1) DNA is not merely a molecule with a pattern; it is a code, a language, and an information storage mechanism.
2) All codes are created by man; there is no natural process known to science that creates coded information.
3) Therefore DNA was designed by man.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Saturday, April 25, 2009
The Good Samaritan
Once upon a time, in the good old bible, robbers beset upon a man. In a time-honoured ordeal, which is quite familiar to us Kenyans, he was beaten, robbed and left to die by the roadside. While he was laying there a pastor (they were called Pharisees in those days) also passed by. He prayed for the soul of this fellow and requested that the lord god lay tribulations on them robbers. Feeling his pastoral duties done, he passed on to attend to the rest of the folk of his congregation. An elder of the church also passed by, looked at him, made noises of pity and passed far by just in case the robbers where still lying in wait for the next victim. While that hapless fellow was still lying by the roadside a Samaritan (I guess in the Kenya of today we’d call him a parking boy) saw him lying there and decided to help him. He gave him first aid, took him to the nearest clinic and even paid for the fellow’s treatment since the clinical attendant looked like throwing the guy out if he didn’t have a penny. He then continued on his journey knowing that his fellow man was, if not in good shape, in good hands.
Ever since this story was spewed forth from the pulpits and used as an example of human kindness, Samaritan and Kindness have been made almost synonymous. In fact quite a number of people seem to think that being a Samaritan is equivalent with being good. Most of us have quite forgotten what the real message in the story was.
First of all a Samaritan, to the Jewish way of thinking, was an evil person. These were a tribe that had fallen out of grace with the lord god and were generally accused of all the evils we lay on parking boys or matatu touts of these days. They were considered evil and untouchable. To the Jew the Samaritan should have relieved the fellow of even the little that the robbers had left on him. It would have been just about as surprising as a parking boy taking you to a restaurant and paying for your meal because you appeared to be starving. In it’s own way that was a great leap of faith to expect help from those quarters.
So what was the real moral of the story?
The Samaritan stands for that person whom in our deepest thoughts we misjudge as incapable of doing a good act. That bitch who stole your man while pretending to be your best friend, the fellow who backstabbed you to the boss while singing your praises to your face, that bouncer who decided you don’t have the wherewithal to enter the hot new club, that police person who extorted 2k from you for a really spurious reason when your pockets were kin to the infamous church mouse. We’ve all met these guys. They do not seem to have an iota of human kindness in them. They are to be shunned, excluded and even removed from polite society. They are not people who you’ll want to introduce as friends or even passing acquaintances.
Yet surprising enough these are people with families, friends, feelings and even sometimes ooze the milk of human kindness. They grieve, commiserate, and celebrate just like the rest of us. They, too, have their human failing and foibles. Before we rush to judge we should be sympathetic, even when we are at the receiving end, and try to find that spark of humanness in them. The little we do may eventually lead to these guys becoming more human and making our lives richer for having known them.
Ever since this story was spewed forth from the pulpits and used as an example of human kindness, Samaritan and Kindness have been made almost synonymous. In fact quite a number of people seem to think that being a Samaritan is equivalent with being good. Most of us have quite forgotten what the real message in the story was.
First of all a Samaritan, to the Jewish way of thinking, was an evil person. These were a tribe that had fallen out of grace with the lord god and were generally accused of all the evils we lay on parking boys or matatu touts of these days. They were considered evil and untouchable. To the Jew the Samaritan should have relieved the fellow of even the little that the robbers had left on him. It would have been just about as surprising as a parking boy taking you to a restaurant and paying for your meal because you appeared to be starving. In it’s own way that was a great leap of faith to expect help from those quarters.
So what was the real moral of the story?
The Samaritan stands for that person whom in our deepest thoughts we misjudge as incapable of doing a good act. That bitch who stole your man while pretending to be your best friend, the fellow who backstabbed you to the boss while singing your praises to your face, that bouncer who decided you don’t have the wherewithal to enter the hot new club, that police person who extorted 2k from you for a really spurious reason when your pockets were kin to the infamous church mouse. We’ve all met these guys. They do not seem to have an iota of human kindness in them. They are to be shunned, excluded and even removed from polite society. They are not people who you’ll want to introduce as friends or even passing acquaintances.
Yet surprising enough these are people with families, friends, feelings and even sometimes ooze the milk of human kindness. They grieve, commiserate, and celebrate just like the rest of us. They, too, have their human failing and foibles. Before we rush to judge we should be sympathetic, even when we are at the receiving end, and try to find that spark of humanness in them. The little we do may eventually lead to these guys becoming more human and making our lives richer for having known them.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Of wants and relationships
Modern man seems to overly interested in relationships. That same old thing between man to woman, man to man, woman to woman, adult to child, senior to junior, lover to lover, or even peer to peer. Volumes of books and many hours of talk shows have devoted to this topic. On would imagine that given this level of analysis we would have a universal panacea for relationships. The common theme in all these millions of words is how to make relationships work. The idea is always that I want abc and I really need this relationship to work however it doesn’t seem to have def or even ghi that I need to feel I’m in a relationship. We seem to be living in the I want society when it comes to relationships and, thus, quite a lot of relationship gurus are making a killing. What is it, exactly, that we are doing wrong?
Lets start at the beginning. What is a relationship?
Some dictionaries define it as A particular type of connection existing between people related to or having dealings with each other. Simply any interaction between two different entities. Thus that weekly spat I have with the neighbour who parks his car badly after a night out in my parking slot is a relationship. That interaction we have with the local Rhoda at that corner of the month when pockets are empty is a relationship. That minor interaction you have with the city council’s ‘corruption is evil’ parking attendants is a relationship. What you the (sometimes) faceless reader and I have is a relationship.
The relationship that has however caused literally millions of words to be spoken and written is that special relationship between two lovers. That strange feeling of being in love. Fortunes have been made advising people about love. Wars have been fought, whole civilizations died, families and communities have broken because of this thing called love. Why are these relationships such a source of pain? Why do they fail?
There are quite a lot of reasons but I’ll limit myself here to what appears to be the largest failing of modern living.
Men and women in the modern world are beset by many trails. The speed of modern living has conditioned us to always search for the fastest way of getting things done. We are a result oriented society, we want to see results immediately for effort put in. If it were left to us, we’d never grow oak trees. When most of us enter a relationship we imagine we will get tangible results in so many days, and a permanent commitment in a few more days after that then we can move on to a new project. For most men it simply involves getting into bed with the object of their desire, while some women it is in getting into the home of that selfsame object. At this stage we believe the project over and can now look for a new challenge.
This attitude leads later to some of those in the relationship to feel cheated by what they got, and feelings of resentment start creeping in. Unfortunately the lives of the rich and famous as seen on the idiot box make us feel we really are losing out on something that we could have. What a relationship really needs is time, all the time. I do not intned to imply that every waking minute of your time should be hell bent on the relationship, I also do not imply that a once a month phone call will do wonders for you. It’s the time invested in the small things that you do together. All relationships involve some level of interdependence. People in a relationship tend to influence each other, share their thoughts and feelings, and engage in activities together. Because of this interdependence, anything that changes or impacts one member of the relationship will have some level of impact on the other member. Thus the more micro things you do together the closer you get. And for those who might be thinking so, that’s not about the amount of sex you are having.
Think of the last time you told your partner you loved him or her. Think of the last time you cut an appointment to take her to the salon. Think of the last time you gave out a night with the girls to go with him to that dingy bar he loves so much. Think of the last time you surprised her with a bouquet of flowers when you hadn’t done something wrong the night before. Most of us in a relationship tend to ignore the tiny things that could make a difference to your partner. We think because we are in a relationship they should change to suit us while we want to remain what we are. It is a two-way lane. You’ve all got to sacrifice a bit for them and they have to sacrifice a bit for you. You need, even in your individuality, to take time out for your relationship.
African men are notorious for imagining that the lady they intend to marry should give up her independent thoughts and merge into the collective “family” while they can afford to maintain their paths. Careers for women in a relationship are thought to be temporary things while waiting for a man to come over and complete her life. How many of us think that maybe she does like the job she’s doing, or she would like to further her career to very high levels? How many of us even imagine that that lady you are in could one day aspire to the highest office in the land? And how many of us are willing to support them in that dream knowing that sometimes it will impact on our own paths and goals? How many of us are willing to sometimes let part of our dreams go in order to support our partner’s dreams? Your ability to do this will probably more than anything else be what will keep that relationship going strong.
A successful relationship is between partners. They evolve each other’s goals and dreams, encourage each other and support each other in whatever the other likes even if they sometimes have to let go a bit of what they want. We live in an I want and we apply the I want to our relationships not realising that many a time our partners to want, and we should be helping then, nay, encouraging them to want.
Lets start at the beginning. What is a relationship?
Some dictionaries define it as A particular type of connection existing between people related to or having dealings with each other. Simply any interaction between two different entities. Thus that weekly spat I have with the neighbour who parks his car badly after a night out in my parking slot is a relationship. That interaction we have with the local Rhoda at that corner of the month when pockets are empty is a relationship. That minor interaction you have with the city council’s ‘corruption is evil’ parking attendants is a relationship. What you the (sometimes) faceless reader and I have is a relationship.
The relationship that has however caused literally millions of words to be spoken and written is that special relationship between two lovers. That strange feeling of being in love. Fortunes have been made advising people about love. Wars have been fought, whole civilizations died, families and communities have broken because of this thing called love. Why are these relationships such a source of pain? Why do they fail?
There are quite a lot of reasons but I’ll limit myself here to what appears to be the largest failing of modern living.
Men and women in the modern world are beset by many trails. The speed of modern living has conditioned us to always search for the fastest way of getting things done. We are a result oriented society, we want to see results immediately for effort put in. If it were left to us, we’d never grow oak trees. When most of us enter a relationship we imagine we will get tangible results in so many days, and a permanent commitment in a few more days after that then we can move on to a new project. For most men it simply involves getting into bed with the object of their desire, while some women it is in getting into the home of that selfsame object. At this stage we believe the project over and can now look for a new challenge.
This attitude leads later to some of those in the relationship to feel cheated by what they got, and feelings of resentment start creeping in. Unfortunately the lives of the rich and famous as seen on the idiot box make us feel we really are losing out on something that we could have. What a relationship really needs is time, all the time. I do not intned to imply that every waking minute of your time should be hell bent on the relationship, I also do not imply that a once a month phone call will do wonders for you. It’s the time invested in the small things that you do together. All relationships involve some level of interdependence. People in a relationship tend to influence each other, share their thoughts and feelings, and engage in activities together. Because of this interdependence, anything that changes or impacts one member of the relationship will have some level of impact on the other member. Thus the more micro things you do together the closer you get. And for those who might be thinking so, that’s not about the amount of sex you are having.
Think of the last time you told your partner you loved him or her. Think of the last time you cut an appointment to take her to the salon. Think of the last time you gave out a night with the girls to go with him to that dingy bar he loves so much. Think of the last time you surprised her with a bouquet of flowers when you hadn’t done something wrong the night before. Most of us in a relationship tend to ignore the tiny things that could make a difference to your partner. We think because we are in a relationship they should change to suit us while we want to remain what we are. It is a two-way lane. You’ve all got to sacrifice a bit for them and they have to sacrifice a bit for you. You need, even in your individuality, to take time out for your relationship.
African men are notorious for imagining that the lady they intend to marry should give up her independent thoughts and merge into the collective “family” while they can afford to maintain their paths. Careers for women in a relationship are thought to be temporary things while waiting for a man to come over and complete her life. How many of us think that maybe she does like the job she’s doing, or she would like to further her career to very high levels? How many of us even imagine that that lady you are in could one day aspire to the highest office in the land? And how many of us are willing to support them in that dream knowing that sometimes it will impact on our own paths and goals? How many of us are willing to sometimes let part of our dreams go in order to support our partner’s dreams? Your ability to do this will probably more than anything else be what will keep that relationship going strong.
A successful relationship is between partners. They evolve each other’s goals and dreams, encourage each other and support each other in whatever the other likes even if they sometimes have to let go a bit of what they want. We live in an I want and we apply the I want to our relationships not realising that many a time our partners to want, and we should be helping then, nay, encouraging them to want.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
War
They were in love. Maybe puppy love, maybe it was real love, but they never got the chance to find out. The year was 1982. The country was in the throes of yet another civil war. Gunshots would ring out at anytime of day or night. Armed thugs roamed the countryside and cities shooting, raping and robbing at will. No policeman could be called upon for they, too, were in fear for their lives. And yet they were in love. He would spend the hours before the bell rang waiting for the time she would be with him. End of class was the beginning of his life, for only then could he see her, talk to her and walk with her. Every hour spent away from her was an agony. Every hour spent with her was heaven. He would walk her home after school, and she’d walk him back just to prolong the time they could spend together. They would talk of everything, and of nothing. They would listen to the sounds of a city in chaos and yet believe the world was theirs, for in the face of love what can prevail against them. Yes they were young. The times and cares of adulthood were yet to fall upon them, but they were sure they would always be together. In each other they had found a soul mate, a lover, a friend and a companion.
That day was just like any other day. Being a Saturday school was out, however he had band practice in the morning, and she had Christian Union to attend to. Band practice was a joy to him. The clarinet was like an extension of his soul, and with all the love he could only but play well. The clarinet was the only other thing that came close to the love he had for her. In his music he could express himself more than words could. He could play his feeling for her and feel the power in the music. She loved listening to him play.
She came early that day. Band practice had not ended so she sat and watched him play. Everybody could see she had eyes for only the clarinet player, and she did not even once look at another player. She loved the sound of the clarinet in his hands, and sometimes he would play for her.
After band practice his colleagues would rib him about how she was looking at him. They would clown around but you could see the envy in their eyes. That day he could hardly wait. They had a whole afternoon to be together! They had planned to go into town and just look around. Nobody would miss them until later in the day and they intended to make the best of it. Hand in hand they left school not knowing this was their last date together.
They decided to walk into town. That way they could have more time just by themselves. Forty-five minutes of walking, talking, and loving. The day was theirs and even the not so distant sound of gunfire could not spoil the mood. Lunch followed. Fish in groundnut sauce and boiled plantains. He cared not what he was eating as long as he was with her. They talked and occasionally touched during the meal. Looking at them you could tell there was something special between them. Something you would want for yourself too. Something that was to end that day.
They knew eventually they still had to go back home. They didn’t want to part, if they could they would have remained together forever. But home time was beckoning. Parents still had to be appeased and evening was drawing near. To postpone the separation they decide to walk back. Hand in hand they walk. Talking, laughing, loving. Hand in hand they face the world.
Suddenly he feels something whiz by and she falls. He hears the sounds of bullets as he turns towards her. He cannot understand the shock on her face, or that red stuff on her side. He lifts her, carries her in his arms. He has to reach a hospital, but there are no cars passing by, there are no people walking by. Everybody had hidden from the sudden danger lurking about. But he cannot leave her there, he cannot run and leave her anymore than he could leave himself. He tries to run with her in his arms but he cannot run far. He stumbles and somehow still manages to keep on. He falls, and picks himself up. He has to get to a hospital.
Exhausted he crawls, she has not opened her eyes for the last hour but now she opens them. He is kneeling beside her. She is cradled in his arms. Blood is all over him. He cannot believe all that blood is from one person. Her breathing is shallow. She tries to speak. He has to strain to listen.
“Kiss me” she whispers.
He kisses her. She closes her eyes. “I love you” she breathes.
Their first kiss.
And their last.
That day was just like any other day. Being a Saturday school was out, however he had band practice in the morning, and she had Christian Union to attend to. Band practice was a joy to him. The clarinet was like an extension of his soul, and with all the love he could only but play well. The clarinet was the only other thing that came close to the love he had for her. In his music he could express himself more than words could. He could play his feeling for her and feel the power in the music. She loved listening to him play.
She came early that day. Band practice had not ended so she sat and watched him play. Everybody could see she had eyes for only the clarinet player, and she did not even once look at another player. She loved the sound of the clarinet in his hands, and sometimes he would play for her.
After band practice his colleagues would rib him about how she was looking at him. They would clown around but you could see the envy in their eyes. That day he could hardly wait. They had a whole afternoon to be together! They had planned to go into town and just look around. Nobody would miss them until later in the day and they intended to make the best of it. Hand in hand they left school not knowing this was their last date together.
They decided to walk into town. That way they could have more time just by themselves. Forty-five minutes of walking, talking, and loving. The day was theirs and even the not so distant sound of gunfire could not spoil the mood. Lunch followed. Fish in groundnut sauce and boiled plantains. He cared not what he was eating as long as he was with her. They talked and occasionally touched during the meal. Looking at them you could tell there was something special between them. Something you would want for yourself too. Something that was to end that day.
They knew eventually they still had to go back home. They didn’t want to part, if they could they would have remained together forever. But home time was beckoning. Parents still had to be appeased and evening was drawing near. To postpone the separation they decide to walk back. Hand in hand they walk. Talking, laughing, loving. Hand in hand they face the world.
Suddenly he feels something whiz by and she falls. He hears the sounds of bullets as he turns towards her. He cannot understand the shock on her face, or that red stuff on her side. He lifts her, carries her in his arms. He has to reach a hospital, but there are no cars passing by, there are no people walking by. Everybody had hidden from the sudden danger lurking about. But he cannot leave her there, he cannot run and leave her anymore than he could leave himself. He tries to run with her in his arms but he cannot run far. He stumbles and somehow still manages to keep on. He falls, and picks himself up. He has to get to a hospital.
Exhausted he crawls, she has not opened her eyes for the last hour but now she opens them. He is kneeling beside her. She is cradled in his arms. Blood is all over him. He cannot believe all that blood is from one person. Her breathing is shallow. She tries to speak. He has to strain to listen.
“Kiss me” she whispers.
He kisses her. She closes her eyes. “I love you” she breathes.
Their first kiss.
And their last.
Monday, December 29, 2008
Seasons Galore
Tis’ the season to be jolly and like most of us Kenyans I will be out eating, drinking and doing some of things I’ll later deny I could have done. In the spirit of Kenyan Christmas, quite a number of goats, not a few chicken, and a splattering of cows, fish, and various fowl will lose their lives to satisfy this jolliness that I and my fellow Kenyans will enjoy. This season brings fond memories of Christmases gone by. Some mine, and some certainly not mine. (I still pledge the fifth on those)
In the days gone by we used to trek all the way to our reserves to celebrate this season. Naturally we would carry all manner of things to show how good the city has been to us and hide the kind of lie we really lived in the city. This is the time when we buy exotic foods we never actually eat, wear rented tuxedos, and hire cars to impress the village folks as to what kind of life we lead in the city of lights and garbage.
One Christmas gone by, a friend of mine who had just landed a job decided he is going back to the village to amaze his village mates on his new found success and impress a certain pretty diva who then had had no eyes for him. With that in mind he borrows a friends car, rents a tuxedo and goes for a shopping spree at one of the local supermarkets in town. Remembering how the village diva had looked six years back he buys for her jewellery and a rather expensive dress for the occasion. He also decides to carry a few bottles of some walking stuff to give him courage.
Reaching the village shops, he enters one of the popular bars there and proceeds to spread his largesse. After a few brown bottles, and a few tots of the walker, he gets emboldened and tells all and sundry how he intends to propose to Wanjiru on that day and take her back to his big house in the city. He challenges anyone who would try to prevent him and is rather surprised none of the village lads seem to be interested in taking up his challenge. He proceeds to extol her beauty and imagined charms and calls the village lads cowards for not managing to get Wanjiru. Getting an entourage of now inebriated pals in tow he drives to her father’s house shouting at the top of his voice that he’s coming for Wanjiru.
Reaching the house he meets an elderly woman sitting on a stool. He then proceeds to give her a few lessos he happened to have and asks tells her he has come to see her daughter. The lady looks at him aghast and tells him he is a bit too drunk to see such a young child and anyway at this hour children are in bed sleeping. He tells the lady how he went to school with her daughter and has since spent all his time in Nairobi thinking of her and how he is going to marry her. He also explains how he has brought for her a dress and stuff for her to wear.
The woman looks at him carefully then exclaims “Karuiki! Is that you?”
“Yes” he replies proudly, “and I’ve come for Wanjiru your daughter. I want to take her in my car to Nairobi”
“I am Wanjiru”
“You!” he exclaims, “no way. Wanjiru is not even 25 yet!”
“But I am Wanjiru. How do you expect me to stay young after five children?”
She then proceeds to tell him of the various father’s of her kids who have run away to the city, and how she has to sell cheap liquor to survive since her brothers had chased her away from the shamba her father has left her. All this time Karuiki is getting sober and shrinking as he realises all his dreams have just turned into so much hot air. The village lads are laughing out loud now and telling themselves how those fools from the city cannot even tell a young lady from an old one. They are repeating his boasts and somehow this leads them into louder laughter. Karuiki goes back slinking to his borrowed car and starts it up. It hiccups twice and dies. Apparently he had forgotten to put in fuel.
In the days gone by we used to trek all the way to our reserves to celebrate this season. Naturally we would carry all manner of things to show how good the city has been to us and hide the kind of lie we really lived in the city. This is the time when we buy exotic foods we never actually eat, wear rented tuxedos, and hire cars to impress the village folks as to what kind of life we lead in the city of lights and garbage.
One Christmas gone by, a friend of mine who had just landed a job decided he is going back to the village to amaze his village mates on his new found success and impress a certain pretty diva who then had had no eyes for him. With that in mind he borrows a friends car, rents a tuxedo and goes for a shopping spree at one of the local supermarkets in town. Remembering how the village diva had looked six years back he buys for her jewellery and a rather expensive dress for the occasion. He also decides to carry a few bottles of some walking stuff to give him courage.
Reaching the village shops, he enters one of the popular bars there and proceeds to spread his largesse. After a few brown bottles, and a few tots of the walker, he gets emboldened and tells all and sundry how he intends to propose to Wanjiru on that day and take her back to his big house in the city. He challenges anyone who would try to prevent him and is rather surprised none of the village lads seem to be interested in taking up his challenge. He proceeds to extol her beauty and imagined charms and calls the village lads cowards for not managing to get Wanjiru. Getting an entourage of now inebriated pals in tow he drives to her father’s house shouting at the top of his voice that he’s coming for Wanjiru.
Reaching the house he meets an elderly woman sitting on a stool. He then proceeds to give her a few lessos he happened to have and asks tells her he has come to see her daughter. The lady looks at him aghast and tells him he is a bit too drunk to see such a young child and anyway at this hour children are in bed sleeping. He tells the lady how he went to school with her daughter and has since spent all his time in Nairobi thinking of her and how he is going to marry her. He also explains how he has brought for her a dress and stuff for her to wear.
The woman looks at him carefully then exclaims “Karuiki! Is that you?”
“Yes” he replies proudly, “and I’ve come for Wanjiru your daughter. I want to take her in my car to Nairobi”
“I am Wanjiru”
“You!” he exclaims, “no way. Wanjiru is not even 25 yet!”
“But I am Wanjiru. How do you expect me to stay young after five children?”
She then proceeds to tell him of the various father’s of her kids who have run away to the city, and how she has to sell cheap liquor to survive since her brothers had chased her away from the shamba her father has left her. All this time Karuiki is getting sober and shrinking as he realises all his dreams have just turned into so much hot air. The village lads are laughing out loud now and telling themselves how those fools from the city cannot even tell a young lady from an old one. They are repeating his boasts and somehow this leads them into louder laughter. Karuiki goes back slinking to his borrowed car and starts it up. It hiccups twice and dies. Apparently he had forgotten to put in fuel.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Why are we harassing our Kenyan MPs?
Today, finally, my faith in Kenyan MPs was affirmed. Now I'm entirely sure they are fighting for our rights. It is evident that Kenyan MPs know exactly why they are in parliament and, from the media coverage, so do the Kenyan people who put them there in the first place.
The first story to bring this to mind was the recent move by MPs to block this grossly unfair move by the former Minister of Finance, Kimunya, to tax their meagre allowances. The acting Minister, without regard for his fellow MPs attempted to bring back this unfair measure to the parliament, and the MPs rightly promised to block government spending if this move was tabled. Just imagine, the minister was putting honourable MPs at the same level as ordinary Kenyans. Doesn't he understand they are honourable MPs. Rules for other Kenyans cannot apply to them too! I mean, how many Kenyans can be called honourable? In fact doesn't the minister understand that all MPs have funerals to contribute to and harambees to attend?
Think of it this way, if the MPs were to be treated as Kenyans then how would they go back to their constituencies and still be called Mheshimiwa. Doesn't he realize every time they go there they have to be made clan elders, have homecoming parties and goats have to end their lives for their sake! Thinking of it even the ka-fuel allowance they are given cannot cater for their expenses. They need to be given something like 300 bob a kilometre for this.
Then there is this issue of campaigns. They have spent a lot of money campaigning for ODM and PNU. In fact it was reported that a certain MP spent almost 20 million bob campaigning for ODM, and that was all the money he had. Sad thing is when the Right Honourable got in this MP was not given any ministerial post! Imagine. 20 million down the drain like that. He should have had a ministerial post or at least an assistant minister. Some people who didn't spend as much are ministers and they certainly do not deserve that.
In fact all Kenyans should support him in his complaint about ODM not giving his people ministerial posts. All that money spent cannot surely go to waste. If they do not get these posts then they should go back to the communities and move all the communities out of ODM into a new party. That will show ODM who the real power is. Maybe then the right honourable can come negotiate with them.
Then there is this Waki thing. How can anybody even imagine that honourable MPs can go to court over this. This is prosecution of their communities. After all it's the communities that were fighting for their rights. The MP as a leader was simply helping the people fight for their rights. Any attempt to arrest an honourable MP will be considered as an attack on the community and will be resisted. In fact we will move our communities out of the government and form our own parties in opposition. Who is this Waki fellah anyway to sit judgement on honourable MPs?
Indeed the MPs are in parliament to take care of our interests. That reminds me, where is the number of this Nguyai fellah. After all I come from his village, I'm sure there is a small parastatal somewhere he can fix me in. I don't want much, just a chairmanship or two. I mean we are practically neighbours...
The first story to bring this to mind was the recent move by MPs to block this grossly unfair move by the former Minister of Finance, Kimunya, to tax their meagre allowances. The acting Minister, without regard for his fellow MPs attempted to bring back this unfair measure to the parliament, and the MPs rightly promised to block government spending if this move was tabled. Just imagine, the minister was putting honourable MPs at the same level as ordinary Kenyans. Doesn't he understand they are honourable MPs. Rules for other Kenyans cannot apply to them too! I mean, how many Kenyans can be called honourable? In fact doesn't the minister understand that all MPs have funerals to contribute to and harambees to attend?
Think of it this way, if the MPs were to be treated as Kenyans then how would they go back to their constituencies and still be called Mheshimiwa. Doesn't he realize every time they go there they have to be made clan elders, have homecoming parties and goats have to end their lives for their sake! Thinking of it even the ka-fuel allowance they are given cannot cater for their expenses. They need to be given something like 300 bob a kilometre for this.
Then there is this issue of campaigns. They have spent a lot of money campaigning for ODM and PNU. In fact it was reported that a certain MP spent almost 20 million bob campaigning for ODM, and that was all the money he had. Sad thing is when the Right Honourable got in this MP was not given any ministerial post! Imagine. 20 million down the drain like that. He should have had a ministerial post or at least an assistant minister. Some people who didn't spend as much are ministers and they certainly do not deserve that.
In fact all Kenyans should support him in his complaint about ODM not giving his people ministerial posts. All that money spent cannot surely go to waste. If they do not get these posts then they should go back to the communities and move all the communities out of ODM into a new party. That will show ODM who the real power is. Maybe then the right honourable can come negotiate with them.
Then there is this Waki thing. How can anybody even imagine that honourable MPs can go to court over this. This is prosecution of their communities. After all it's the communities that were fighting for their rights. The MP as a leader was simply helping the people fight for their rights. Any attempt to arrest an honourable MP will be considered as an attack on the community and will be resisted. In fact we will move our communities out of the government and form our own parties in opposition. Who is this Waki fellah anyway to sit judgement on honourable MPs?
Indeed the MPs are in parliament to take care of our interests. That reminds me, where is the number of this Nguyai fellah. After all I come from his village, I'm sure there is a small parastatal somewhere he can fix me in. I don't want much, just a chairmanship or two. I mean we are practically neighbours...
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
The beginning.
In the beginning it was just a feeling, an itch, a hunch, a buzz at the back of my mind. I would wake at night and gaze at nothing, think nothing and the nothing would think back at me. Yet it bugged me, it bothered me that I can feel what I do not feel. It was nurtured through the days by the nothingness that I’d feel. It was fertilised through the night by the emptiness by my side. This something that was nothing yet was greater than the sum of somethings that I had.
I battled with myself, speaking to the ghosts in my mind. I tried to run, yet it was me that I was running from. I tried to hide, but how do I hide from myself? There was no solace in my mind for I knew what it was I was trying to hide.
In the beginning it was a fear. Of rejection. Of change. Of hurt. Of pain. Knowing that all those could happen. Knowing that all this is happening, and I was as helpless as a twig upon the ocean current. The traitor was within me, and the saviour, too, was within me. How could joy bring so much pain, acceptance bring rejection? And yet it is just but the beginning.
I told myself all this will pass, but I knew I didn’t want it to. I told myself it is a illusion, though I knew if it was an illusion then reality is not for me. I told myself I’m strong, and felt that strength lead me yet again astray. This is was is and this is what still will be.
In the beginning it was an ache, a gap, a need, an emptiness to be filled. Yet these had existed side by side without demands and now are demanding surcease from the torment. A torment they had never had. A torment that came from knowing it is possible to finally fill the gap. I gap I didn’t even know I had. I gap I’m sure I didn’t want to have.
And yet in this was my fulfillment, in this lies my content, with this I can want to live…
I battled with myself, speaking to the ghosts in my mind. I tried to run, yet it was me that I was running from. I tried to hide, but how do I hide from myself? There was no solace in my mind for I knew what it was I was trying to hide.
In the beginning it was a fear. Of rejection. Of change. Of hurt. Of pain. Knowing that all those could happen. Knowing that all this is happening, and I was as helpless as a twig upon the ocean current. The traitor was within me, and the saviour, too, was within me. How could joy bring so much pain, acceptance bring rejection? And yet it is just but the beginning.
I told myself all this will pass, but I knew I didn’t want it to. I told myself it is a illusion, though I knew if it was an illusion then reality is not for me. I told myself I’m strong, and felt that strength lead me yet again astray. This is was is and this is what still will be.
In the beginning it was an ache, a gap, a need, an emptiness to be filled. Yet these had existed side by side without demands and now are demanding surcease from the torment. A torment they had never had. A torment that came from knowing it is possible to finally fill the gap. I gap I didn’t even know I had. I gap I’m sure I didn’t want to have.
And yet in this was my fulfillment, in this lies my content, with this I can want to live…
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