THE PRESIDENT'S VISIT

THE PRESIDENT’S VISIT

BY BRIAN MOSETI

My journalistic browsing’s get to me to Bonchari constituency, Suneka township to be exact. It is a dainty little town where truckers plying the Kisii-Isebania highway, a thin strip of tarmac really, stop for a night and a one for the road as we might politely put it. The Kisii 'county', Kisii town, residents occasionally come here for a drink and the traditional past time; afternoon barbecue. They also boast of the sole airstrip in Kisii land.  In sorts it’s a town of dramatic things ranging from witch burning, thief lynching to the town running rampant with kisungusungu. A vigilante gang so meticulous as to have lawyers. So scary are they that at their mention a cheating husband will bare all his secrets, have the girl he was doing it with come apologize to the wife and promise never to repeat again! Huh!

The president his Excellency Hon, Uhuru Muigai Kenyatta is passing by this little town and to address his loving citizens. The constituency mind you is having a by-election sometime later this month. The political mood is charged. The crowds have gathered growing impatient with each moment. The sky is casting a grim mood. Any moment now the heavens might pour. Any moment now the president might appear. The administrative minions are here in full regalia doing their best to push and confuse the crowd, one moment they are clearing the road, from this side, the next they are pushing people back to the same side. They are also threatening the bodaboda  guys to move their contraptions or they will be confiscated! Police with rungus are standing guard.  A few moments later, a black sleek Landcruiser  swings in. Dark men in dark suits get out all looking grim walking almost purposefully, chests bared arms outstretched in that swagger of men who know they are packing ammo! The man standing next to me, points to the other, “flying squad, see the pistols under the jacket?” and the man nudges another, “these shoot on sight; I hear that’s how they got that thief who was hiding at Nyanchwa.”

At around 5.30, the president arrives. He is announced by blaring sirens, a surge in the crowd as one wave of thousands of eyes follow the sounds. Next is a surge forward as they try to break the ring of protection around the president.  He comes in, heralded by songs and cheers, he breaks into an almost dance from the sunroof of his stately car. A few people are announced, they say their word, Sonko, the Youth Ambassador has his say, Zebedeo Opore the TNA contestant sneaks in a word, then the president is handed the mike. Let’s give it to the man, the man is eloquent! Be it in Swahili or English. He comes in almost the guy next door, casual in his approach, smooth, with punch lines to match, the occasional Shen'g word thrown in and a voice that projects energy. He touches fleetingly on thorny issues, careful not to mention sides and ends with a plea on behalf of the TNA candidate. Smooth huh?

 As he leaves, the heavens pour, in fat drops that leave the crowd scampering to shelter outside the many shops around the township. I find shelter in one such place. The people sheltered here are talking. One lady says, “he should not have done that, ask for votes on behalf of his candidate? No he should have just generalized the candidates as president, so as not to choose sides you know”. Another tall gentleman who is hunched to avoid hitting the roof of the structure cuts in, “ I think he spoke well, though I don’t think the people were too happy about Opore.” Another jumps in, “no I think he stands a good chance, even the president has endorsed him, we want an MP who is closer to the president, someone who might bring home a piece of that money from government”. The woman comes back in, you are forgetting Raila Baba is coming soon, he will win votes for Oroo, you wait and see”.

In this fashion I get on the Matatu back to town, the whole crowd is discussing politics loudly despite the fact that we are packed like straw. It was Market day at Kisii town today, it is also raining. Traffic has snarled to a standstill, starting  at Daraja mbilli market. Traders, mostly women, the Kisii men have a sort of vain notion that leave the open markets to the women, are rained on looking so pitiful lined by the roadside. Most of them are drenched, with their wrapped up cargoes by their sides  waiting for Matatus to take them home. Matatus, that might never come. It’s late, around 7.30, and it’s still raining. 

The conversation in the vehicle changes to them, one man speaks in Swahili, “sasa kuna mwanaune ana kichwa sawa anangoja huyu mwanamke atoke hapa aende nyumbani tena ampikie chakula na afanye hizo kazi zote”? The young man seated behind me responds, kwani mbona nilimwoa”?  another man responds in Ekegusii, “you are a child, you have not married and experienced life as it is”. He shuts up. “Any responsible man should who knows his wife is coming from such a place in such weather should be waiting with hot tea to welcome his wife home and already have even cooked for the children.” Says the first man.

Recently I attended a Leadership and population control workshop where the Members of the Kisii county assembly were being trained on population control and family planning methods. This was so that they could go out to the public and carry out the same training or at least circulate the information to their constituents.  In Kisii, the boy child is still considered superior. Even among the elite members of society, the family unit is not complete without a boy child. At the same function, the MCAs were joking amongst themselves and cajoling one of them who only has three girls. “do you mean to call yourself  a man sitting between men without a son to carry on your name?” One of the MCAs an elderly man asks before continuing, “Get a son and you will call yourself a man.” The whole crowd burst out in laughter. Yes, they may be laughing but there is an undertone in that statement.

Another issue that came up in the meeting was the issue of gender based violence in regard to Family planning. It is considered taboo to be discussing matters sex publicly. “So how will we as MCAs go out and educate the public who do not want to discuss such matters?” One of the MCAs asked.  The whole hardheadedness was blamed on the men. The myths associated with family planning in the area are amusing and sad at the same time. Vasectomies are believed to interfere with a man being able to rise up to the function, Hormonal injections are believed to make women Fat and infertile while IUDs are claimed to be imprinted on babies heads when they are born or that they cause deformities in children.

 In a population whose average child per a family is five, men rarely accompany their wives to Family planning clinics. Some women even procure the services secretly for they are afraid of how their husbands will react if they found out. It is quite sad indeed that some women are physically abused when their husbands realize they have sought  the services. Yet it is the Kisii women who run the economy of Kisii. It is the woman who will know how her kids will be clothed and fed. Women know what season it is to plant, what grain will do best, how much maize will see them through the season to the next season. It is the women you will Find at Daraja Mbili market eking out a living in all weather and God Knows the Kisii weather can be most punishing.

The conductor is discussing with the driver that they transfer us to another vehicle,  turn around, hike the fare to fifty shillings up from thirty and pick them up. Luckily the driver chooses to go into town.

As I hop into the Matatu to take me home the image of those women haunts me. I also remember that Daraja Mbili Market contributes to 60% plus of the county’s Revenue. The building of a modern market for these citizens has stalled; the market now is a congested mud puddle when it rains. It almost rains daily here. Naomba serikali, couldn’t you do anything about these traders?

ENDS

@mossetti

GREY OVERTAKES GREEN

 

GREY OVERTAKES GREEN

By Brian Moseti

Phones are going to be the death of us. You stare at one fixed point, eyes boring into that screen in an effort to text or as in my case reading intently. Humanity wasn't meant to stare so slavishly at one point. Slaves to the phone screen; on the way to work in the bus, at the office, even by the streets, and who the hell keeps calling when I’ve washed my hands to eat? And science says phones carry a bulky amount of germs with them, right?

Picture the world as it once was when our forefathers ranged the savannah in loin clothes, a spear in one hand and a club in the other, before men got corrupted about the notion of decency, as in fact one elder told me, in their days, they'd hold the legs apart to the comrade who was deflowering the virgin, and in case it didn't work, a horn and some fat did the trick. Grisly!  

Picture the world that was forest and little villages and more forest than you can picture. See, the Morans stalk the lion, a great brown greying beast that has sensed an alien smell associated with cows and little disturbing elusive beings. See, the lone beast bare its fangs and growl. The Morans, red ochre painted on their faces, shield in one hand, spear in the other and club in belt, are all poised on a crouching position, advancing in the savannah, circling the beast. Silently they signal to one another using birdcalls, and then they advance. The lion, senses, danger and roars angrily, disturbing the peace of the savannah. They break into a war song, muscles rippling and glistening with ochre and oil, they charge as the lion cornered and scared by a charging circle of men is confused. They howl and confuse it further and in a moment, they are on it! Roaring, it charges in a random direction. It doesn’t matter anyway. The Moran nearest crouches behind his shield spear pointed, the lion smashes through him, his spear slices the underbelly of the beast who rages on as spears miss true mark and fall on various parts of the body. The Moran's three ribs are broken and his foot is smashed. A passage into manhood has been achieved. They give chase catching up cornering the lion by the stream where it lies exhausted unable to move.

The equivalent of such a thrill today is Assasins’ Creed! Eyes fixated on one point, hands robots on the gamepad! Escapism into a virtual world where children became heroes and villains without breaking a sweat. Where we engage our fantasies and the whims of a game manufacturers. What became of literature that was daring enough to get kids off their bums out into the fields to go swing and chatter like monkeys or play detective. What became of books like Tarzan?

Fat and lazy we become. When every kid graduates from primary school, all they want is a smartphone! For the December holidays you see; my little brother who just joined class eight tells me he has a girlfriend. Like a personal secretary, he always has my phone and he is always indoors chatting. I wonder when kids go outside and play like we used to. Today's kids couldn't last a second in our world as kids. In my primary school, our field used to host the local livestock market. In the evening, at games time after the traders had left, there were avocado seeds strewn over the field from the women who sold Githeri and Uji. These, we could hurl at one another after forming two opposing teams. The trick was not to get hit. Somehow no one ever lost an eye or a tooth or was hit anywhere it hurt too much!  Isn’t it a wonder how kids always survive the worst dangers, shudders!

Slowly, the concrete jungle creeps over the earth. Sky scrapers loom like monsters into the air. Recreational land and playgrounds makes way for buildings that will go towards boosting the economy; something the villager will never understand save for the part where prices of basic commodities jump up. Oh, and there is technology, a force that is as dynamic as human life. The most interesting aspect is, it breeds. Today, top of the market, cutting edge, ace technology. Where we all scramble to so to look trendy! Ha! Have we become modern day hippies? The hippies of the seventies had their trademark locks, a lot of sex and drugs. What do we have now, a lot of gadgets, well a lot of sex and even better drugs. Zombies really. That’s today. Tomorrow though, obsolete, out-dated, slow technology. Where green has been overtaken by grey.

ENDS

@mossetti