a friend; otieno living up to his reputation as coach for his kisumu soccer team; how i miss my three departed siblings!

my late father, richard achwal oloo and his younger brother wilfred at my sister janet's graduation ceremony, kenyatta university, 1986;onyango oloo(left,at the back of the picture) my sole surviving brother, washington oloo and my father's youngest brother wilfred oloo carry the casket containing my father's body out of our compound to the anglican church in luanda dudi for the final service on december 6, 1996, one hour and a half hours before he was finally laid to rest;

my little boy, sankie sankara, is now a teenager.

father and son at the caribana festival, toronto, summer 2001

And on at least one website:

Bonyeza Hapa

2.0. Why Do People Fear

Raila Odinga

So Much?

Two of the most VILIFIED names in Kenyan cyberspace circles are Onyango Oloo and Raila Odinga-for mostly TRIBAL and PAROCHIAL reasons.

It has been SHOCKING to contemplate and calibrate the depth of INSECURITIES that some GROWN MEN and WOMEN display when these two names are mentioned.

Since Onyango Oloo is NOT a billionaire, a tenured Ivy League Don or even a notorious POLYGAMIST like Okuku Danger, it is often perplexing to see the obsessive craze he has inspired among the bevy of GROUPIES who follow him anonymously from website to website flinging their freshly generated excrement at him.

Onyango Oloo is CLONED on an almost hourly basis.

Every TEN MINUTES on the www.rcbowen.com forum, there is SOMETHING DERANGED posted by a nitwit about him; it appears(although it could be a technical hitch) that some INTOLERANT forces at kikuyu.com have finally succeeded in BANISHING him from a forum where he has contributed since December 2000; on Africa-Oped and Kenya Online two of his detractors are unabashed tribal nincompoops who think they are way too CLEVER and too CUTE calling Onyango Oloo with the juvenile sobriquet “olow” or the racist epithet “kavirondo”.

Raila Odinga is of course LARGELY FEARED because he is the MOST EFFECTIVE POLITICIAN operating in Kenya at the moment.

He is also without a doubt one of the most POPULAR in the country.

A few weeks ago, the country’s media BLACKED OUT a story when he and Kalonzo Musyoka received a TUMULTOUS WELCOME by THOUSANDS of people in the Meru region, the home turf of Kiraitu, Muthaura and Mwiraria.

Two things connect Oloo to Raila-they are both LUOS who became EVEN MORE RADICAL after SPENDING YEARS BEHIND BARS AT KAMITI.

We each sought different paths to practice our politics-Raila immersed himself in the MAINSTREAM LEGAL and ABOVE GROUND National political organizing, while Oloo continued his long apprenticeship in the Kenyan socialist underground.

In many other respects, our ideological leanings are like night and day- Oloo is a Marxist-Leninist while Raila Odinga is a Liberal-Democrat; Raila sold his company to a Canadian multinational while Oloo is busy DENOUNCING Canadian multinationals…

But has that stopped the TRIBALISTS who FEAR LUOS more than they fear a bite from a tarantula or a vicious Indian cobra?

Of course not.

Oloo according to them is the LDP’s Chief Whip.

Raila according to these idiots CONTROLS the mind of every single Luo.

According to these jack asses, every time Oloo or Adongo writes something, it is on the express instructions of Agwambo Tinga Tinga-something that would surely startle the Langata MP who was so busy the last time I was in Kenya that I was UNABLE to see him DESPITE at LEAST THREE ATTEMPTS by Mwandawiro Mghanga who took me to Raila’s office to see the Roads and Public Works minister.

It appears as if it is a CRIME to rise to Railas’ defence if you happen to be a Luo- and especially if your name is Onyango Oloo.

In early 2003, I was kicked out of the Safari Lady web site, PARTLY because of this posting:

Bonyeza Hapa

That is when I discovered that tribal IDIOCY is not confined to the male of the homo sapiens sapiens species.

At the very same time the same TWISTED tribal logic would INSIST that Only LUOs and especially Oloo should write about a MANUFACTURED CORRUPTION SCANDAL conjured up by a TRIBAL WAR LORD called Maina Kamanda.

I commented on this matter elsewhere and suggested that these tribal attacks were part of a bigger, stinkier RED HERRING to DIVERT attention from getting the crooked cabinet ministers fingered in the Anglo-Leasing scandal to resign.

In any case, I did not see WHY these chauvinists were targeting Luos to go after Raila Odinga when the same tribalists consider it anathema for ANY Luo to say ANYTHING positive about Raila Odinga.

I will comment more on this presently because I want to lay bare the machinations of these characters, having tolerated their attacks on various Kenyans forums for quite some time.

But before that, as expected Raila Odinga promptly responded to his critics within hours of his arrival back in the country.

Here are links from the three Kenyan dailies:

Bonyeza Hapa

Bonyeza Hapa

Bonyeza Hapa

And this is what I was telling my critics:

Raila Odinga and Dr Oburu and the rest of the Jaramogi family are quite capable of responding to questions related to their business interests and certainly do not need a Kenyan living in Quebec to “defend” them.

And the “sketchy” agenda of anonymous hounds who are themselves INCAPABLE of “exposing” Raila Odinga but would insist that only Onyango Oloo is up to that task is quickly revealed when they yelp and yelp and yelp from the shadows of forums infested with bigots throwing turd, mud and vomited curd while keeping their apparently explosive dossiers on the so called “Molassesberg Scandal” a closely guarded secret accessible to select members of this or that tribe.

The way people like Maina Kamanda and his associates on rcbowen, mashada, kca-main, Kenyaonline, Africa-Oped and other forums have approached the question of alleged graft clearly demonstrates the difference between a genuine campaign against corruption and a vendetta driven side show.

Let me illustrate by talking about the Anglo Leasing scandal.

Away from the public discussion forums, I stay in touch with several key people in the Kenyan civil society sector.

At the forefront of these individuals is ONE PARTICULAR person whose real name I will not mention because I do not want to compromise this person who remains a valuable Nairobi based source with his ear very close to the ground.

Suffice to say that this individual is a leading executive of a very prominent graft fighting outfit.

And no, my friends, he is not a Luo, he is not a Luhyia and he is certainly not a Mswahili so stop jumping to your ethnic conclusions.

What I like about this person is the way he regularly provides me with concrete 411 from a variety of very hard to locate pay dirt that even the most intrepid investigative journalist would kill for.

And whenever he does this it is not about, “Oloo let us go after politician from Tribe X or Faith Community W or Race J or Region S or Political Faction Q because if that was the criteria he would not have shared some information linking individuals with whom he may or may not share some of the above attributes. It is without malice.

This morning, when I opened my email I found that he had responded to my inquiry about the Molasses plant by directing me to an objective, non- Kenyan source chock full of data that I am studying as we speak.

It is a professional joy to work with individuals like these who do not care how my first or last name is spelt and do not look at the ethnicity of the crooks they expose before they expose them.

There are at least a dozen people like that back home.

It is sincere and honest compatriots like those who spur me on- genuine democrats, genuine reformers, and genuine anti-corruption campaigners-people who will expose you in a heartbeat even if you are their first cousin.

Sad to say, very few of the so called leaders of the Kenyans in the Diaspora can live up to this benchmark.

Sad to say, Kenyans abroad seemed to be MORE CONSUMED with TRIBAL affiliations than the Kenyans at home.

While it is true that at home there is no shortage of chauvinists FROM EACH AND EVERY ETHNIC COMMUNITY AND REGION IN Kenya and in a sense since some of these bigots actually wield power they are more odious- but by and large, the Kenyan elite abroad are far more POLITICALLY BACKWARD compared to the villagers of Mwatate, Sagana, Kilgoris, Nyamira, Shimba Hills, Katse, Mazeras, Kibiciku, Karatina, Kajiado, Kabarak, Wajir, Isiolo, Lodwar, Migori, Ugunja, Lunga Lunga, Bura, Garsen, Makueni or Runyenjes.

3.0. Tracking Luophobia Among Kenyan Professionals Abroad

As someone who comes from a dual ethnic heritage, was born in the Rift Valley and grew up literally all over the republic among Kenyans of diverse backgrounds, and especially as a true son of cosmopolitan Mombasa, it has been very difficult for me to understand the tenacity, for instance, of Gikuyuphobia among some rabid Luos doing the post graduate studies in San Francisco-especially when said tribal bigots are in their mid to late twenties and live in , of all places, libera, open minded California on the outskirts of a city famous for its tradition of tolerance.

Nor can I understand the rationale behind the blind hatred for Kenyans of South Asian heritage among Kenyans who have been victims of racial profiling in Texas, New York, Toronto, Vancouver and other North American cities.

Equally, I am perplexed when I witness a fairly well adjusted Kenyan woman with above average intelligence living in the Washington DC area expressing what amounts to strident anti-Muslim rants-knowing how her own bi-racial background may have made her a target-as it did some of my own first cousins with a similar heritage.

Likewise when a Kenyan of South Asian descent repeats KKK lines when his own father in Edmonton was called a Paki in the late seventies and early eighties, then I just shake my head in bewilderment.

Last December, I referred to this phenomenon as the Inner Villager Syndrome- referring to the survival of parochial and simplistic ethnic reductionisms among Kenyan middle class transplants in places like New Hampshire, New Jersey, Massachusetts, Toronto, Leeds and elsewhere.

In retrospect I have realized I was wrong-but only because I was unduly harsh on the VILLAGERS.

As I have tried to argue above, Kenyan villagers are not this dense, backward, myopic and tribal. In 2002 when young Kenyans abroad were killing each other digitally to line up behind their respective ethnic chieftains, rural Kenyans all over Kenya had grasped the democratic imperative of uniting nationally behind the candidacy of Mwai Kibaki to defeat the Uhuru Project.

Initially when I was confronted by deranged tribal attacks from anonymous strangers, I used to assume that these were some ignorant kids who were raised by tribal wolves in the jungles of Ukabilaland.

Can you imagine my shock when I finally realized that these were not some gibbering primitive cave dwellers who thought that people who lived in the next mbari were their sworn enemies, but rather, HIGHLY EDUCATED KENYANS, some armed with four or five degrees; some, actual PROFESSORS with a mandate to PROMOTE ethnic and racial DIVERSITY in their respective campuses?

Can you imagine my disgust when I realized that some of these closeted tribalists were the VERY SAME individuals who would call me at home asking me to assist their friend so and so with their immigration matters by writing a support letter?

Can you imagine my disappointment when I realized that some of these ethnic hounds were two faced hypocrites who posed as Born Again Christians in public while practicing their ukabila in private?

Can you imagine my surprise when I found out that some of these individuals were former political prisoners and former exiles like me?

Can you imagine my amazement when I found out that some of these creeps used to be in the same underground Marxist oriented revolutionary movements like myself?

Can you imagine my disillusionment when I discovered that some of these closeted faceless tribalists on the rcbowen forum for instance ARE AMONG THE CURRENT LEADERSHIP of the KCA?

After recovering from my shock, disgust, disappointment, surprise, amazement and disillusionment, my immediate task was to FIND OUT WHY IT WAS NECESSARY FOR THESE BIGOTS TO HIDE THEIR HATEFUL TRIBAL FEARS, MYTHS, OBSESSIONS AND AGENDAS.

That task was made easier because I am now a “Canadian” in the sense that I have lived in this country for long enough (close to twenty years) to know how your average Canadian practices their bigotry.

Unlike their Uncle Sam relatives south of this border, Canadian racists and bigots are rarely overt and the few who are, quickly find themselves isolated.

And yet Canada is a DEEPLY RACIST COUNTRY.

How then does one explain the official veneer of tolerance and the actual lived reality of systemic racist oppression that people from the communities of colour undergo everyday?

I have one word for it:

CODE.

Yes, the racists, sexists, homophobes, classists and ageists, lookists and ableists of Canada have their own abracadabra glossary of code words that they use to hide their prejudice and discrimination.

When they want to attack gays and lesbians for instance, they do not use crude words like “faggots” and “dykes”(those words have been reclaimed anyways). Rather they talk of “family values” and a “traditional definition of marriage”.

When they are rich people looking down on the poor, they do not call them “bums” and “losers”- rather they would borrow Bill Cosby’s term about “people from the lower income community”.

When they want to denounce people with disabilities fighting for accessibility to public buildings they will not call them “ungrateful cripples and stupid deaf mutes”; rather they will talk of the “unrealistic demands of special interest groups who have an unreasonable feeling of entitlement”.

When they want to call on the police to crackdown on INNOCENT Jamaican youth in Toronto or their Haitian counterparts in Montreal, they do not say “go after those ganja smoking coons of Jane and Finch or the Creole spitting niggers of St. Michel”; rather, they say something like, “we feel it is important to support the efforts of police chief Julian Fantino in his campaign to eradicate drug dealers, pimps and petty criminals from our inner cities”.

And I do need to unlock the passwords to the code words for human beings that are labelled "ugly" because they do not fit the Barbie and Brad Pitt profile or people who society consider to be “too old” or conversely, “too young” to matter.

Similar code words are employed by the sophisticated Kenyan tribalists abroad.

In a sense I actually prefer the raw, crude and foul mouthed tribal hecklers like “jmburus” “mboya rusinga”, “public eye” and “mûriraikihia” who will speak out candidly and honestly about their hatred for Luos and Gikuyus respectively. At least with them, you know what time it is. However I did catch one of these four individuals posing as a member of the ethnic community they detested in order to create a backlash against that community by their outlandish remarks. For a long time I was taken by that character until a dead giveaway made me nab this chameleonic miscreant. About a week after this minor detective feat, that particular tribal handle was “retired” from that particular forum. Online tribalism can be a very sophisticated digital hall of smoking mirrors to the unsuspecting internet newbies.

The truly detestable, slimy tribal lowlifes are the two faced hypocrites who pretend to be Wazalendo in public while organizing the equivalent of tribal oathing ceremonies in private.

For instance, you will find Mr So and So, Official of the KCA, to take a HYPOTHETICAL example. During the KCA Conference he will be out there, rallying the NATIONAL troops, speaking as a sincere patriot. But what some people may not know is that behind the scenes, he is up to his neck with the offspring of the hogs in the Kibaki cabinet scheming for ways to hop on to that overcrowded gravy train.

Another HYPOTHETICAL example. Ms. Nyamriambo Wang’etek helps in a very earnest fundraising appeal to deal with a community issue, say in Quebec. But then she calls Onyango Oloo kando and says something in Dholuo about not trusting all these Gikuyus.

A third example- THIS ONE A REAL ONE. Assistant Professor Fulani wa Fulani is FLUENT in a certain language and in fact has part of his heritage in Community X. Yet, like a JAJUOK, he remains a FIXTURE on Discussion Board P where 123% of his postings consist of tribal rants, raves, gossip and innuendo.

A fourth example. FREQUENT POSTER 45XT lives in Nairobi and makes a point of touting his cosmopolitan credentials. In fact, he goes out of his way to berate the notorious overt tribalists from his own ethnic community. Yet, if you carefully study his postings, you will notice one consistent pattern. He acts as a volunteer spin doctor for certain top ranking politicians back home who come from a certain region and range of communities in the country and will always pose apparently neutral probing maswali about certain prominent politicians from a community that is perceived to be hankering to undermine the other community.

Most, if not all of the above examples come from members of the so called BIG TRIBES who are the BIGGEST CULPRITS when it comes to online ethnic chauvinism.

But there is also the bigotry, borne of resentment that is exhibited by members of the ethnic minorities largely targeting this or that BIG TRIBE. I have referred to two members of a certain community and I do not wish to belabour the point.

What drives the tribalism of Kenyans abroad?

Surely it cannot be anything like the gunfights in the semi-arid regions of Kenya where pastoral communities come into conflict over scarce resources, cattle rustling and other age old feuds.

Many of these tribalists have never and will never meet their online ethnic adversaries. They are not lacking in material resources and frequently these are individuals who are relatively well off and are definitely not driven by economic desperation. In a couple of bizarre cases, they may even be married to spouses from the communities they detest. A few years ago, one Kenyan woman shared with me her shock to find out that the “cosmopolitan” boyfriend she was dating from community dash dash was the very same deranged idiot who was attacking her cousin on the other side of the Atlantic on a daily basis! This is not the place to go into details of what happened next.

So what drives these Kenyan Tribalist Abroad in their diurnal and nocturnal acts of ethnic vindictiveness and small mindedness?

I think the answer can be gleaned by looking at the desperate contestations for political territory going on furiously as we speak among different sections of the Kenyan comprador and petit-bourgeois elite.

As we have argued elsewhere, our dependence on imperialism has made it virtually impossible to develop a viable national economy that is self-sustaining. From the daily scandals which come to the fore, the ticket to the Comprador Paradise Bonanza in Kenya is purchased at the Grand Graft Box Office and you have to TKK the overfed ticket sellers and TKK the gate-keepers and TKK the ushers and TKK the concession cashiers and sometimes TKK the relatives, the ndogo ndogos, nyumba ndogos, mahawara, boy toys, cooks and messengers of the real gate-keepers.

Since there is only so much one can loot in the course of the life of one elected government, there is a feeding frenzy, a veritable Corruption Olympics that kicks off virtually from the second a new Kenyan comprador/petit-bourgeois gang assumes office.

It should be appreciated that that these fat cats are NOT THEMSELVES parochial nor do they HATE other tribal communities. Oh no. These are genuine Kenyan urbanites who will play copulate across tribal lines and golf with anyone ready to offer or receive a bribe.

But you see, the Bonanza is circumscribed by cronyism, by nepotism, by who know.

Over the course of the last 40 years, the most “efficient” conduit of cronyism and nepotism is tribalism.

And mark you:

While it may be NECESSARY to belong to the “right” ethnic community, that ALONE is NOT SUFFICIENT to grant you access and looting privileges. You must in addition, KNOW THE RIGHT PEOPLE IN THE RIGHT TRIBE- and that rarely comes free of charge.

For instance as we speak, there are TWO SEPARATE ethnic based band of organized poliitcal criminals around Kibaki who are, behind the scenes, fighting each other as VICIOUSLY as they would keep out any perceived hostile ethnic strangers. One group is coalesced around the likes of Wanjui and other old buddies of Kibaki from the DP days. And they are affiliated with one of the two First Ladies. Then there are the upstart back room boys, a younger, hungrier and greedier bunch who want to grab it all before Kibaki drops dead. Their linchpin is Chris Murungaru. And just to complicate matters a little bit, there is a semi-autonomous Meru cartel connected to Kiraitu who seem to be having the upper hand when it comes to certain public appointments.

Around these three contingents of the elitist group that has been dubbed the Mount Kenya Mafia(note that this does not refer to entire members of the Gikuyu, Embu, Meru, Chuka, Tharaka and other ethnic communities from "The Slopes” but rather, to those privileged members who coalesce around the above named elite forces. For instance, despite being a bona fide Mgikuyu, neither Uhuru Kenyatta nor Joseph Nyagah nor JJ Kamotho is part of the Mount Kenya Mafia. I do not think that Prof. Wangari Maathai belongs in this exclusive male dominated club either. And the other, equally prominent professors like Ngugi, Micere and others would be ARRESTED ON SIGHT and charged with TRESSPASS if they ever APPROACHED the entrance of the Mount Kenya Mafia Club. It is important to emphasize the class, ideological and partisan nature of this elitist club.

And let us not underestimate the so called Rift Valley Mafia. They are the LONGEST RULING CLIQUE in the country and they are entrenched in certain sections of the state where they will not be dislodged. At the moment the RVM still cannot really reconcile itself fully with the “Raila Betrayal” that is why you see William Ruto cozying up to Kiraitu. And they do not know how to handle Uhuru Kenyatta’s growing national stature. Things will be clearer once the contest for the Chairperson has been resolved.

And just outside this KANU INA WENYEWE club there are at least two similar clubs in Luo Nyanza who would immediately comprise the Lake Victoria Cartel if they were in the same position as the MKM. One camp, the larger one, is coalesced around Raila Odinga and his LDP associates and its members are well known.

Then there is another wing that has no discernible leader but whose chief exponent would be Raphael Tuju. These are fairly well educated and well to do Luo professionals, businessmen and politicians who were locked out of LDP because they were in KANU, Ford People or some of the NAK affiliated formations. Currently they their mantra is “Luos are tired of the politics of confrontation, we want some development. Let us give Mwai Kibaki a chance”- even as they inch their snouts closer and closer to the feeding troughs where other pigs are gorging. Being pragmatists, you will never see the Tujuites publicly attacking Raila. They are more interested in cultivating business and professional ties with other sections of the NAK elite.

There are two other clubs in Ukambani-one connected to Ngilu and Kivutha on the one hand and the other one definitely led by Kalonzo Musyoka. The Kalonzo gang needs the Raila forces in Luo Nyanza, but they have their own ambitions centred on a Kalonzo Presidency. It would appear as if the Ngilu/Kivutha forces have hitched their wagon directly to the NAK camp which they are a part of. Do not be surprised if Kivutha Kibwana makes a bid to be the Kamba card to thwart a Kalonzo run for State House come 2007.

Among the Abaluhyia elite, confusion reigns. Common sense would have suggested that the Luhyia elite unite around Moody Awori while working out an Intra-Ingo MOU about who would be who in the whole Machiavellian machinations of which Luhyia should go after the number two slot. From the look of things, the ambitious Mukhisa Kituyi is still smarting after being outsmarted by the thoroughly spineless Musikari Kombo in the recent Ford-K sweepstakes. Kituyi’s trump card may be to wean the Biwott faction away from KANU to bolster his standing in NAK proper before making his own move which may be more like the Kingmaker role of Raila in 2002 rather than embarrassing himself in an electoral contest where victory is precluded because of his widespread ill reputation as an arrogant son of a gun. Kombo like I said, is a Dereva Kombo who is going kombo kombo and will land fatally in a ditch together with his co-driver Dr. Bonny Khalwale within the course of the next eighteen months. Martin Shikuku’s attempt to cobble Katiba Watch into a negotiating vehicle to re-enter the Kenyan political mainstream will be thwarted by his own myopia. I predict that the next political superstar in Luhyia land is not even in mainstream politics yet-I am talking about the youthful Ababu Namwamba. He is the person to watch and one of the most likely to emerge as a NATIONAL political figure over the next four years. He is principled, gutsy, patriotic and from the look of things, above ethnic parochialism. Another person to watch is Professor Oniango.

Among the Abagusii, we saw Simeon Nyachae cut his own throat by agreeing to join the Kibaki cabinet on terms not of his own choosing. If I had been the FORD-People head honcho, I would have insisted on a formal MOU and would have been more sensitive to include the Non-Kisiis (apart from traditional sidekick Kones) like Mwandawiro and Rai in a package deal and I would have used this MOU to position myself for a more powerful bid for the Presidency after watching the self-destruction of NARC. As matters stand, Nyachae has joined and become an active supporter of the most criticized wing of the Kenyan government-at a time when he has been named by Pattni. We know that there are more than a few also rans in Kisii Nyanza who were not part of the FORD-P juggernaut-these were either DP, Ford-K or KANU heavyweights who are slowly rebuilding their political bases. And do not dismiss the children of the icons of yesteryear- the junior Onyonkas, Nyamweyas and the like. They too are plotting their moves.

The Kenyan Coast is pretty fluid. There are the NAK attack dogs like Mungatana, Maitha, Mwakwere, Rai and the like, And then you have the Balalas, Khamisis and their associates in addition to a third force that would be linked to the unregistered IPK and a fourth independent force that may or may not develop around my buddy Mwandawiro.

The North Eastern, South Asian, Maasai and other elite from the other Kenyan communities will chart their own paths in relation to the wider power plays in NAK, LDP and KANU...

Those of us who are on the Kenyan Left are the WEAKEST and LEAST ORGANIZED, but watch out: if we DO GET OUR COLLECTIVE ACT together, there WILLL BE A NATIONAL DEMOCRATIC REVOLUTION in Kenya within the next SIX YEARS. For a simple reason: the WANANCHI are far, far ahead of ALL OF THESE ELITIST groupings, and if a credible SOCIALIST LEADERSHIP emerges, Kenya is MARWA. And you can quote me on that.

To come back to my point about Kenyans abroad:

They take their tribal cues from moves the above gangs make.

That is the key to understanding their deranged yelps from sun up to sundown and throughout the night.

Let us take, as a case study, the current needling, wheezing, whining and gnashing of teeth around Raila Odinga and the moribund Molasses Plant.

NONE of these JOKERS in Boston, Minneapolis, Chicago, New Hampshire, New Jersey or Nairobi are the LEAST BIT INTERESTED in FIGHTING GRAFT. Some of them are up to their gills in it, especially if one takes a closer look at the ECONOSNOGATE.

Their yelps and brays that Onyango Oloo should compose a “digital” denouncing Raila Odinga is powered by a twin motive-divert attention from the HARD QUESTIONS people have been asking about Anglo Fleecing and the telephone scandals and Two, use the old Bogey Man Raila Odinga to rally the Bantu troops to wage another USELESS tribal skirmish punctuated by a two faced Luophobia.

Fortunately, Kenyans are NOT IDIOTS and this so called Molassesberg is going to collapse like the house of cards that it is.

It is actually sickening to log on to certain Kenyan forums and WITNESS some people who were busy picketing Moi barely three years ago defending that INSENSITIVE JACKASS Mwakwere who has refused to apologize to fellow Muslims for blatantly misleading them. The Kenyan Foreign Minister has NO IDEA about the coming anti- imperialist upheaval that is SIMMERING all over the Coast Province and he may as well enjoy his stint in the cabinet now while looking for a productive goat to milk after 2007.

Many of these KBAs (short for Kenyan Bigots Abroad) are dreaming of big pay days ahead. They are just making up their minds about whose MATAKO they should be SLURPING.

I mean, just contemplate this phenomenon:

There are THREE KENYANS ABROAD about to be BEHEADED IN IRAQ.

Have you heard ONE EEK or ONE SQUEEK from the KCA, the KCO or any of the organizations that presumably speak for Kenyans abroad DO ANYTHING CONCRETE to TRY AND SAVE these compatriots from the swords of the Iraqi kidnappers?

Not a chance.

Some of the leading members of these organizations are the VERY SAME NEOCONS who log on anonymously to praise Bush for INVADING IRAQ!

Kenyan Muslims do not matter!

Some of these leaders were among the earliest SUPPORTERS of Bush’s’ War on Terrorism and many of them quite frankly see Kenyan Muslims as the enemy within-along with those pesky Luos.

Of course they are now going to pee on themselves as they make a bee line for my neck.

Well, sharpen your poisoned arrows and do some target practice because Onyango Oloo is going nowhere.

Onyango Oloo
Montreal, Quebec
8:22 PM EST
Wednesday, August 04, 2004

ps: for the umpteenth time someone asked me to justify why i think Raila Odinga is the most EFFECTIVE politician in the Kenyan mainstream today. i already told them elsewhere that i answered this question at precisely 3:26 am on Xmas Eve 2003:

Bonyeza Hapa

A Conversation With Somi, New York Based East African-American Chanteuse

2004-08-01T00:13:00.000+03:00

Somi in Performance

On Thursday, July 29th, 2004, Onyango Oloo sat down for an extended chat with the Illinois born singer-songwriter Somi, born of Ugandan parents and currently residing in New York.

Somi has been composing music since she was in Grade 3

It was a wide-ranging conversation that covered history, geography, anthropology, music theory; life in America, life in East Africa; politics, corruption, gender dynamics, meditation; the business of music and many other stories and anecdotes.

Somi is refreshing, down to earth, intelligent and humourous.

She takes her work very seriously while having all the fun in the world sharing it with the world.

She has been invited to jazz festivals all over the United States; is about to perform in Southern France and will be making her East African debut when she visits Uganda and Rwanda later in August 2004.

Her first CD release "Eternal Motive" got rave reviews in the New Amsterdam News, a New York publication with a signficant African-American readership. She is working on her second recording, "Red Soil in My Eyes."

Kampala's New Vision newspaper did a profile of her on May 16, 2003 where the Ugandan paper cited her seminal role as one of the music pioneers among the new generation of Africans living abroad who are helping to expand the genre of new African soul beyond Seal and Sade(two UK based artists of Nigerian heritage).

Click Here to Visit a Ugandan Site Showcasing Somi

Here is Somi's Website

Somi is performing at Montreal's House of Jazz between Friday, July 30th to Sunday, August 1, 2004. The House of Jazz is the new name of the legendary "Biddle's Club" founded by the late famous Montreal jazz musician Charlie Biddle. It is located on Aylmer St. just south of Sherbrooke in the heart of downtown.

Click Here to Listen to the Conversation between Onyango Oloo and Somi

Somi is a member of the American Society of Composers, Authors and Publishers.Here she is together with Kenny Grohowski, Chris Rob, ASCAP's Toni Cheeseman, Damien West and Sunny Simms when she attended a three day event that brought together over a thousand top industry executives, visionaries, filmmakers, producers, directors, A&R, managers, casting directors, talent directors, agents and performing artists who gathered for three days of panels, workshops and showcases dedicated to help both artists and industry secure the promotion, access and contacts they truly need to succeed. The event took place at Le Bar Bat in New York City on February 28, March 1 and 2nd.

Origins of Utapeli

2004-07-19T13:56:00.000+03:00

From the Tanzanian paper Business Times:

Monday, March 17, 2003

Of scams: know the common signals

IN THE early Nineteen-Eighties a local musical group, Vijana Jazz - which was then led by a legendary, the late Hemed Maneti - composed quite an interesting and educative song.
The song, which was given the name Ogopa Matapeli (Beware conmen/fraudsters), cautioned listeners against falling prey to conmen who came with all sorts of tricks that were intended to defraud people of their hard-earned cash and/or property.
The number became an instant hit. In fact, nearly twenty years after it was composed, that song is still on the charts. In an era when songs are composed today only for people to forget them the next day, that was in itself an achievement.
The lasting popularity of the song partly derives from its well-organised rhythm, percussions and vocals. But, I think the main reason for its unending popularity lies in its potent message.
The danger of someone falling prey to fraudsters is as potent - and perhaps even more potent - today than it was more twenty years ago when the song was released.
Fraudsters in all shapes and guises are now at large: some posing as very successful businessmen who are looking for partners with whom to share their riches.
Others pose as stranded travellers from the mines who want to sell some their pots of gold at virtually throw-away prices so that they can continue with their journey!
Yet others prefer to be seen as highly learned representatives from well-respected foreign academic institutions who are looking for bright young recruits for their elite learning Centres.
Still others pose as credit society officers whose mission and objectives are to alleviate the people’s pervasive poverty; and that is why their loan conditions are probably the softest in Africa south of the Sahara.
Today, some of these predators even come disguised as extremely devout, God-fearing people. People who wouldn’t hurt a fly, and whose mission is ostensibly to save other people’s souls! And so on, and so forth. The list of guises is virtually endless; and the danger of Matapeli, con men, is to be encountered virtually anywhere and everywhere.
To a very large extent, the secret of the everlasting popularity of the song Ogopa Matapeli is based on its being perceived as a warning beacon to people, a beacon which constantly alerts them of the dangerous ‘animals’ that are constantly on the prowl.
The predatory Matapeli are always lurking among us, always stalking us. Consequently, one is well-advised to always be on guard, never letting go of one’s armour guard even for a minute, as the consequence of that single minute’s lapse could be dire, even disastrous.
Nobody is really safe from them. As we will soon attempt to show, practically everyone is in mortal danger of being conned. Thus, it would help if everyone realised that one was being stalked - and might be the next victim.
These are dangerous times. Just the other day, a group of people claiming to be officers of a quasi-philanthropic credit society with quite an exotic name were reportedly apprehended by the police. But, that was not before they had collected several millions of shillings from gullible customers as ‘fees for processing their loan applications’.
Similarly, only a couple of months ago, the city of Dar es Salaam was rocked by a high profile racket involving rich ladies who reportedly included the wives of Government ministers and - can you believe this? Wives of members of that most exclusive of the elite in society: the diplomatic community!
In what looked like an executive pyramid game, hundreds of millions of shillings were reportedly plucked off equally influential wives of the blessed of this country.
‘Executive’ because this particular one was so much unlike normal pyramid games in which every Tom, Dick and Harry can participate. No sir, this was a game - albeit a fraudulent game - of the rich, by the rich and for the rich!
The moral we can draw from all this is that, fraud knows no gender, rank, creed, colour or age!
Recently, the press in Tanzania was coloured by a seemingly innocuous advert which invited job-seeking East African seafarers to fill in evaluation forms and send them to an address in Canada which would facilitate their being recruited for lucrative jobs on Canadian cruise ships. Of course, this could only be possible upon payment of a ‘modest fee of only’ US$69!
According to that advert, applicants were promised a handsome payment of $2,000 (about Tsh2 million) per month! How much tempting that must have been for our sailors, bearing in mind that the minimum salary in Tanzania is only $50 per month!
Thus, perhaps not too surprisingly, applicants from all corners of the world, including Brunei, India, Saudi Arabia, Kenya, Tanzania, Liberia - and even from Madiba Land: South Africa - are said to have filled in application forms and sent them posthaste with, of course, the mandatory $69 application fee.
According to later reports, however, all the applicants were sent a uniform answer deeply regretting that they had failed to qualify!
It was only to be revealed much latter that the advertising company had no jobs to offer; and that it was only charging the fee for merely delivering information to the applicants.
In the event, the Canadian High Commission in Dar es Salaam made a wise decision under the circumstances, posting a notice warning job seekers against responding to such job offers.
Even more recently, the Commission is reported to have received many telephone calls and enquiries from individuals about yet another such offer. This time round, it was an offer for employment as oil drillers, service personnel and administrators with ‘very good pay.’
The offer ostensibly came from an off-shore oil and gas company allegedly based in Ontario, Canada.
Reports show that more than 200 people had already applied for the ‘jobs’ by the end of last year, paying up to $400 each as an application fee!
The Canadian High Commission in Dar es Salaam urges consumers to ‘exercise caution and common sense in replying to any solicitations which require payment in advance.’
Knowing the common signals - and ways to defend yourself - can save you time and money.
We would all be well-advised to take heed of this timely advice.

Message from "Zimbabwe Online"

2004-07-18T19:23:00.001+03:00

Subject: Market Fraud - Based on a True Story
From: "Zimbabwe Online"
Date: Thu, July 15, 2004 10:05 am
To: newkenya@riseup.net
Priority: Normal
Options: View Full Header | View Printable Version | Add to Addressbook

PRELUDE

The events below are based on factual happenings that
took place in 2003 and 2004. Names, locations and
dates have either been altered or are altogether
fictitious because the matter is due in court any time
in the latter part of the year 2004. The key suspects
were apprehended and are out on bail. It appears like
a full proof case in what appears like the slim
probability of the perpetrators being set free, but
the law can be wretched and there is therefore just as
equal a probability of the suspects being set free.
The suspects confessed to everything on the night of
their arrest, but if they hire a good criminal lawyer
they stand the very good chance of being set free.
Such is the fragility of the life that we live.

It appears that the victim is already aware of the
infringement on his holdings and there is no telling
what his reaction or that of his representatives will
be. At stake, among other things, is US $ 450,000, the
possible claim for payment of punitive damages, jobs,
careers and a fragile stock market.

This message has therefore been let out in the open to
enable public input that is likely to lessen the
possibility of a miscarriage of Justice. Something as
minor as a comma can wretchedly alter the course of
litigation.

Please read on and help where you can, anonymously or
in person.

PART I- SURVEILLANCE

On September 11th 2003 a Goan who introduced himself
as David Pereira came to the Harare offices of Trans
Oceanic Plantations (Caribbean, Americas, Asia,
Africa, New Zealand), known in short as TOP-CAAAN, and
asked to see me, David Sentwana, regarding a
shareholding transfer. TOP-CAAAN as it’s name
suggests, has interests in sugar, coffee, tea and
cocoa in the Caribbean, the Americas, Asia, Africa and
New Zealand, and has been in operation for 55 years
now. I joined TOP-CAAAN as a management trainee in
mid-1999 and had just completed 4 years of service. I
was attached to the TOP-CAAAN share registry office as
a relationship officer at the time of Mr. Pereira’s
visit and therefore found nothing strange in being
asked for, even though there existed a registry front
office. I remember the exact date of Mr. Pereira’s
first visit because I had just come from a dentist’s
appointment to get a filling for one of my molars.

David Pereira was a pleasant heavily built and dark
skinned Asian and his mannerisms easily revealed that
he was born and brought up in Zimbabwe. I invited Mr.
Pereira into the interview room where we briefly
engaged in pleasantries and dull banter about how we
both shared the same first name. Thereafter Mr.
Pereira produced a TOP-CAAAN share certificate which
bore the names Stephen Benedict Pereira, which he said
belonged to his late father, and which his mother
discovered two years previously while unpacking,
following the family’s relocation to South Africa. The
family, according to Mr. Pereira, had since put the
matter aside pending the visit of a close family
member to Zimbabwe. Mr. Pereira further told me that
his family did not treat the matter as urgent as the
entire estate of his late father had already been
transferred to his mother, and regarded the discovery
of the TOP-CAAAN share certificate as a minor
omission. Moreover, the shareholding was for a small
amount of 50 shares valued then at US $ 140. Since he
was in Zimbabwe on other business, he had decided to
check on the small unfinished business of the
TOP-CAAAN shareholding in the name of his late father.

I took one look at the aged share certificate and
could immediately tell that it was generated many
years earlier when TOP-CAAAN was known as Northern
Rhodesia Plantations and Mining (NRPM) and was based
in Zambia (then known as Northern Rhodesia). While
introducing the subject Mr. Pereira had mentioned that
his father once worked for a tour company in the
Zambian copper-belt, and it was probably at this time
that he acquired the shareholding. The date of
acquisition on the share certificate was 25th March
1959.

I checked the office database and did not find a
TOP-CAAAN shareholding in the name of Stephen Benedict
Pereira which was not odd in such old cases related to
NRPM. I however told Mr. Pereira that I would run a
check on the share certificate at the Harare Central
Registry (HCR) where manual records relating to the
now defunct Northern Rhodesia Plantations and Mining
were held, and give him an answer in two days. I told
Mr. Pereira that it appeared that the share
certificate in his hands had likely been reported lost
years ago and a replacement issued. His father must
have then sold the replacement, only for his family to
discover the misplaced share certificate years later.
Such cases were relatively common, but I nevertheless
told Mr. Pereira to await formal confirmation from HCR
in the next two days. Mr. Pereira was not opposed to
this as he was going to be in the country for another
three weeks. He left me with his local cell phone
number to enable me notify him when HCR came up with
an answer.

There was a slight delay from HCR and they got back to
us on 17th September 2003. As anticipated, records at
HCR indicated that the share certificate of 50 shares
shown to me by Mr. Pereira had been reported lost on
17th May 1977 and a replacement issued on 14th June
1977. Replacement share certificate No. TOP-CAAAN
A40554 for 50 shares was then sold with other bonuses
belonging to Stephen Benedict Pereira amounting to 400
shares, on 16th October 1984. Embarrassed at the delay
and at my assurance that it would not take not more
than two days, I immediately called Mr. Pereira to
notify him of the findings and apologize for the
delay.

Mr. Pereira took no offence and was in fact very
appreciative of my efforts, so appreciative that he
wanted to buy me a drink. I declined the offer telling
him that it was not necessary. Mr. Pereira however
insisted that he would feel bad if he didn’t show his
appreciation to me for me treating him so well. I
thought about the likely implications for a brief
moment, and then accepted Mr. Pereira’s offer to buy
me a drink, not sensing any ulterior motive and not
wanting to offend him. Mr. Pereira was glad at my
acceptance and said that he would call me in the
coming week for us to arrange a date and a time. He
asked for my cell phone number, but I instead gave him
the office number.

Sure enough, Mr. Pereira called me first thing on
Monday morning, 22nd September 2003, and proposed that
we meet on Wednesday, 24th September 2003 at 6.00 p.m.
at the elite Zambezi Cavern on the outskirts of
Harare. I agreed to this because I regularly
entertained valued TOP-CAAAN clients at the Zambezi
Cavern and knew it very well, and because of it’s
proximity to the Tutwane suburb, where I resided. Mr.
Pereira’s promptness at arranging the meeting did
however make me curious and thoughts of him being a
homosexual and wanting to go to bed with me did cross
my mind at this stage. If this was so, I intended to
brush him off in a firm but civil manner, in the same
way that I handled a similar situation eight years
earlier, while a student at Illinois State University
in the USA.

I drove to the Zambezi Cavern on Wednesday, 24th
September 2003, and arrived some minutes before 6.00
p.m. to find Mr. Pereira eagerly waiting for me. The
Zambezi Cavern had been a whites only establishment
before independence and still retained symbols of the
colonial era such as the life size portrait of the
last colonial premier, Ian Smith, that hang in the
disused billiards room. For some peculiar reason, this
never bothered the sizable and growing number of
blacks that continued to patronize the Zambezi Cavern
since independence 23 years earlier. Blacks probably
regarded it as a sign of conquest for Ian Smith’s
portrait to behold. I say this because despite being
black, I didn’t identify much with the Zambezi Cavern
and didn’t care much about it either, treating it more
as an ideal location for entertaining valued TOP-CAAAN
clients under my customer care portfolio. I quiet
frankly spent very limited of my personal time at the
Zambezi Tavern, preferring numerous other Harare
establishments that did not have a tag, where I could
freely be myself.

Mr. Pereira welcomed me warmly and we got round to
discussion on a wide number of topics ranging from
business, politics, and sports, to women,
relationships, and sex, invariably. He ordered a
sumptuous meal of roast goat meat, fried vegetables
and grilled potatoes dressed with the trademark
Zambezi Cavern sauces. We both downed the meal with
gusto. Mr. Pereira, who henceforth asked me to call
him Dave, also put me at ease by freely and fluently
conversing in ‘Ndeshoeng’, a dialect derived from
Ndebele, Shona and English, and mainly associated with
black rebellious youth of post-independent Zimbabwe.
It was extremely rare for Asians and Whites in
Zimbabwe to speak Ndeshoeng and considered Dave a
rogue Asian, telling him as much. Dave laughed
heartily, saying that I had made an accurate
observation. I myself had never really cared about
Ndeshoeng or been fluent in it either, but this
changed after I jointly formed and became part of a
rap group called ‘Sunset’, soon after my return from
the states in mid-1997.

Dave ordered a bottle of the best champagne in the
house to down our meal as we engaged in further lively
discussion. I was in a good mood as much as Dave was,
but I could tell at this point that our meeting was
more than a token of appreciation, more even than the
seduction of a heterosexual by a homosexual.

PART II – ENGAGEMENT

As the evening wore on and the champagne took effect,
Dave gathered the courage to tell me what our meeting
was all about. He said that the he was aware that his
late father had sold his shares in TOP-CAAAN way back
in 1984, having found this out slightly before I
joined TOP-CAAAN in mid-1999. Dave, in his words, had
therefore taken the trouble of making contact with me
for a different reason, something much bigger and
something that would possibly interest me. He told me
that he had been given my name by an undisclosed
reference, who was confident of a key role I could
play in assisting a lucrative venture. Dave told me
that he and his unnamed associates were aware of
lucrative, sizable and dormant shareholdings in
TOP-CAAAN that were acquired several years earlier
when TOP-CAAAN traded as Northern Rhodesia Plantations
and Mining (NRPM). These were mainly registered in the
name of Whites and Asians, who were either deceased or
had left Northern Rhodesia in a panicky huff, fearful
of reprisals from the incoming Black government of
independent Zambia under President Kenneth Kaunda.
Dave said that ‘we’ could take advantage of such
dormant accounts through fraudulent share sales on the
Harare Stock Exchange (HSE). The risks were minimal
and the returns high, given that the owners of the
targeted accounts, if still be alive, were scattered
in North America, Europe, the Middle East, the Far
East, the Indian sub-continent, Goa and Oceania, with
no intentions of ever coming back to Zambia or
Zimbabwe. The Trustees of Estates of deceased
TOP-CAAAN shareholders were probably less aware of the
shareholdings, as Northern Rhodesia Plantations and
Mining (NRPM), had started of as a small remote
concern with a shaky shareholding, and a dim future.
Against all odds however, NRPM had grown into the
profitable TOP-CAAAN of today, and had made an above
normal return to initial shareholders through numerous
dividend payments and several bonus share issues. When
NRPM was incorporated initially, it’s shares cost no
more than a few US cents, but now traded at the high
HSE mean price of US $ 6 per share.

All this came as shocking news to me. Perhaps I was
ready to right off all that Dave was telling me until
he dropped the ultimate shocker. Dave told me that
they had already executed a successful fraudulent
transaction worth US $ 230,000 right under our noses
and without detection. I believe that the alcohol in
me at that moment simply evaporated. Dave told me they
managed their successful criminal undertaking in
February 2003. He further told me that my role would
be to search the TOP-CAAAN share register for dormant
accounts. The way to determine this would be through
identifying accounts that had unclaimed dividend
payments over a period of 15 to 40 years. Dave said
that the bigger the value of a dormant account I
identified the better, telling me to target dormant
accounts with values ranging from US $ 600,000 to US $
900,000, or bigger if possible. Dave said that my
reward for this would be a very generous and I would
be able to fulfill all my wildest dreams. Dave however
told me that I needed to make a quick decision on
whether I wanted to join or not. Dave kept repeating
that chances of detection would be minimal and that
any trail would promptly be destroyed. Dave said that
if I decided in, then I would need to notify ‘them’
soon to enable effective planning. Dave did however
mention the existence of White in the scam called
Richard. Dave would front for a dormant Asian owned
shareholding, while Richard would front for a dormant
White owned shareholding in the books of TOP-CAAAN.
Whites and Asians in Zimbabwe still benefited heavily
from a privileged status, and their dealings were
seldom questioned. Dave said that ‘we’ needed to fully
exploit this bias. A White or Asian in Zimbabwe could
very easily open an account of US $ 100,000 without
drawing questions, as opposed to a Black like me. To
ally my fears, Dave said that this would be resolved
through very dependable contacts he had in the
Bulawayo branch of National Bank of Zimbabwe (NBZ),
who would easily enable me open an account of US $
100,000 or US $ 200,000, depending on the size of the
job. The cash transactions of the February 2003
mentioned to me by Dave, had actually been processed
through NBZ, Bulawayo, according to Dave. Dave told me
that Richard was based in South Africa, where he
actually was currently, and a meeting could be
arranged between the three of us in the next two weeks
time if I agreed to join ‘them’. Dave told me that he
would call me the following week on Monday for my
answer.

I sat there in shocked, bewildered and stupefied
silence all the time I was being told this. I didn’t
let this show on my face though, and Dave must have
interpreted this as a good sign of me doing the
calculations of gain in my head. We broke off at about
10.00 p.m., Dave telling me that he was driving to his
room at the Harare Sheraton, and me to my house in
Tutwane. I drove home in stone cold reflection that
night, wondering what I had gotten myself into and how
to handle it. I clearly realized that the choices I
had were not easy. Joining ‘them’ in the dead-end
career of crime was out of the question for me and I
ruled this out. What worried me though was that
‘these’ people knew me ‘well’ and had conferred before
approaching me. They could come for me and finish me
if I turned them in and this concerned me. I could
also simply tell Dave that I did not want to have
anything to do with their wretched schemes, turn a
blind eye and keep quiet about the whole thing without
telling a soul. This would however also be
irresponsible, unforgivable and criminal in the
highest degree, and would have made me an accessory to
a crime or crimes. In a curious and twisted way, I
would end up a criminal if I decided to join ‘them’,
or if I held back from joining ‘them’. There were also
risks in simply making the right decision and turning
in Dave and his associates to the authorities. Such
was the difficult predicament that I faced. I didn’t
worry much about who might have referred Dave & Co. to
me, because I was an outgoing person who as mentioned,
had even jointly formed and been part of a rap group
called ‘Sunset’. Five Years after ‘Sunset’ folded up
and four years after working at TOP-CAAAN, there were
still people in Harare who recognized me more for
“Sunset’, than for TOP-CAAAN.

PART III – EXECUTION

I woke up the following morning still confused and
still hoping that my meeting with Dave the previous
evening was just a figment of my imagination, a dream.
I prepared to go to work all the time reflecting on
how to deal with the situation I now found myself in.
I got to work as usual at 7.00 a.m., read the two main
Harare dailies, prepared myself a cup of coffee and
drank it as I finalized a report on TOP-CAAAN’s
expansion of operations to the East African region of
Tanzania, Uganda and Kenya. I never ordinarily did
tasks of this nature but the head of TOP-CAAAN
operations had asked me to do it for her as a favor.
The office secretary, Deborah, came in as usual at
7.30 a.m. teased me momentarily as usual, and then
went to her desk. Deborah was very fond of me,
probably because ‘Sunset’ were a hit when she was in
high school. At about 8.30 a.m., I called my estranged
wife Theresa to chat. Theresa worked for the Coca Cola
Company in Zimbabwe as a marketing executive. We had
met four years ago at a public relations workshop for
key corporations in Zimbabwe, courted for a year, were
married for two, and separated for the last one,
typical of youth marriages nowadays in Zimbabwe.
Theresa could tell something was wrong, because I only
called her at that time of the morning when something
was wrong. I almost told her what I was calling her
about, but hesitated because of her penchant for
drama. I could almost be sure of seeing what I told
her on the 6 o’clock news that evening. I instead told
her that I had developed butterflies about enrolling
for an MBA at Harare University and needed
encouragement, which Theresa was good at. She
encouraged me on not knowing why I had called her
about in the first place. I however decided to keep my
meeting with Dave to myself until I was certain that
what he told me on the evening of 24th September 2003
was not designed to start a wild goose chase.

I spent the rest of the week and weekend in my usual
mood doing the usual things. No one close to me
noticed any significant change in my mood which I
considered positive. From this point on however, I
decided to carefully detail any dealings I would have
with Dave or anyone linked to him.

Dave called me at 10.00 a.m. on Monday morning, 29th
September 2003 and was very pleasant as usual. After
the pleasantries, Dave asked me if I had made a
decision on the matter we had discussed and I told
Dave that I first needed to meet him and Richard
together before making a decision. Dave was delighted
to hear this, considering it a positive answer. Dave
suggested that the three of us could meet at the
Victoria Falls Hotel on the border of Zimbabwe and
Zambia the coming weekend and I told him that this was
ridiculous. Dave loves the fast life and I wasn’t sure
whether he was serious or joking. Either way, I wasn’t
making a trip to the border at such short notice. Dave
laughed and shrugged it off, and said that he would
arrange a meeting for the three of us the coming
Friday, 3rd October 2003, at the Hotel
Intercontinental, Harare. Dave called me again on
Wednesday, 1st October 2003 to confirm whether our
meeting of Friday was still on and I responded
affirmatively. Dave told me that he and Richard would
be at the Hotel Intercontinental, Harare, at 6.00 p.m.

I arrived at the Intercontinental at 6.05 p.m. on
Friday, 3rd October 2004 and found Dave and Richard
waiting for me at the lobby. Dave introduced me to
Richard as David Sentwana and he to me as Richard
Jeremy Martin. Richard told me that his friends called
him RJ and he therefore wanted me to call him RJ. Dave
and RJ were certainly determined to induce camaraderie
as quickly as possible. After the introduction, Dave
and RJ suggested that we take a table in the secluded
Gazelle restaurant. RJ ordered three cold beers, Mvuma
lagers, for the three of us, before getting down to
business. RJ told me that he was an accountant by
training and had worked for South African Breweries
for several years, before resigning and venturing into
the tours and travel business in South Africa. He told
me his tour firm was called RJ tours and travel and
had been in operation for eight years. He and Dave had
known each other for 12 years, having first met in
Malawi where Dave was marketing his firm’s computer
software products and RJ was doing feasibility studies
for the establishment of a brewing plant in Malawi.
Both their businesses were going through hard times in
2002 when an undisclosed acquaintance of Dave’s
introduced the subject of dormant shareholdings at
TOP-CAAAN. Dave’s undisclosed acquaintance was a
former employee of the Harare Central Registry (HCR).
RJ says that he initially hesitated but bought in
after they sent a letter to TOP-CAAAN asking us to
change the postal address of a dormant account
provided by the former employee of the Harare Central
Registry (HCR). The former HCR employee provided the
specimen signature of the dormant account and Dave and
RJ, arranged for the same to be forged on to the said
letter at a seedy down town Harare joint. Proof that
their criminal venture had worked emerged when RJ
received a TOP-CAAAN dividend cheque at a Johannesburg
postal address he used for dubious dealings. The
dividend cheque was for US $ 10,000 and it is this
more than anything, that encouraged Dave and RJ on.
Forged documents were prepared for RJ, and he used
these to open an account at National Bank of Zimbabwe,
Bulawayo, using Dave’s contacts. When the cheque
cleared and the monies withdrawn without a hitch, RJ,
posing as the shareholder, then resorted to
corresponding with TOP-CAAAN, saying that he had
misplaced his share certificate and wanted to be
issued with a replacement. As mentioned, the enquiring
shareholder was White and no objections were therefore
raised. The necessary replacement documents and
indemnities were duly executed and RJ received a
replacement share certificate after two months. RJ and
Dave thereafter arranged for a prompt sale of the
shareholding through Maryland Stockbrokers of Harare.
Dave acted as RJ’s appointed representative in all
matters by way of a written letter of authorization,
and this aided in the smooth flow of matters.

I told RJ and Dave that I appreciated this lengthy and
detailed background to their first successful job and
was encouraged enough to join them. Dave and RJ were
clearly elated with Dave proposing a toast at the
entry of their latest recruit. It was about 9.45 p.m.
when we toasted, having each had five beers each.
After the toasting and hearty, elated conversation, I
told RJ and Dave that I was curious to know the name
of the victim. Dave and RJ hesitated briefly before RJ
told me that it belonged to one Anthony Stephen
Wilkinson. I then gave both Dave and RJ my cell phone
number and RJ gave me his. Dave and RJ told me that
they were both frequently in and out of Zimbabwe and
either one of them would make contact with me in the
next two weeks to establish progress made. We also
agreed that we would henceforth primarily communicate
through our cell phones. I parted ways with Dave and
RJ at 10.00 a.m. and caught a taxi home as engine
repairs were still being done to my car. I was more
confident on the night of 3rd October 2003 than I was
on the night of 24th September 2003, because I could
now approach my superiors with more concrete details.

On Monday morning, 6th October 2003 I arrived at the
office as usual at 7.00 a.m. skipped reading the
papers, and immediately logged on the network to check
the TOP-CAAAN shareholding details of one Anthony
Stephen Wilkinson. Sure enough, the entire
shareholding of 78,000 shares was disposed of on 25th
February 2003. Prior to this, the shareholding postal
address had been altered from Murrayfield Close, 22
Sandra Street, Yorkshire NF4 NJ5, United Kingdom, to
Sisulu Drive, P.O. Box 45, Johannesburg, South Africa
on 18th September 2002. The US $ 10,000 dividend
cheque Dave and RJ told me was for the final year
ended 30th June 2002, which fell due on 25th October
2002. The dividend cheque was en cashed on 27th
November 2002 according to our records. The magnitude
of what I was dealing with sunk in at that point. I
was further mystified and perturbed by the
recklessness of the people I was dealing with. Had
they blown up US $ 230,000 in the short period of 7
months, because the pair were eager that we get on
with a second job as quickly as possible?

At precisely 8.06 a.m. on Monday, 6th October 2003, I
called the TOP-CAAAN share registry head, Ken
Masatwana, and told him that I needed to see him
immediately about some highly sensitive information I
had. Masatwana told me it was okay for me to go and
see him immediately. I spent about 40 minutes giving
Masatwana graphic details of my encounter with Dave
and RJ. Masatwana was in two words, shell shocked but
remained calm and composed as was his trademark.
Masatwana then called Deborah and asked her to
immediately fetch Anthony Stephen Wilkinson’s file
from the basement safe that contained all shareholder
records. As was the practice, Deborah went down to the
basement with one of the office duty guards, to
complement the two basement guards posted there on a
full time basis. Deborah could tell that something was
wrong and this was clearly noticeable on her face.
Meanwhile, Masatwana told me to go to my office as he
conferred with the General Manager, TOP-CAAAN and
TOP-CAAAN Plantation Security Unit (PSU). This I did.

At 2.45 p.m. on Monday, 6th October 2003, Masatwana
called me and asked me to go to his office which I
did. In it I found Masatwana and Senior Superintendent
of Police (retired) Joshua Mudzurire, the dreaded head
of TOP-CAAAN Plantation Security Unit (PSU). Mudzurire
had been head of TOP-CAAAN (PSU), for 11 years now,
before which he had worked with both the Zimbabwe
Police Force (ZPF), and the Zimbabwe Intelligence and
Security Unit (ZISU). Mudzurire welcomed me warmly and
put me at ease. He asked questions mainly related to
work at TOP-CAAAN and my job profile, before
specifically enquiring about Dave and RJ. He asked
about their appearance, mannerisms and cars they
drove. It appeared that Mudzurire was trying to
establish whether he could place Dave and RJ in his
database. Mudzurire then told me that he and Masatwana
had met the General Manager TOP-CAAAN that morning and
a decision to play along had been made. The
administrative offices of Harare TOP-CAAAN were
actually housed in one sprawling complex located on
the western outskirts of Harare city. The five coffee
plantations proper were situated in the five provinces
of Manicland, Mashonaland West, Masvingo, Matabeleland
North, and Midlands. Mudzurire concluded by telling me
that I was also scheduled to meet the Director of the
Zimbabwe Intelligence and Security Unit (ZISU), Col.
(ret.) Arthur ‘Shomron’ Sexwale, at the ZISU offices
the following morning at 8.00 a.m. in the morning. The
magnitude of what I had gotten myself into kept
sinking deeper and deeper.

Col. Sexwale, head of ZISU, was a highly respected
figure in the whole of Zimbabwe. Sexwale initially
served in the elite Chiredzi Battalion of the Zimbabwe
Army (ZA), towards the end of which he attended
specialised training in Israel. During his training in
Israel, it is said that Sexwale was partly under the
supervision of Brig. Dan Shomron, who headed the
daring and stunning rescue of Israeli hostages from
Uganda’s Entebbe airport in 1976, hence his nickname
‘Shomron’. On his return from Israel Sexwale helped
form ZISU and was the first head of it’s the Scorpion
unit. The nickname ‘Shomron’ held because it is said
that Sexwale and Brig. Shomron had a liking for each
other, and because Sexwale in his own right,
coordinated the demise of the dreaded drug cartel, Zim
triangle, in a four year period between 1982 and 1986
that ended in a heavy exchange of fire between
Zimbabwe Security Forces and Zim Triangle on 18th May
1986. The successful operation earned Sexwale
Presidential and Military citations. I couldn’t
believe that I was going to have the honour of meeting
Sexwale, and that this matter was that serious.

I arrived at the ZISU offices on Machel Street at 7.45
a.m. on Tuesday, 7th October 2003 and went through the
normal security checks. It was clear that I was being
expected because I was not subjected to any close
scrutiny at all and was immediately led to Col.
Sexwale’s fourth floor office. Sexwale like Mudzurire
the previous day, welcomed me warmly with a firm
handshake, offered me a seat and even personally
poured me a cup of TOP-CAAAN coffee. I couldn’t
believe I was in the presence of the legendary Col.
Arthur ‘Shomron’ Sexwale, and not nervous at that. I
even told Sexwale that I still admired him greatly for
crushing Zim triangle, for which he thanked me,
smiling mildly, shyly and reflectively. Sexwale did
not however waste time getting to the point. He told
me that TOP-CAAAN was very important to the economy of
Zimbabwe, hence the seriousness with which this matter
was being treated. Quite a bit was at stake and the
government would certainly be displeased to hear about
the incident I had reported. Sexwale told me he was
due to meet the Minister of Internal Security that
morning on a different matter, but would not mention
the incident I had reported until we had established
greater details. Sexwale told me that I would be the
linkman in reining in the suspects in an operation to
be coordinated by Company 13 of ZISU and TOP-CAAAN
Plantation Security Unit (PSU). Sexwale concluded by
telling me to be careful and return to the office
where I would receive further briefing from Mudzurire.

I returned back to the office and went straight to
Masatwana’s office to give him details of my meeting
with Sexwale. Masatwana told me that he and Mudzurire
would work on identifying a dormant account and let me
know in due course. Meanwhile, Masatwana dropped
another bombshell and told me that TOP-CAAAN General
Manager, Stanley Davidson, would be visiting the share
registry that afternoon. Things appeared to be moving
at a breathtaking pace.

Davidson had been General Manager of TOP-CAAAN for
twenty years and was as no-nonsense as they come. His
grandfather Reverend Nicholas Hubert Davidson came to
Zimbabwe (then Southern Rhodesia), in 1921 and was key
in establishing the West Nicholson Elementary,
Intermediate and Senior Schools, the West Nicholson
Polytechnic and the West Nicholson Hospital, all in
the Matabeleland South province. Reverend Davidson and
his family were therefore highly respected in
Zimbabwe. His grandson, Stanley Davidson, was born,
brought up and educated West Nicholson. Stanley was
fluent in both Ndebele and Shona, and was regarded as
the representation of a true Zimbabwean, having
refused to defect when President Mugabe took over
leadership in April 1980. Many did not even regard
Davidson as a White and he was even nicknamed
‘Mzilikazi’, after the revered patriarch of the
Ndebele in Zimbabwe. On a personal note, Davidson
reminded me of my estranged wife Theresa, firm but
moody.

Davidson’s meeting with TOP-CAAAN share registry staff
was scheduled for 5.30 p.m., 7th October 2003, after
formal office hours. Mudzurire was also in attendance.
Masatwana was first to speak saying that there
appeared to have been a breach of serious magnitude at
TOP-CAAAN share registry, which was likely to cost
TOP-CAAAN as a whole a lot of money. Masatwana said
that action was already being taken and asked all of
us to exercise extra care and diligence in our duties.
Masatwana did not however divulge any details.
Davidson basically repeated what Masatwana had said
with minor additions. We could all tell that he was
suppressing his fury, but he lapsed at one point by
revealing that he had always regarded us highly, but
was grateful that we had finally emerged in our true
colors as ‘thick Zimbabweans’. This was typical of
Davidson and no one took offence. He spoke to all
workers in this way regardless of their race. Davidson
however cautioned that he would spare no one found to
have deliberately facilitated the breach, and we
didn’t doubt him. The meeting concluded at 6.15 p.m.
without Davidson speaking directly to me, though he
must have known my role in the matter. Mudzurire did
not speak and I gather he was on an intelligence
gathering exercise. The mood among staff thereafter
was understandably one of confusion and anxiety,
because very few of us were aware of what had actually
happened. Staff hurriedly gathered in multi-racial
groups and spoke in anxious whispers. Deborah
typically helped lighten up matters by saying that she
would supervise delivery of all office stationery to
the printers the following morning for the logo to be
replaced with the initials ‘TZ’. All of us looked at
Deborah in bewilderment for a split second, before she
reminded us that we were ‘thick Zimbabweans’, picked
up her handbag and walked towards the waiting staff
van. We all burst out in laughter. Deborah has witty
cheek.

Staff at TOP-CAAAN staff registry however got to
basically know what had happened over the following
two weeks. Masatwana cautioned us to keep the breach
within ourselves in a supplementary meeting. Mudzurire
appeared to believe that the breach did not directly
involve TOP-CAAAN share registry staff, and so he and
Plantation Security Unit Staff largely centred their
investigations elsewhere. Masatwana however thought
differently but did not openly show it.

Towards the 17th of October 2003, Masatwana called me
to his office, where I found him in the company of
Mudzurire. Masatwana with Mudzurire’s approval, gave
me details of an account I was to give Dave and RJ
when they next made contact with me. The account was
in the name of one Fredrick Parker Smith of 22
Foulkener Drive, Alice Springs, Australia. The account
had a shareholding of 22,000 shares then valued at
slightly over US $ 125,000 and additionally had
unclaimed dividends dating back to 1974 totaling US $
25,000. Masatwana, Mudzurire and I agreed that this
was sure to be attractive to Dave and RJ. Mudzurire
told me to regularly keep him informed on any
developments henceforth and gave me his cell phone
number. This was important as this would also give him
ample time to notify Company 13 officers of ZISU
attached to the case.

RJ called me on my cell phone on Monday morning, 20th
October 2003 and got to the point after limited
pleasantries. I told him I had identified an
attractive dormant account. RJ was excited to hear
this and suggested that we meet at the less
conspicuous Harare Holiday Inn that evening. I told
him that was fine and we agreed to meet at 6.00 p.m.
that evening. After my conversation with RJ, I
immediately called Mudzurire who was glad that Dave
and RJ had made contact. Mudzurire said that he would
arrange to be discreetly present at the Harare Holiday
Inn that evening with one or two Company 13 officers.
I met RJ some minutes after 6.00 p.m. on Monday, 20th
October 2003. RJ ordered the beers, after which I
immediately gave RJ the details of Fredrick Parker
Smith’s shareholding. RJ was ecstatic saying that it
fitted the profile perfectly, and said that we could
immediately commence work on it. I took RJ one step
back and told him that I was disappointed to note that
Anthony Stephen Wilkinson’s shareholding which he and
Dave had fraudulently disposed of, reflected regularly
cashed dividend payments. I asked him to explain this,
as he and Dave had assured me of minimal risks. RJ was
cleared stunned by this unexpected question and made
every effort to calm my nerves. He admitted that he
and Dave had not told me everything regarding Anthony
Stephen Wilkinson’s shareholding. I feigned anger,
disappointment and betrayal which RJ went to great
pains to dispel. RJ told me that the Anthony Stephen
Wilkinson matter had been referred to him and Dave by
the still unnamed former employee of Harare Central
Registry (HCR), which in turn had been referred to him
by local Zimbabwean Whites who knew the family of
Anthony Stephen Wilkinson.

He and Dave had then met the HCR man and the
unidentified local Whites in a series of meetings to
plot their criminal act. I told RJ that Anthony
Stephen Wilkinson appeared to be alive which meant
that the matter would soon blow up. I asked how he,
Dave and all other involved people, intended to deal
with this. RJ had no words. He admitted that he and
Dave had decided to de-link themselves from the HCR
man and the unidentified local Whites, and start on a
fresh slate of crime. RJ told me that the Anthony
Stephen Wilkinson saga was an eye-opener for him and
Dave, which had encouraged them to go it alone. They
hoped to make between US $ 1 to 1.5 million and call
it quits after that. What came to mind was that I was
dealing with amateurs who seemed to have a lot of
trust in me for one reason or another. I told RJ that
the success of our criminal act depended on us being
open with each other, and he fully agreed. He promised
that he and Dave would no longer hold back any
information from me. I noted the presence of Mudzurire
at the east end cafe at some point during my
discussion with RJ and knew we were under
surveillance. RJ asked me if I could provide him with
Fredrick Parker Smith’s signature, and I told him to
give him till Wednesday, 22nd October 2003, to arrange
for the same.

RJ and I parted ways at 7.45 p.m. on Monday evening,
20th October 2003. The tension that featured at the
start of the meeting fizzled out towards the end. I
got home at 8.05 p.m. and immediately called
Mudzurire. Mudzurire told me that they were present
throughout the entire duration of my meeting with RJ.
He did not specify who ‘they’ were, but he must have
meant officers from ZISU Company 13. Mudzurire told me
he would be at the office first thing the following
morning when I would have a chance to brief him of
what transpired in my meeting with RJ.

The following morning, Tuesday, 21st October 2003 at
8.10 a.m., Masatwana called me and asked me to go to
his office. I expectedly found Mudzurire eagerly
waiting for my verbal report. Both Masatwana and
Mudzurire listened to details of meeting with RJ with
great intent without interrupting me, and this enabled
me finish in about twelve minutes. Mudzurire stared at
me briefly at the end, gave a heavy sigh, clamped his
hands tightly together momentarily and said ‘thank
you, Sentwana’, in his characteristic sluggish deep
voice.

Mudzurire told me that Masatwana would arrange for me
to get a copy of Fredrick Parker Smith’s signature the
following morning to enable me deliver it to RJ.
Mudzurire also told me to prepare a written report of
my meeting with RJ of 21st October 2003. This would be
the third report I would be preparing having already
prepared two lengthy reports. I could tell intuitively
from the kind of treatment I was getting lately from
certain parts of the office, that I was regarded as
suspect and party to the first fraudulent transaction.
I could understand this, because I had not involved
anyone in the office initially, and notified the
office after I had already had two meetings with Dave
and one with RJ. I did not let this cloud my focus
however. It did get me thinking though. I realized
that I hadn’t notified any close family member of mine
as yet, regarding the matter, which could also prove
costly in it’s own way. That evening, I sent a
detailed e-mail to my older brother Kevin, in Nairobi,
Kenya, where he works for the United Nations
Environment Programme (UNEP). I made sure I used my
personal Yahoo e-mail address and likewise, his
personal Yahoo e-mail address.

Kevin called me on my cell phone first thing the
following morning as I was preparing to leave my house
in Tutwane. Kevin was very supportive and
congratulated me for alerting my superiors. He like
Sexwale, also told me to be careful in my dealings
with Dave and RJ and told me to keep him regularly
updated through e-mail inspite of the fact that it
wasn’t full proof. He was also thrilled to hear that I
had met Col. Sexwale.

RJ called me at 9.15 a.m. on Wednesday morning, 22nd
October 2003, to enquire whether I had acquired a copy
of Fredrick Parker Smith’s signature, and I told him
that I had. He was elated and asked if we could also
meet that evening at 6.00 p.m. at the Harare Holiday
Inn, which I accepted. I immediately called Mudzurire
on his cell phone to alert him. Mudzurire asked me if
Masatwana had as yet given me a copy of Fredrick
Parker Smith’s signature and I told him that he
hadn’t. Mudzurire told me that he would arrange for
this in the next one hour. Sure enough, Masatwana
called me to his office at 10.30 a.m. to give me a
copy of Fredrick Parker Smith’s signature.

At 5.45 p.m. on 22nd October 2003, I called Mudzurire
on his cell phone to notify him that I was on my way
to meet RJ at the Harare Holiday Inn. Mudzurire told
me that they were actually already there awaiting both
me and RJ. I got to the Holiday Inn at 6.00 p.m. and
found RJ waiting for me. On this occasion we opted to
have coffee instead of beers, TOP-CAAAN coffee at
that. Whilst the coffee was being brought, I gave RJ
the copy of Fredrick Parker Smith’s signature. RJ told
me that he intended to prepare a dummy letter to
TOP-CAAAN from Fredrick Parker Smith saying that he
had changed his residence worldwide several times over
the past 30 years and was now settled in the United
Kingdom. RJ’s letter would state that he i.e. Fredrick
Parker Smith had stumbled upon some old documentation
relating to his shareholding in TOP-CAAAN and was
therefore writing to enquire on it’s status. This had
also been further aided by him i.e. Fredrick Parker
Smith, continually hearing frequent and favorable
mention of TOP-CAAAN performance on the UK financial
markets. RJ said that he would use the UK address of
undisclosed contacts of his to avoid raising
suspicions because Anthony Stephen Wilkinson had
written a similar letter and had his UK postal address
altered to a South African postal address. The current
postal address of Fredrick Parker Smith on the
TOP-CAAAN share register was Australian and it would
not appear irregular that he had relocated residence
several times over the years, and was now based in the
UK.

RJ would arrange for Fredrick Parker Smith’s initial
letter to be hand delivered to TOP-CAAAN. Standard
procedure would be for TOP-CAAAN to verify Fredrick
Parker Smith’s signature and content of his letter,
with what we had on record, and respond as required by
the shareholder. The major point of reference was
actually the shareholder’s signature, which would
match in this case. TOP-CAAAN would then send Fredrick
Parker Smith the information he had asked for,
accompanied by indemnities covering the issuance of a
dividend draft for a total amount of US $ 25,000. This
would be sent to Fredrick Parker Smith’s UK address as
indicated on his letter. RJ’s UK contacts would then
send TOP-CAAAN’s response to his South African postal
address by DHL to enable signature appending and
processing of forgeries. TOP-CAAAN would then process
a draft of US $ 25,000 and send it by registered post
to Fredrick Parker Smith’s UK address. RJ’s UK
contacts would again similarly send the draft by DHL
to RJ in South Africa. As in Anthony Stephen
Wilkinson’s case, Dave would then arrange for an
account to be opened for Fredrick Parker Smith at
National Bank of Zimbabwe, Bulawayo, where the draft
would be processed. Forgeries and other criminal
processing fees would amount to about US $ 7,000
according to RJ, which would leave Dave, RJ and myself
with US $ 6,000 each.

In between this, Fredrick Parker Smith would also
write another letter saying that he was also not in
possession of his share certificate, which again, was
understandable. The issuance of a replacement share
certificate would go through a similar process,
meaning that we would reap criminal gain from the
draft and the sale of the shares, around the same
time. In the meantime, Dave and RJ expected that I
would be working on identifying other big dormant
accounts worth US $ 1,000,000 to enable us wind up our
criminal venture in the space of six to nine months.
We would thereafter part ways for good. RJ estimated
that we would be able to obtain Fredrick Parker
Smith’s replacement draft within seven or eight weeks’
time, as he would arrange for delivery of Fredrick
Parker Smith’s initial letter to TOP-CAAAN on Monday,
27th October 2003. We concluded our meeting on this
detailed understanding at 7.15 p.m. on Wednesday, 22nd
October 2003. RJ told me that like Dave, he stayed at
the Harare Sheraton whenever he was in town.

I got home at about 7.40 p.m. on Wednesday, 22nd
October 2003, called Mudzurire and gave him a seven
minute briefing of my meeting with RJ. Mudzurire
listened intently as usual and at the end, told me to
prepare a written report the following day and deliver
it personally to his office.

The next four weeks were quiet regarding the matter of
TOP-CAAAN, Dave and RJ. I heard nothing from
Mudzurire, Masatwana, Dave or RJ. This silence was
however broken on Monday afternoon, 24th November 2004
by a call from RJ on my cell phone. RJ was in a good
mood and showered praises on me for my exemplary role
in the matter so far. He told me that the executed
indemnities for the issuance of a replacement draft
had been delivered to TOP-CAAAN the previous Friday,
and we would all get paid around the second week of
January 2004. RJ however told me that this was reason
enough to hold a small celebration following the
successful conclusion of the first stage. He told me
that Dave would be in town that Thursday, and the
three of us could get together on Friday, 28th
November 2003 at the Hotel Intercontinental, Harare. I
had no knowledge of what RJ was talking about, but I
nevertheless played along and accepted his invitation.

Immediately after getting off the phone with RJ, I
called Mudzurire to let him know about the latest
development. I also let him know in a firm but polite
matter, that I was displeased at having been kept in
the dark on the happenings of the past four weeks. I
would have appeared extremely incompetent to Dave and
RJ had they called in between wanting information.
Mudzurire asked me to go to his office immediately to
enable us discuss the matter. At his office, I
continued by telling Mudzurire that I should never
have been allowed to take part in the operation if I
was suspected of complicity in the matter, and should
have been either interdicted or summarily dismissed. I
told Mudzurire that I was most exposed and most at
risk in the matter, and did not appreciate this shoddy
treatment at all. Moreover, no consideration to
lessening my regular office duties as I gave attention
to the matter of Dave and RJ, had been given. The
expenses I was incurring in the matter of Dave and RJ
were my own and had not been allocated any budget.
It’s as if I was working for myself and not TOP-CAAAN,
and now this call that morning from RJ.

Mudzurire read my fury clearly and asked me to calm
down. He told me that he was glad to hear that I was
due to meet Dave and RJ this coming Friday and would
use that opportunity to have Dave and RJ arrested. I
would then have the chance to air my grievances after
this. Mudzurire told me he had been shown Fredrick
Parker Smith’s purported submissions that morning that
included a passport photocopy that bore RJ’s image.
Mudzurire told me that they could use this to move in
on RJ, and was more than pleased to hear that both of
them would be in town on the coming Friday. Mudzurire
told me to keep my composure at this crucial stage.

PART IV – CONCLUSION

RJ called me on Friday morning, 28th November 2004 to
confirm whether our meeting that evening was still on
and I confirmed that it was. He told me that he and
Dave would be at the Harare Hotel Intercontinental at
6.00 p.m. at the first floor balcony, next to the
Chizarira bar. I then called Mudzurire on his cell
phone to notify him of this. I felt relieved that the
matter was likely to be concluded that evening, which
would enable me focus on other things. At 5.45 p.m.
that evening, I called Mudzurire, and he told me that
he and a team of officers from ZISU Company 13 were
already stationed at the Harare Intercontinental. I
now knew why Mudzurire was highly regarded for his
dependability.

I got to the Intercontinental at 6.05 p.m. and
immediately proceeded to the first floor balcony where
I found both Dave and RJ. They both greeted me with
elation calling me Zimbabwe’s newest millionaire. As
usual, RJ ordered three cold beers for the three of us
as we engaged in hearty discussion. Dave, who I had
not seen since 3rd October 2003, jokingly asked me
whether I would buy a mansion in Harare’s elite
Stephanie neighbourhood when this was over, or whether
I would take a once in a lifetime luxury cruise around
the world. RJ dismissed Dave saying that I would
almost certainly go into politics. I said that I would
not opt for either of their proposals, and would
instead marry four extra wives, and we all broke into
prolonged laughter. Coincidentally, all three of us
were separated from our wives. Dave was the more
excited of the two, suggesting that we should hop from
joint to joint getting really plastered and end the
evening at ‘Cloud 9’, a famous downtown Harare
brothel. RJ was in agreement and I sat there staring
at both of them in bewilderment. Dave asked if I was
offended by the final part of their suggestion and I
replied no, but quickly added that both of them should
have been born Black, and there was more prolonged
laughter. I had never known that Asians and Whites
also went to ‘Cloud 9’. On a serious note, Dave told
me we would need to see each other about opening an
account for me at National Bank of Zimbabwe, Bulawayo,
when he and RJ obtained Fredrick Parker Smith’s draft
of US $ 25,000. Since NBZ was linked nationwide by
Very Small Aperture Terminal (VSAT), I would be able
to make convenient withdrawals and deposits at any of
their branches, including Harare, once my account was
operational.

In between our second beer, Mudzurire, called me on my
cell phone and asked me make out as though I was
speaking to a client. This was at about 6.40 p.m. He
then told me to excuse myself and go to the bathroom
after five minutes, where I would find a Company 13
officer in a navy blue suit. I would then leave the
Intercontinental with the Company 13 officer trough
the back exit and be led to his vehicle. Company 13
officers led by Inspector Timothy Turugize, would then
move in and arrest Dave and RJ. I did exactly what
Mudzurire told me and was in his car in the next few
moments where I witnessed the arrests with him. The
whole episode took about fifteen minutes and I must
say I was impressed with the manner Turugize handled
it. There were four or five other Company 13 officers
strategically located close by, from what I could see.
Mudzurire didn’t however appear to be paying
attention, and was instead busy attending to calls on
both his cell phone and the communication radio in his
vehicle. I had never had much regard for ZISU Company
13, feeling that it was just a unit of Ndebele and
Shona officers, created for the dual purpose of
reducing unemployment, and scoring political points.
This bias changed that night. No wonder Mudzurire
could afford to attend to other matters as Company 13
carried out the arrests.

After fifteen minutes, Dave and RJ were led out
discreetly by Turugize and his officers, and we drove
in a convoy of about five vehicles to Chitungwiza
Police Station in central Harare. Mudzurire left me in
the car and went in for about half an hour. I urinate
a lot when I drink, and I relieved myself twice in the
bushes during that half hour. It brought back teenage
memories of how I was once arrested near this very
Chitungwiza Police Station for urinating close to it’s
fence and ‘desecrating the Republic of Zimbabwe’.
While also waiting for Mudzurire, Turugize and at
least two other Company 13 officers came to
Mudzurire’s vehicle to thank me. I was honored.
Mudzurire dropped me at my Tutwane house at 8.00 p.m.
that night. He also thanked me.

About three weeks after the night of 28th November
2003, Deborah received an overseas call from someone
claiming to be Anthony Stephen Wilkinson, enquiring
why he had not received two or three dividend drafts.

………………………………..

All the above events took place in Kenya

__________________________________
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Speaking With My Three Sisters About Abortion

2004-06-21T05:06:00.000+03:00

This piece is not just about abortion. It is also a celebration of all the women, Kenyan and non-Kenyan, who have touched my life in very significant ways.

I literally grew up among a multitude of women.

My paternal grandmother, Doris Awiti, was one of the most energetic, assertive and opinionated free spirits I have ever encountered. She was part of my life until the day she died on Thursday, November 27, 1996- a day after my dad's own demise.

My maternal grandmother, Trufena Wandolo, with her infectious sense of humour, was a generous woman who loved her dozens of grandkids equally. When I remember her unique chicken dishes, my mouth waters with nostalgia.

My own mother, Jennifer Siare, was a hard working, kind, morally upright, bold and courageous protector who did not think twice about digging her own pit latrine, all by herslf, because of her fierce sense of independence and self-reliance. She was such a treasure of good cheer, optimism and sincerity right up to the day she died on December 9, 1980 from breast cancer.

She was born with three sisters from the same mother and about four other half sisters from her father's junior wife(a rambunctious friendly soul who was the very anti-thesis of the mythical evil step mother-she never lost her heavy Luhyia accent from her Mumias origins).

My father had four sisters. Three of them were teachers, including Auntie Alice who was my very first teacher in the mid sixties at a nursery school in southern Nairobi.

I cannot even count the number of female cousins, nieces, in-laws and other relatives from all sides of my family who are scattered all over Africa, Europe and North America.

I went to co-ed (called "mixed schools" in Kenya) educational institutions from kindergarten to university and therefore had girls and young women as my best friends, academic rivals, girlfriends and study partners. And when I joined the world of employment, I have of course counted women as co-workers, supervisors, clients and customers.

Ever since I entered the world of romance over a quarter of a century ago, (yes: I am not forgetting my puppy love, especially my puppy love where I got my very first kiss!) my life has also been enrichened by girlfriends, lovers and more than one long term, live in companion.

Many of my most enduring political mentors and comrades are militant and progressive sisters like Micere Mugo, Kathure Kebaara, Njeri Kabeberi, Wangari Muriuki, to cite just a handful. And people like Nimo Gulleid, Ida Hersi,Sibongile Booi, Denyse Stewart, Readith Mwila, Ijose Benin, Terriann Lewis, Anne-Marie Grant are a few of the women who I can count as very close platonic friends. Today, when I venture online I find that the most intelligent and serious contributors in Kenyan cyberspace forums are predominantly female-and this is NOT to knock the dozens upon dozens of Kenyan brothers who rise far above the frothing juveniles prattling and trash talking on RC Bowen, Kenyaniyetu, Mashada, Kikuyu.Com and elsewhere where Kenyans congregate digitally...

Among all those women, my sisters occupy a very, very special space in my life.

One of them, Beatrice Lillian Ombiro Oloo, is no longer among the living-having been killed by her abusive husband on October 1, 1999. She was 32.

My three surviving sisters- Janet Adhiambo Okeyo, Sarah Akinyi Oloo and Ruth Awuori Oloo continue to provide three of the firmest pillars of my existence; all three form part of the close knit bond that has kept our family together and has enabled us all to survive a series of tragedies in the last ten years. They are funny; they are intelligent;they are resourceful and of course they are all gorgeous.

Together with all the other women I have mentioned, my three sisters have always provided the reality check to my sexist socialization, never hesitating to call me on my patriarchal shit- and I know that this has been frequently a much needed boon.

That it is why it was a no-brainer when it came to looking for three Kenyan women who would share with me their candid and sincere opinions on the explosive hot button issue of abortion.

For the last month or so, the religious right in Kenya have been on an onslaught in a very determined quest to block the legalization of abortion in that east African country. Following the "discovery" of 15 fetuses conveniently next to a pro-life Christian centre in Nairobi, the anti-choice forces have orchestrated a rabid media circus that has seen otherwise sober Kenyan journalists screaming about "Killer Moms" and culminated in the arraignment on MURDER charges of one Kenyan doctor and two nurses on accusations that they "killed" "two infants."

Meanwhile, 700 illegal abortions take place every day with one of the country's largest hospitals- the Kenyatta National- reporting 40 to 60 cases of botched abortions every day. Hundreds if not thousands of Kenyan women(many of them barely out of their teens) die from these botched abortions. And no one is speaking of the women who carry their pregnancies to full term, give birth and literally dump their brand new borns in the streets of Kenya's main towns.

My three sisters- Janet, Akinyi and Awuori all live and work in the KwaZulu Natal coastal city of Durban. And they have three different opinions on abortion. One is militantly pro-choice; one is adamantly pro-life and one navigates a middle of the road position on this contentious debate.

So when I called them long distance from Quebec on the afternoon of Saturday, June 19, 2004, I was guaranteed to end up with a very robust, heated as well as humour filled three way exchange. And yes, I do express myself at the end- and one of my sisters does not hesitate to pounce on my own pro-choice views with a take- that I am not going to give away.

Anyways, without further ado, I hereby present my three lovely, intelligent, spirited and humorous sisters holding forth on one of the hottest discussion topics taking place among Kenyans at the moment. By the way, as a prelude we talk about the Magdalene Laundries in the Republic of Ireland. What is that?

Well, find out:

Press here to listen in on the conversation with my sisters

Stereotypes of Women in the Tanzanian Press

2004-06-18T01:39:00.000+03:00

Imani Swilla from the University of Dar es Salaam did this study about eight years ago.

Read Imani Swilla's fascinating study

Introducing Daniel Kamau, young Kenyan NOVELIST from Massachusetts

2004-06-16T10:36:00.000+03:00

Daniel Kamau is the author of GAMBLING WITH DESTINY

Onyango Oloo met him at the July 2003 Kenya Community Abroad Conference held at Whippany in New Jersey, USA.

A few weeks later they were talking on the phone about Kamau's very promising and well-written first novel...

Go HERE for an Interwiew Kamau did with Wako Wapo

press here for the DUNIA interview

More Information on the Novel

Interview with Cilia Sawadogo, Montreal Animator Born in Burkina Faso

2004-06-16T09:55:00.000+03:00

Onyango Oloo spoke to

Cilia Sawadogo

in Montreal on April 29, 2003.

click here for Cilia Sawadogo's profile

Another profile

more background information and an intro to one of her works

a collaboration on a malian project

press here for the DUNIA interview

Lurid, Torrid, Tanzanian Hip Hop Ruffles Old School Moral Assumptions...

2004-06-15T10:54:00.000+03:00

Condoms for cunnilingus. Torrid May to December younger man- older woman romantic flings. Child labour. Tribalism. Gays. Lesbians. Class struggles. Racism. Drunken Driving.

These are samplings of the many themes explored in just TWO songs by young Tanzanian hip hop artistes who are featured among the handful of CDs that I picked up in Nairobi when I was there in the fall of 2003 (that is September and October my tropical Kenyan compatriots).

Quite a far cry from Mbaraka Mwinshehe and Morogoro Jazz’s classics, “Dr. Kleru” or “Nikupendeje” is it not my friends?

I am sure it is just not just the Tanzanian parents and grandparents in their fifties, sixties and seventies who are SHOCKED and APPALLED by these explicit lyrics, but also the older brothers, sisters, cousins, uncles and aunts of this teen/twentysomething Tanzanian Hip Hop Nation who have launched their own sonic assault on the moral assumptions, political hypocrisy, bureaucratic morass and economic wasteland bequeathed to them by the older generation in that east African nation.

And in this current dispensation, it is an equal opportunity never ending DISS Session with a growing number of Tanzanian women (many from "Bongo" or Dar es Salaam) stepping up to the mic to do their thing.

The Dar es Salaam based East African television channel, (truly REGIONAL in the sense that it is carried by networks in neighbouring Kenya and Uganda) has tapped right into this livid, vivid, live wire rage among the East African youth who have turned their back on dry and “boring” academic discourse to seek musical conduits to unleash their rage.

If one stops being judgmental and stuck up for a second (as in, “I never listen to that crap, give me Wynton Marsalis, Placido Domingo and Chopin ANY TIME”) and actually TAKES a LISTEN to what these young people are SAYING, it is immediately crystal clear that there is a lot militancy, heightened class consciousness and a very deep understanding of political power dynamics among members of the younger generation- even though they may name check Jay-Z rather than Ho Chi Minh; Queen Latifah rather than Angela Davis and Mos Def rather than Amilcar Cabral.

Still don’t believe me?

Let me make my case a little stronger.

I will play three tracks for you.

First there is this humorous track that sends up stereotypical ethnic images from a hip hop artist member of the Tanzanian Masaai community.

It is a song about the popular notions of who is a Maasai by a native from that community.

For my Kenyan readers, let me emphasize that I am talking about TANZANIAN Maasais here...

Here it is

Next is a piece called “Sipendi”. It is the song that talks about a range of social issues and political observations that I spoke about at the beginning of this section:

Sipendi

Our last selection is called “Nyambisi” which is about how the up and coming Dar hip hop star Prince Sykes seduced a woman who was twice his age:

Nyambisi

Wait a minute!

I have a TANZANIAN hip hop VIDEO to show you which proves that African rappers can recycle the same clichés of their New York and California cousins:

Visit this page

Xplastaz

Scroll down, choose “listen/watch and bonyeza the links to videos of songs like "Msimu kwa Msimu” “Aha”, “Bamiza” .

A Profile of Sali Oyugi, Kenyan Diva Rising in Boston

2004-06-15T09:17:00.000+03:00

Sali Oyugi lives in Boston.

She is a band leader, singer-songwriter and accomplished musician who has been part of the contemporary Kenyan art scene for many years. Onyango Oloo interviewed her for the DUNIA show.

click here to visit Sali's website

press here for the DUNIA interview

Suzanna Owiyo: A Concert Review and a Follow Up Interview

2004-06-15T09:00:00.000+03:00

Onyango Oloo was lucky to attend a sizzling concert by Kenyan songbird

Suzzana Owiyo at the fabled Carnivore nightspot in the Kenyan capital in September last year. Afterwards he wrote a concert review for the Nairobi-based East African Standard newspaper. About a month later, he called her from Montreal for a chat on the weekly DUNIA radio show that airs Wednesday mornings on CKUT 90.3 FM:

click here for concert review in the standard reposted on wakilisha.com

press here for the DUNIA interview

Poxi Presha Speaks Out on Piracy, Politics & Integrity of Kenyan Musicians

2004-06-15T08:49:00.000+03:00

Poxi Presha

is controversial, he is funny and has oodles of creative juices. Onyango Oloo caught up with him in at Chester House, Nairobi moments after the veteran Kenyan rapper had just finished a press conference to denounce his arrest in Mombasa:

listen here

The Voice of Radical Kenyan Youth

2004-06-15T08:39:00.000+03:00

Onyango Oloo speaks with 3 Kenyan radical and progressive youth- two from the Kimathi Movement and one a co-founder of the revolutionary, underground hip hop group, Do Klan Revolution.

The conversation took place in Nairobi in October 2003:

listen here

Interview With Binyavanga Wainaina

2004-06-15T08:25:00.000+03:00

Binyavanga Wainaina

is one of the leading writers in Kenya today. The winner of the 2002 Caines Prize for African Writing, Binyavanga is part of the core group that propels Kwani? a literary journal and website for emerging Kenyan writers and artistes. The second issue of Kwani? was launched at Nairobi's Carnivore Restaurant in early June 2004.

This following interview took place in Nairobi in October 2003:

listen here

Visit Kwani?'s Virtual Home

Tribute to Three Kenyan Hip Hop Artistes Who Died in 2003

2004-06-15T08:17:00.000+03:00

E-Sir

Wicky Mosh

and

K-rupt aka Carlton Juma

were three very talented and promising Hip Hop stars who all died under tragic circumstances - the first two died in road accidents while the third one was shot dead while trying to foil a highway robbery.

In December 2003, on the same day that K-Rupt died, Onyango Oloo composed the following song in their honour:

"Warogi Watatu"(Sheng for "The Three MCs")

Coverage of Krupt's death reposted on Kilimanjaro Entertainment site

Visit Wicky Mosh's Dedication Page

E-Sir Worked Closely With Nairobi's Enigmatic Ogopa DJs

to the defenders of the unborn...

2004-06-10T18:01:00.000+03:00

The defenders of the unborn
Run away from the newly born
The defenders of the unborn
Will take away the rights of women already born
The defenders of the unborn will scorn the lowly born
Even as they berate women who choose not to give birth
To a child condemned to squalor, want and possible abandonment

The defenders of the unborn
Say nothing to the irresponsible men who unleash their seeds
Straight into the wombs of women they refuse to support
Some of these men are the very defenders of the unborn
The defenders of the unborn say nothing of the abortions they have paid for

The defenders of the unborn
Mealy mouthed vile haters of women
Posing as lovers of children they will never take care of

Where are the defenders of the unborn
When the children already born are crying for milk
Where are the defenders of the unborn
When the children already born need shelter
Where are the defenders of the unborn
When the mothers of the unborn are looking
For guidance and condoms to prevent the unborn from being unborn

Onyango Oloo
Toronto
Thursday, June 10, 2004
10:54 am EST

a materialist marvels at the spiritual bloom

2004-06-10T14:16:00.000+03:00

Hope rises up
Like a brave new flower in the semi-desert
Determined to grow up in full bloom
In the surrounding desolation
Possibilities open up
Like the inscrutable, impenetrable gates
Of a maximum security penitentiary
Unleashing a long held prisoner from captivity
Possibilities open up
New doors to hopeful futures

For years the sun never shone in your world
They gave up on you
Making it easier for you to give up on yourself
For years a thick blanket of dour despondency
Stifled you, almost choking you
Back seat drivers without a license
Told you where not to go
While strangers guided you to a dead end rubbish dump

One day you woke up and washed your face
And was surprised that you could still see
And had not gone blind as you had feared
One day you woke up to the sound of beautiful music
Years after being resigned to an apparent deafness
One day you woke up with a giggle in your throat
Surprising the daily moan from the pit of your stomach
And expelling it forever from your being

You told me the other day
That all this came to pass
Through your spiritual renewal
As you found sustenance through a new relationship
With the one you call Lord, Son of Man, King of Kings
The only begotten Son

As you know
I march to the beat of a different drummer
My stubborn optimism comes from more mundane, prosaic and earthly sources
Unlike your ethereal, poetic and otherworldly inspirations
So I would be lying if I said
That I know exactly what is causing that wonderful tremulous upheaval within you

I may not exactly embrace
The spiritual underpinning of your recent renaissance
But I can certainly feel its unmistakable vibes
Every time we converse
I may not share the faith that drives your rededication to life
But I can certainly hear its positive side effects in the pealing laughter
At the other end of the telephone line
I am very glad for what has happened to you spiritually
Because I am one of its main beneficiaries, materially…

you are wondering when i am coming...

2004-06-10T13:37:00.000+03:00

Six eighteen in the am
A cloudy Thursday morning promises
To be another languid and humid day
In these northern reaches of these western parts
I forgot to ask you last night
Whether it was going to rain or shine
In those equatorial, eastern parts
Six eighteen on an early June morning
And I am missing you, pining for you once again

The antipasto, the aperitif, the canapé
the hors d'oeuvre
also known as our every other day
telephonic lovey dovey chit chat
Is just making us more famished
With carvenous desire as we hungrily
Look forward to the entrée, the main dish
Of our face to face, mouth to mouth
Hand to breast, thigh to thigh
Skin to skin intercontinental
Transoceanic reunification
In a wide, well made, soon to be scrambled bed
In a quiet neighbourhood on the western mainland
Of the city they sometimes call Mvita, nicknamed Kongowea
Part of Mwambao and known to all as Mombasa
Six eighteen in the am
A cloudy Thursday morning promises
To be a humid day
Six eighteen on an early June morning
And I am missing you, pining for you once again

The Killer: A Short Story Inspired By The 15 Baptized Fetuses of Nairobi

2004-06-04T07:47:00.000+03:00

Montreal,
Friday, June 04, 2004
Slightly after Midnight

Ajwang’ Nokwanya sat in the third pew from the back, deliberately close to the exit.

Like many of the hundreds of worshippers in the Holy Family Basilica on this grave Thursday in early June, her body was wracked with sobs and her cheeks caked with layers of tears that were too recent to dry.

She reached into her bag, groping and fumbling for another handkerchief- she had blown repeatedly onto the other one which she now stuffed, crimpled, crumpled and crumbled deep inside the left pocket of the dainty and spiffy looking jacket that she picked up at Gikomba on Monday.

The middle aged woman in the brownish habit of a nun ensconced between her and the Kisii looking swarthy man in a blue shirt and a blue sweater kept muttering:

“What kind of an animal could do this to a poor child of God? I just don’t understand.”

At the pulpit, the Right Reverend Cornelius Korir was full of passion and she immediately thought of those angry prophets in the Old Testament letting the ancient Israelites have it for once again forsaking Yahweh for Babylonian mammon.

“The terrible holocaust of abortion should be stopped!" the Man of God thundered...

"The Sheria has been too easy for these criminals in white overalls! The law is letting them get away with these odious, brutal misdeeds! Who shall speak for the innocent unborn? Who shall stand up for the rights of these children of God?”

Ajwang’ was by now weeping uncontrollably as Reverend Korir went on:

“These doctors are evil! They are abetting heinous crimes against humanity! How can they allow themselves to become butchers in so heartless a manner is alarming indeed; for how can one deal death and life with the same hand?", he paused, and switching gears a bit exhorted the gathered flock to remember Gianna Beretta Molla, the Italian woman who died over forty years ago when she was almost forty. Gianna died rather than abort her unborn. And the Holy Father had made her saint for her noble sacrifice.

Later after the fetuses had been baptized Ajwang’ was among the mourners who followed the tiny coffins on their final somber and grim journey to the desolate Langata cemetery.

Why had she come to the service in the first place?

Ajwang’ was not even a Catholic.

She did not know any of the unborn fetuses or their runaway killer mothers.

She did not even live in Nairobi.

Ajwang’ had been passing through the muddied city in the sun on her way from Naivasha to Mombasa where she lived with her cousin Bertha.

Two weeks ago she had made the dreaded trek back to the flower farm where she used to work to collect her final settlement and some of the belongings she had left behind when she was fired abruptly in November last year.

Now, as she waited for the Shuttle at KENCOM that would take her to Adam’s Arcade on Ngong Road where she was staying over at her uncle’s, Ajwang’s mind flew back to that terrible afternoon in late October that would stay with her like a kidonda forever flowing with pus, attacked by cruel flies, refusing to dry up.

There she was...Barely a month after she was employed the Nyapara retained her check-off card.

When Ajwang’ went to him and asked for the card, he told her that he loved her. He ignored her when she told him that she was engaged to be married-telling her he was a patient man and could make her very happy at the company. He was going to be promoted to be assistant manager. Did she want to be the new supervisor, the new nyapara?

Ajwang’ was too smart to fall for that tired line of a brand new employee leapfrogging everybody after she had bent over-so she did not say anything as she took back her card.

About a week later, the same thing happened again with the check off card.

But this time when she went to the office to ask for the card back, the Nyapara was a changed man. He immediately locked the door. He asked her if she had reconsidered. She told him there was nothing to think over since she was getting married in December- two days after Jamhuri Day.

He asked her where her fiancé lived and she told him he lived in Section 58 in Nakuru although they planned to move to Kisumu where her fiance was going to start working with Safaricom cellular company.

Before she knew it, he had slapped her very hard across the face.

Brandishing a knife he ordered her to lie on the table after he had ripped off her panties. Knife at her throat she was ordered not to whimper, not to make a sound…

Even though she had tried to block that painful memory, she could not erase the gleefully sloppy grin as he panted and wheezed sweating as he had his way with her.

After he had finished he roughly pushed her away, told her to get her stuff and go and warned her that he would kill her if he dared to mention this incident.

So what gave her the courage to go to the manager after three days and report everything?

It was only after she was fired that she realized that the manager was the supervisor’s uncle- that is how the Nyapara got the job in the first place.

The rudest shock was waiting for her in Nakuru.

She had always trusted Joseph Wuod Kanyamuot.

They had been together for four years- since they met when she was part of Menengai’s hockey team and he was the goalkeeper of the same school’s soccer team. He was a couple of classes ahead of Ajwang’.

He worked for some time in his cousin’s private clinic near Shauri Yako. As for Ajwang', she kept “tarmacking” while living with her older sister who worked with the Nakuru Municipal Council.

Having seen friends and relatives die of the AIDS scourge, it had not taken them long to agree on "zero grazing" with a generous helping of “socks.”

There were no secrets between them so when she burst into his one room dwelling that he had “inherited” from his father who used to be with the Railways she immediately rushed into his arms, bawling out the details of her rape ordeal at the flower farm in Naivasha.

He just held her tightly, not saying anything until far into the night.

After what seemed like an eternity he simply said:

“Lando Nyar Uyoma, let us go to sleep. We will talk in the morning.” He hugged her and cuddled with her and she felt warm and protected and that night she did not have any nightmares.

In the morning she lit the jiko and made some tea. The Blue Band had ran out so she just piled the treacley sweet red jam on to the slabs of bread that she had carved up. Wuod Kanyamuot preferred “sturungi” tea without milk.

This morning he was acting strange.

He did not have to go to the clinic until 11:45 today, being Thursday, but it was already 7:30 and he was getting restless, polishing his shoes compulsively with a hint of vague malevolence.

Abruptly he asked for the Bible which was on the shelf next to Ajwang’.

Perplexed she handed it to him.

“What is wrong Joseph? “She asked, her brows knitting.

“You are asking me what is wrong? I should ask you the same question! You have failed me! I have buried three of my brothers. I refused to look at another woman. You were the one for me. You were going to be the mother of my child. Now look what you have mixed yourself up in.”

“But what have I done?”

“I told you not to go to Naivasha. I told you to wait for me. I told you I was going to get that Safaricom job and stop slaving for that selfish cousin of mine. You refused. You had to go to Naivasha. Now look what has happened.”

“Joseph, I am not thirteen years old. I am a grown woman. I can not depend on my sister who barely earns enough to pay her rent. You surprise me, dear, you really do...”

“If I surprise you, then you shock me. Anyway, I do not have time to waste. Hand me the Bible.”

He leafed through the weathered tome.

Then he started reading.

“I am reading from the First Book of Kings, Chapter 16 verses 29 to 33. And in the thirty and eighth year of Asa king of Judah began Ahab the son of Omri to reign over Israel: and Ahab the son of Omri reigned over Israel in Samaria twenty and two years.
And Ahab the son of Omri did evil in the sight of the LORD above all that were before him. And it came to pass, as if it had been a light thing for him to walk in the sins of Jeroboam the son of Nebat, that he took to wife Jezebel the daughter of Ethbaal king of the Zidonians, and went and served Baal, and worshipped him. And he reared up an altar for Baal in the house of Baal, which he had built in Samaria. And Ahab made a grove; and Ahab did more to provoke the LORD God of Israel to anger than all the kings of Israel that were before him.”

She could hardly believe her ears.

“Joseph, have you gone mad? What is this nonsense! I am Not Jezebel and you are not Ahab!”

“I knew it. I knew it. Right under my very nose. Worshipping Baal all this time. I should have listened to the pastor when he warned against you Jezebel. But I am not done yet. We now move to the Second Book of Kings Verses 7 to 10. And thou shalt smite the house of Ahab thy master, that I may avenge the blood of my servants the prophets, and the blood of all the servants of the LORD, at the hand of Jezebel. For the whole house of Ahab shall perish: and I will cut off from Ahab him that pisseth against the wall, and him that is shut up and left in Israel: And I will make the house of Ahab like the house of Jeroboam the son of Nebat, and like the house of Baasha the son of Ahijah:And the dogs shall eat Jezebel in the portion of Jezreel, and there shall be none to bury her. And he opened the door, and fled.”

Joseph paused.

“The pastor told me that you were Jezebel and that I should not follow you. But I never listened to him. And see what has happened to me!”

“What has happened to YOU? I was RAPED remember!”

“Jezebel was a liar and a fornicator. She was a devil worshipper. She paid homage to Baal instead of the Living God. I don’t buy that crap about being raped. You evil seductress, you threw yourself at that Nyapara and now you have come back to finish the work of your Master Baal!”

Too stunned for words, Ajwang’ just stood there.

“These are the end times Siku za Kiama. AIDS is one of the signs of the times. I may have perished already. I just hope for my sake that I am NOT Ahab, O you evil Jezebel. I want you out of my house by Saturday! And if you try to entice me by opening those wicked legs of yours, I will smite you with my bare hands! Keep praying for atonement for I am sure you have been infected you evil witch!”

Her friends had told her that Joseph had been acting strange lately, but she refused to believe it.

At the time, she stubbornly saw a spiritual reawakening where people saw a man slowly losing contact with reality….

Well, that was then, and this was now.

Too ashamed to face her friends to whom she had been blabbing about her December wedding, she just wanted to get lost. Bury herself where nobody would find her...

Nakuru was too small.

And she had never liked Nairobi.

And that is when Bertha came in.

When Ajwang’ flashed her Kencell mobile, Bertha did not hesitate to call back on the 0721 number.

“Of course you can come and stay with me. You will love Mombasa”.

After Joseph, she could not trust anybody with her terrible ordeal.

Bertha was wonderful- all she knew was that Ajwang’s boyfriend had kicked her out and that she had lost her job.

So when Ajwang’ missed her period in November no one else knew.

She was more worried about the HIV because her violator had not bothered to use a condom.

What was she to do?

She was a good Christian and was horrified at the idea of killing an innocent child- even if it was a few hours old.

But there was something in what Joseph had read to her which made her believe that the Nyapara was Baal personified and that she was carrying the devil’s seed in her.

She felt so filthy.

There were days when she could take four showers a day- one in the morning one in the afternoon, one around six thirty and one just before she went to bed at ten thirty or eleven.

Bertha thought it was the humidity of Mombasa and just kept joking about it.

They stayed near the shops at Kiziwi, in the old Swahili houses next to the maisonettes near the Polytechnic and Ajwang’ was entranced by the wachuuzi with their mbaazi and chapati. Or the Mkokoteni cart pushers with their various wares- Mombasa was something else.

What had happened in Naivasha was a sore with pus overflowing- what was growing inside her she felt was like a jigger that itched and itched and itched as it grew and grew and grew and she was terrified that one day she would wake up and find out that she was really Jezebel making animal sacrifices to Baal right there in their Kiziwi single room dwelling.

One Saturday, when she was at the Kongowea market she ran into Wangeci, an old classmate from Menengai who was now a nurse at the Coast General Hospital.

Wangeci was radiant and happy to see Ajwang’.

Was it because they were old classmates reuniting in a new town or was it because Wangeci had lost her virginity to Ajwang’s late brother who used to lust after Wangeci whenever Wangeci came to visit Ajwang’ or was it because Wangeci was a nurse?

Whatever the case, like a flood, the terrible secrets of the flower farm gushed out of Ajwang like an impatient gully dashing down the estate after a torrent of rain.

She did not leave out anything.

They both cried and hugged.

“Don’t worry. I know somebody. Come over to the hospital next Wednesday at exactly 8:30 pm. And no, don’t worry about the money.”

Ajwang knew what it was all about.

She knew it was a Big Sin.

Which was going to be her salvation from Baal’s evil seed.

So it had happened.

She had felt cleansed and relieved.

Her test results for the big bad virus made her smile from ear to ear.

Soon after that, she picked up Bertha’s invitation to start attending her church more regularly.

By late January she had been saved.

By mid February, she was one of the most active members of the Church.

The young pastor was impressed at her precocious faith. Ajwang’ grasped theological points so effortlessly. She spoke in tongues almost at will.

“You will be healing the sick within a year”, he prophesized.

Did the pastor mean that?

She must be blessed, she who had been named Ajwang’ Nokwanya, meaning, “The girl who was picked up after being abandoned” she, Ajwang’, would be a prophetess planting the seed for the Lord Jesus Christ?

She felt so special.

And there was no doubt in her mind that it would all come to pass…

How did she end up staring lovingly at the pastor’s bedroom ceiling in Bamburi one Saturday afternoon in late March?

She did not regret what was happening between her and the pastor.

He was so loving and gentle and surprised her with how experienced he was.

They never spoke about what they were doing.

Just adored and doted on each other. Ajwang’ had never loved anyone like this before. She felt as if her heart would break into thirty six different pieces and reform again, so bubbly and giddy she felt, whenever she was alone with him. He was so different at home- did not feel such a burden on his young shoulders.

She was not going to sully all this bliss by talking about Naivasha. When Ajwang’ insisted on condoms he thought it was just the natural thing because he was well stocked.

But he did not know about Baal’s evil seed did he?

She refused to ask him what he wanted to do with her, remembering the nightmare with Joseph. And Oh No, Ajwang’ refused to see herself as Jezebel.

For her, the pastor was a wonderful shepherd and an even better lover.

Her world came crashing down in late May when she was slapped across the face with those unborn throw aways.

For the first time she started thinking about what she had always called The Operation.

Ajwang’ felt... How did she feel? She felt…how did she feel?

She did not know how it felt...

The same weekend the photos appeared in the papers a visiting pastor came from Nairobi.

Rev. Stephen Kyalo was accompanied by Philip Musen, a new Baptist missionary from Kentucky in the United States.

She could not forget that service.

Everyone was so angry and horrified.

Everyone talked of the killers of the unborns.

Did they know, she asked herself silently, that she was there among them?

Could they somehow tell what she had done?

She wondered.

Bertha was even more upset than Reverend Kyalo.

“If I meet one of these killers I will personally strangle them- Forgive me LORD but I am only human! Who are these evil people who would kill GOD’s creature growing in them?”

Ajwang’ pretended to be too overwhelmed to say anything.

That was two weeks ago.

So here she was in Nairobi, preparing to travel back to Mombasa the next day.

She thought about what Reverend Korir had said.

Rev. Kyalo’s and Bertha’s words were ringing in her ears.

Ajwang’ kept seeing those little coffins- especially the one for Innocent, one of the dead unborns.

She was worried about what would happen to the soul of her own fetus which did not have a name and had not been baptized.

Would that infant soul keep traveling aimlessly from now till Armageddon between the gates of Heaven and the dungeons of Hell because its cruel mother had chosen her life over its existence?

Over and over and over again the headline from the newspaper kept playing in her head:

“Cops Launch Massive Search for Fugitive Killer Moms Cops Launch Massive Search for Fugitive Killer Moms Cops Launch Massive Search for Fugitive Killer Moms Cops Launch Massive Search for Fugitive Killer Moms Cops Launch Massive Search for Fugitive Killer Moms Cops Launch Massive Search for Fugitive Killer Moms Cops Launch Massive Search for Fugitive Killer Moms Cops Launch Massive Search for Fugitive Killer Moms Cops Launch Massive Search for Fugitive Killer Moms Cops Launch Massive Search for Fugitive Killer Moms Cops Launch Massive Search for Fugitive Killer Moms Cops Launch Massive Search for Fugitive Killer Moms Cops Launch Massive Search for Fugitive Killer Moms Cops Launch Massive Search for Fugitive Killer Moms Cops Launch Massive Search for Fugitive Killer Moms Cops Launch Massive Search for Fugitive Killer Moms Cops Launch Massive Search for Fugitive Killer Moms Cops Launch Massive Search for Fugitive Killer Moms Cops Launch Massive Search for Fugitive Killer Moms Cops Launch Massive Search for Fugitive Killer Moms Cops Launch Massive Search for Fugitive Killer Moms Cops Launch Massive Search for Fugitive Killer Moms Cops Launch Massive Search for Fugitive Killer Moms Cops Launch Massive Search for Fugitive Killer Moms…

over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again….

ENOUGH!

She knew exactly what she was going to do.

She was not going to take that Shuttle to Adam’s Arcade after all.

Ajwang’ started walking rapidly away from KENCOM towards Kimathi Street.

Yes.

Here she was.

She hesitated briefly in front of the beige building with the round towers.

Then she walked in, turned left and took the lift to the second floor.

She ignored the askari and went straight to the slender bored looking Gikuyu receptionist with the beady eyes.

“Is this NATION House?”, she asked breathlessly.

“Yes it is, what can I do for you?”

“I would like to talk to a reporter about those killer moms the police have been looking for.”

“Really? What do you know?”

Ajwang’ gave the receptionist such a glare that before long there was this tall wiry man with a sad look with a notepad asking her tentatively:

“ I hear you wanted to talk to a reporter?”

“ Yes. My name is Ajwang’ Nokwanya and I am one of the Killer Mothers you have been looking for. I want to confess my crime.”

The End

Onyango Oloo
Montreal,
Friday, June 04, 2004
12:06

A Conversation with a Nigerian Abiku in Montreal

2004-05-31T22:11:00.000+03:00

On Saturday, May 29, 2004, Onyango Oloo interviewed ijose benin, a Nigerian poet, writer, painter and multi-media artist living in Canada. The conversation took place in Montreal. Please click here:

listen here