The Principals Must Tell us What They Know

Wait a minute So who is kidding who? “I won fair and square,” said Kibaki in January 2008.Raila on the other hand said he was rigged out by Kibaki. Kriegler on the other hand says that it is not possible to know the winner. Yet because of the impasse, over a thousand Kenyans were dispatched to their maker. Both principals exuded public confidence in their electoral victory. We all know that

Kibaki won fair and square and as a duly elected president found it economical to have a small swearing in ceremony at night in the state house. This way he saved on daylight and unnecessary feeding expenses on the mammoth crowd that would have come to cheer him at Uhuru park!

Raila also won fair and square, beating Kibaki to six out of eight provinces as well as registering an overwhelming parliamentary majority.

For strange reasons Kibaki lost six provinces and parliamentary seats but won the presidential votes. Kalonzo, on the other hand, won nothing but also lost nothing. Suffice to say his miracle came true thus concretizing his claim to prophetic authority.

Fast forward. There is a grand coalition government that was erroneously formed on a lie – that the two principals were both innocent and that the electoral commission was the sole problem. The argument being that the ECK told Kibaki that he had won – or isn’t that what baba Jimmy told us?

Ocampo is breathing fire in the Netherlands waiting to maul the culprits of this historical mishap. Waki on the other hand has presented a “comprehensive” list of suspects believed to be the key plotters of the Poet Election Violence. Details of this report have since faded in my mind but I remember the recommendations to try the perpetrators. This is in line with the accord signed by the two principals and witnessed by the chief mediator, Koffi Anan.

I know that you have all these details. If it is clear in my mind like it was yesterday, i am sure it is even clearer in yours since I am given to omitting details due to my acute memory lapse. Poor me – maybe that is why all the lies I try to tell fail miserably. Anyway, why do I need to remind you of what is obvious to all of you?

It is because an honest recollection of these historical facts will lead the honest truth seekers amongst us into making objective judgments and consequently fight for the truth to prevail in mother Kenya. Now be still and take this repository journey with me as we confront the consequences of these historical details. Let us weigh them against the present and see how best we can redeem the future.

The cabinet meeting convened to agree on the formation of a local tribunal flopped again for a second time in two weeks. The main reason as reported by both the daily nation and East African Standard Newspapers was simple: Cabinet disagreed on whether or not the president and possibly the PM should be tried if found complicit to the crimes in question.

The group proposing the amendment to the document argue that we risked being classified as a failed state with Ali Mwakwere is reported to have said that it amounts to a constitutional coup.

Those opposing the amendment argue that the tribunal must satisfy the Rome Statutes, which in turn sets the standards for the International Criminal Court, as well as those of a reputable local tribunal Kenya is seeking, and that is — no one is insulated.

The Standard reported that “A source said while majority of the ministers were of the view that the President should not be subjected to any prosecution while in office, others said even if the Head of State deserved protection, the new Bill must have that clause so as to meet the international legal thresholds.”

It is further reported that Mutula assured the Cabinet that while including the clause in the proposed Bill, he was acting in good faith to avoid giving the ICC an opportunity to dismiss a local tribunal.

At the end of the day it is reported that it was then agreed that for the sake of the country’s unity, a committee be formed to redraft the Bill after reviewing it to ensure “that leaders who are holding the country together were not subjected to any embarrassment that might trigger turmoil”. Thus in addition to Messers Orengo and Kilonzo, ministers Kajwang, Wetangula and Kiraitu were incorporated into the drafting team with the mandate to rework the stubborn clauses, mainly: the President, who is insulated by law from prosecution while in office, or even the Prime minister, should be opened up for trial.

Now i call for an objective evaluation of this situation. Should the principals be tried or not? Before I even reject this tribunal idea where the culprits determine who makes the trials let me beckon us into summoning an urgent trial of the Principals.

The both claim legitimacy to their thrones. The war that ravaged the country was in fact a political duel between the two. Both said that they are not guilty but we know that they cannot both be right at the same time. There are only two possibilities: Either they are both wrong and consequently guilty and need to pay for it or one of them is wrong and guilty and is in fact illegitimately ruling this country. This is the time for the two to vindicate themselves – both before Kenyans and the world. This is the opportunity for the two to tell us what they know about the election and the consequent violence.

Raila Odinga is in record to have supported draft Bill in its current form before he left the meeting. He has said before, elsewhere that he fears no prosecution, adding that he had faced treason charges and triumphed.

Kibaki is said to have been silent as the cabinet discussed the question of his immunity. It is however reported that the PNU ministers, with the exception of Mutula Kilonzo called for a deletion of the clause barring the president’s immunity.

This is my question. Why should Kibaki fear proving to Kenya and the world that he won fair and square. And even if he may not be able to prove it, hadn’t they paid the Krieglers enough to declare that it is impossible to tell the winner of the disputed election. What does he fear. Well, he was silent but what does his lieutenants know that we don’t know? Why don’t they just allow the trials to go on and Martha Karua should be there to defend the victory of Kibaki as she did at the BBC hard talk. Won’t Kimunya be there too?

That way we can jail Odinga for making us fight by claiming that Kibaki stole his victory. Or if found guilty, Kibaki can explain why and how they hatched the APs rigging plot. Don’t we deserve to know these things, yawa?
Of more interest (out of curiosity) is what was the role played by the international community in the whole electioneering process. The International republican Institute come to mind, among other. Leaders like George bush also come to mind. This is a large webb – let the spider catch its prey and let all Kenyans sit down and watch their TVs as we see the cows return home.

** Local tribunal – What are the advantages and disadvantages apart from the fear of political manipulation as is obviously expected?
** Why is the Hague a preferred option by most Kenyans according to the most recent opinion polls?
** Some people have recommended the Truth and Reconciliation commission. Apart from the fact that it is not supported by the Peace Accord, what are the possible limitations of the commission and what are its possible strengths? – How will it deal with impunity?

The answers to all these questions depends on the objective of the trials. Is it to stump out impunity? Is it for the purpose of revenge? Do we just want to know the truth?

Over to you Kenyans. as for me and the Hague we will claim the boys!

Murugu as I know him

We are not even friends. And yes, I have only met him twice. He may have been anything or even everything for different people but my humble assessment acknowledges humility. It will take a few more paragraphs to make this story clear.

In December 2007, I joined my friend, Mwangi the Idiot (that’s what he calls me) for a ROPES (Rites of Passage Experience) somewhere in Ololobon, right in the heart of Maasai land. Mwangi was a teacher of teenagers at my Church and he had hatched this plot of helping the juveniles grow up into adults. I would want to call the whole experience a boot camp but for the sake of diplomatic language and parental convenience – let’s just stick with the ROPES idea. May I mention that Charles Muriuki (Charlo) was another colleague with the “Military” mentality like I did. Otherwise, the rest of my colleagues – Albo, Msagha, Vierra, “Nyeri Boy” aka Felix etc – in this fulfilling experience were very sympathetic to the little boys.

This camp was meant to be a tough, life-changing, one week experience for the lads – and I promise you all that this objective was more than approved. Now, a little bit of context is vital for the clarity and comprehensibility of this story. The boys we meant to “dehorn” (let not their parents read this) are from relatively privileged backgrounds than most of the ordinary Nairobi kids. They were the sons of who-is-who in our glorious motherland. They are definitely not the breeds that met an angry Mr. Agingu with a big cane or some Mrs. Omondi with her open-arm combat skills ready to instill discipline, like I did with my friends early in the days. They are products of the most prestigious (please read this in a Luo accent to experience the seriousness of this experience) academies in Kenya. Consequently, their idea of tough life and discipline is relatively different from yours and mine – I mean the ordinary Kenyan folks.

Please get me well, some of these kids are the most well bred fellows I have ever met in my twenty-eight years of earthly existence. Not all of them are brats – as is often stereotyped – though I can’t fail to say that judgment is oft times accurate, as that is what happens when we leave the TVs, video and computer games to mentor our loved ones. May I mention that a lad like Booker proved the adage “train a child the way he should go and when he is old he will not depart from it.” His story will be the subject of another piece some day. But that brings me to how this explains my knowledge of Murugu.

Among the boys we were going to “deal with” that week included Wanjuki (long live great man), the son of the late PS Murugu. Wanjuki is not that morphologically endowed – I mean I could easily take on him even after fasting for one week. However he was the strong-willed child and it did not take ten minutes to study his influence on the other boys in the park. He actually led this park for a few hours until their de facto leader, Dan showed up. Dan will also be subject of another story someday. Right away, I knew that my efforts this week would be best spent on straightening Wanjuki, and I think I did break his back, that is after throwing so many strokes on it.

Now, at the ROPES camp, it was not business as usual. The boys were subjected to strenuous experiences that ultimately break their will and render them subjective to authority. By the end of our first day, a few boys were in submission – not so was Dan, Wanjuki and a few others. The tough lads even lectured their colleagues on what is their “inalienable rights” and in my assessment they were right 99% the times – they just missed what we taught them as the first rule, which they readily and agreeably recited as their fathers inspected their guard of honour on their last day of camp, namely “life is not fair,” as they got to learn through experience.

Fast forward, on the second last day at camp, the fathers to these lads showed up and spent with their boys in their tiny tents. They were supposed to discuss “men’s stuff” though some tried to dodge this session and I doubt whether all of them talked to them. Now you must understand that these are busy people – they spend so much time away trying to secure the future of their kids – and rightly so. Consequently, they may not be having a relationship and thus some cannot sustain a ten minute dialogue with their own sons. This is what we meant to achieve. Thus in a sense, the ROPES camp was indeed a rite of passage experience for the fathers as well.

Admittedly, this was a Herculean task. As a matter of fact dealing with some fathers was ten times difficult than their sons and you could easily discern why some boys act the way they do – it is in their fathers. Methinks, my own dad’s own paranoia with safety rules is because he sees his reflection in me though he’s since given up on shepherding around, leaving me to learn in the expensive school of experience. But frankly speaking, some of the “stupid” things I have done in my life are shadows of the things he did – at least he’s told me some of his stories. My grandma told me some too. Trust me, there is not so much a difference, apart from the time and the cast – otherwise it’s the same script.

Back to Murugu. We had rules set for everybody. The parents were to lead by example and that included following the rules that their sons had followed the whole week. These included being in time for the meals when the bells rang, doing your duties like washing utensil etc. It also included going to bed at the set time and waking up at the set time too. It also included going for the morning run – it was a run not a jog – at least Billy designed and implemented it that way. Figure out what that would do to some of those Beer enhanced bellies (one pack). Honestly, some parents struggled with this but Murugu did not. He followed the example. We had to chase away some dads to bed. It was bed time and they had decided to remain behind and make “mutura” from the remains of the two goats that we had slaughtered that evening. Nonetheless, the plot didn’t hatch for we sent them to bed anyway.

This was one of the highlights of my life in 2007 even as we neared the disastrous ballot experience – that for one day I ordered the Permanent Secretary for Youth affairs and he readily obeyed. In the morning when we woke up, some fathers and their sons lagged behind and I had to subject them to the ten push-ups experience. At some point, Wanjuki who along with his dad, Murugu, had woken up in time but were lagging behind as was his trade mark; I made them do the press-ups. He did and his father readily did it with him. Indeed that was a remarkable example of a man who wanted to bring out the best of his son. While, I had a field day ordering around just for a few thirty six hours, I learned that obedience is key to life and that example is the best way to lead. So Murugu taught me something. For this short time, to be obedient and lead by example. That is Murugu as I know him.

Black, White or Stripped: Does it Matter?

Sometimes it doesn’t hurt quite much to be the subject of ridicule, especially for things in your life that you cannot help – I mean things that are divinely designed like morphological make up, whether tall or short, racial orientation or colour pigmentation – whether coloured, white, black or stripped. Until yesterday, I had never considered myself to have heavily experienced any case of direct attack on my race. You know that it is said, “what you don’t know does not hurt you.” To be precise, I have been discriminated before based on the fact of being black, but really such episodes of have been discreet and indirect and they really never mattered much. That is the same reason why even this direct one will not matter. In fact I have also been discriminated against for being a Luo, short (rather vertically challenged as my friend Alex Kiamba would nicely put it) or even not being wealthy like the rest (sometimes).

Yesterday was a very beautiful day – the sun was quite hot as has been in the recent days – though we did not go swimming, we still had an outdoor activity in the name of a bonfire. We all enjoyed the day with the juveniles and ate a sumptuous meal of hobo stew even though mine was unnecessarily over seasoned, so much that I had to punctuate every mouthful with a sip of water. I took video clips of different scenes as I interviewed the kids – both in groups and as individuals. Most notable was this band of attention seeks that I christened “the Chairman’s gang.” The chairman is a twelve year old eight grade boy. From now henceforth I will call him Obugji, since he is the subject of this post.

No doubt, Obugji is a charismatic leader. His band of followers is so loyal to him that they would do anything to pay attention even when they are so broke to afford it. Well, I happened to have a conversation with the lads which went very well apart from their unnecessary reference to homosexual relationships. I have since confirmed that their Home State, Iowa, recently legalized same sex marriage and this has become a sensationalized issue there – thanks to the media. For this reason, I absolve the quartet of their seemingly unbecoming foul speech – especially after confirming with other campers that this behaviour was inconsistent with his character. I therefore concluded that it was just another case of teenage attention seeking catalyzed by peer as well as terrible media influence.

All this time, it was unbeknown to me that Obugji would make it to my website. I mean, there are very many important issues to write about – so how would a mere juvenile steal my attention at no fee whatsoever – well  turns out that it was dearly paid for as I will explain later. Anyway, I took an early evening nap since I intended to stay up late that night doing this and that – including beating Jeremy in a game of scrabble (which I did, and I am not saying it). Well, I didn’t sleep long, as Obugji was brought to my bedside and asked to apologize for his racial hate speech. Apparently, the poor boy was reportedly singing the song “Run Nigger” and being the only black there it must have been meant for me – or at least I was a representative of the offended. The boy did not only apologize but also sneaked back after the whole formal episode and pleaded for forgiveness saying that there was no offense intended.

I told home to go in peace. In fact I did not forgive him for I did not think there was anything to forgive even though my colleagues think that was a direct attack on my race. Let me just say that I was not the least offended and will never be offended by any racial slurs. In fact, singing “run nigger” even if directed to me is nothing compared to the questions “when/where did you learn English” – the kind asked even by kids I teach and their parents. Of course my answer has never been kind either – for it is my insistence that I speak English as handed over to us by our colonial masters the British and that there was no English In the US but “American” which obviously I cared less about learning. In other words – It is more discriminative to think that I could not learn English while in Africa – even though we share the same colonial master and adopted English as a result of the British conquest. So why would I not learn from them if they be best?

I have since forgiven such people since such speech is based mainly on ignorance and a little more misrepresentation of facts. The fact that they don’t know the truth does not make their perception the truth. In other words, I am not the kind to let people’s opinion about me become my reality – No! Never! In fact the “Run Nigger” boys’ pronouncement is a more informed statement than the “where did you learn English” statement. The former is a statement of fact – for what is Nigger? Nigger is a derivative of the Spanish word “Negro” which means black, and black is indeed what I am. So calling me a Nigger is not racial to me even though it is a politically incorrect statement in the US. My point is that I don’t need protection from being or feeling black. It is a case of the saying “Lord protect me from my friends for I know my enemies.” I will illustrate this using a short story.

Sometime in the year 2000 before I joined campus for my undergraduate studies I kept company with some boys from my village. None of us had been to the University then, apart from our lawyer, Omondi Obudho who was in the school of Law in Parklands and Robin (known as Umeme because he was the tallest in the region) who was on suspension from Moi University. Oh yes, and Dave Abudho who was at Egerton University. My bad, Okwato was also on suspension from Moi University. We were generally known as Jokochieng (even though I am Jakomburah) and we spent most evenings chatting, politicking and philosophizing together. Those were great days when we would have the likes of Ken Ayieko (RIP), Dan Awuonda (RIP), Jerry, Japuonj, Omosh (Nyathi Nyakach), Omondi Ondaso, Gen. Oguok and sometimes Asembo and Dhar etc. General this was the boys’ gang that ruled Rabuor Shopping Centre.

One mutual friend of this group was particularly reported to be offended that Omondi Obudho was keeping company with the “not-university educated” gang. He too was a third yea BCom student at Egerton University. When this was reported to us, the whole team felt that it was in fact an offence to the team. We sought to discipline him, claiming that oba wach, that is to say he had insulted the group, even though it was true that we were not university educated yet! While planning the attack, our legal consultant, Omondi Obudho provided wisdom that revolutionized the thinking of this writer. Omondi questioned the wisdom of acting on hearsay. He argued that as a lawyer, he would not defend the case in a court of law, as no case would be proven against this gentleman there being no provision in law for such trivialities. He further argued that a person who was verbally assaulted has a better case to prove than one who is informed by a second party that a gun was pointed at his back by so-and-so. Thus Omondi argued that if the “gentleman” was man enough and genuinely concerned, he would do himself a service by directly confronting us in the face rather than be reported to have spoken about us. Thus the case was closed with the whole team boisterously arguing that we don’t fight cowards. Today psychology informs me that in fact our defensiveness was a more cowardly action that the gossiper’s. It was a case of personal insecurity and acceptance and that coalescing around the group was just a myopic therapeutic intervention. It was just like the temporary relief of the opiate which pretends to deal with our pains just for a little while only to re-emerge in greater doses and greater consequences.

In fact when I look back, this gentleman was right, if he had ever spoken so – in saying that we had no University education. He also had the right to think (albeit flawed) that a University-educated Omondi was wasting his time with the not – so – educated lot. Whether that was right thinking is subjected to his flawed philosophy and I have no time arguing with a fool. But to say the least, that alleged “stupid” remark awoke me and brought me to my sense. It was true that I would remain classified as uneducated for as long as I was not, and if it hurt very bad then I had to do something about it. Beating the messenger of conscience was not the solution. Changing the situation was the solution – and I pursued the latter. Now, if I could master some arrogance, I would call the former “educated friend” an undergraduate for I have passed his level even though he started ahead of me. But that would serve no purpose because like Plato would aptly put it “Knowledge becomes evil if the aim be not virtuous…” and Knowledge which is acquired under compulsion has no hold on the mind.” It would be tyrannical to think that a University education be it a PhD or a mere certificate is an end in itself.

The two stories I have told in this piece are illustrations on truth and perception. In the first story, I feel inordinately compelled to believe that being black is backward – or why else would I accept apologies for being called black, just in another language? The only problem is that I don’t know why being black, the song asks me to run. “Run Nigger” is the title of the Song. I have done nothing wrong in being black so why run and where to? I think the political-correctness in the anti-nigger pronouncement is actually racist. But if that is, then it is more racist to think this nigger inferior – no matter what name you call him – African brethren etc. Questions that despise intelligence like are much more demeaning than the direct expression of the obvious “you are black.” For such question assume inherent incapacity to comprehend language and skill that is either Western or American. That, to me, brothers, is racist than anything else.

In the second story, I was truly accused of not being university educated. So why did I have to fight that truth? If I didn’t like it, I would change it. However, with that and pursuing it further to the highest level possible, how should I view the rest? Not with contempt whatsoever! But with love, kindness and gratitude serve the people as I thank God for the opportunity for preparation for the service and humbly allow myself to be a servant of the people for my life remains meaningless if it does not change the lives of other people for the better.

Maybe what I need to tell my friends is that calling me black does not discriminate me, rather protecting me from being black does. I don’t care the intensity of my complexion or colour pigmentation. Besides, human nature is very complex. I have suffered more discrimination for being a Luo in my own country than being black in a foreign land. Yet being Luo is something I can never change, and will never desire to change. It is one of the things am proudest of apart from Christ in me. An old primary school friend, Fred Othola said I could not play soccer with them because I was brought up in Midika (a small lowly estate in Muhoroni) even though my dad had moved to staff where they also lived. He forgot that he was also brought up in Bao Quarters) as the name suggest – wooden structures) or was it Usalama (the one near the Company Dispensary)?

Some are discriminated against because of the school they went to…  sorry the school they never went to. The closer home you get the more discriminate it will get and the intensity of the discriminate feeling are only directly proportional to the frailty of your will. Even in Luoland we have Jokano (which I am), Jonyakach, Josiaya, Joloka etc. Even in Kano, we still have Jokabonyo, Jokombura, Jokakola and Kokolwa. Yet still in Kombura we still fight against each other in terms of Jokochieng, Jokadhiambo, Jokahongo and Jokamigele. Still, among Jokamigele, we still insist on being jokobudho and within Kobudho, we are distinctly Jokadongo and Jokadongo still see themselves as Jokasune, Jokakidha and jokobondo. In Kakidha, I am tempted to think highly of my father’s mom, Nyamolo than his step-mom Margaret. This continues, even within the household of my father, Omer where I might selfishly elevate myself above my brother Maxwell. It is only against the bondage of the will that we choose otherwise.

This then is the conclusion of the matter. Man will always be man. He will always naturally seek to demean others in every way possible, if only to redeem him of personal feelings of inadequacies. Now that to me is the apex of cowardice: whether racist, tribal, clanist or whatever level or name you call it. This attitude of comparing ourselves with others and trying to beat them in a game of our own mental invention in which we own the field, the ball, the goalposts, the whistle, the referees and the scoreboard is what I also called backwardness. Such games neither make it to my league nor do they disequilibrate my tranquility. The logic is, if he can’t face you; ignore him as long as he doesn’t falsely accuse you in a court of law. This principle also applies to gossip for why fight a coward? Why invest my emotions on an idiot, unless of course I am one and play in the same league.