The Future of African Literature in Kenya

 

Kenya is a beneficiary of strong education systems adopted from its colonizers the Britons and down south, Nelson Mandela, the first President of South Africa, said that education is the most powerful tool one can use to change the world. It is by far a true claim that Pan Africanism is close to a swindle by the nature of our schools and education systems here in Kenya despite calls from its various stakeholders. Nonetheless, it is through the footsteps of our ancestors that we are in tune with the African spirit. With reference to time, it is indeed possible to unite Africa with ink and the mighty pen. We have had great writers such as Socrates and Plato, apparently, the two used to study together regardless of their age difference. Their combined effort clearly is what benefited them as they lived a life of purpose and they are remembered today in Greek literature and on a global platform. Question begs, where are the true African literature heroes? Those scribes that would travel deep, find our stories from the purest of sources, and write diligently for the sake of unborn generations.

            Looking at contributions of other continents, I could say that Africa is at the bottom when a list comes through. With such, we could outdo the famed stereotype of Africa being the motherland, the home of slaves, the home of disease and poverty; at such a point, I would say would the real African laureate please stand up. With education being the golden ribbon that could turn around the African narrative, then and only then, could Africa start raging with other continents on the global map. In Asia, China spearheaded its campaign to champion for its international recognition. It is so as on global world ranking; China as by 2021, the country is number three after the United States and Russia. Economic dependence of the country catapulted the nation to a global recognition. The time was in the late 1980’s, (I was not born yet) where their leaders championed for a robust industrialization program. By mid-1990’s, almost every home in China had an industry of its own and after the year 2010, China flourished, as technology became its signature weapon in the fight for global supremacy.

            In the traditional African society, informal education was effective in that heritage and culture retained its potency from generation to generation. It was an obvious signature of the literacy level of the traditional African person. It was the day before I wrote this creative nonfiction piece I read a verses from 1 Kings Chapter 1 to 3. It was then I realized that in deed African is legit, like 4,000 years plus legit. It was right after King Solomon became the King of Israel, that he paid Pharaoh a visit in Egypt. It was in this context that King Solomon married Pharaoh’s daughter and returned to Israel with her with the intent of building a palace for the Egyptian princess. Looking at this keenly, it is clear that even before the writing and compiling of the New Testament. With such revelations, it is a pride to be an African, especially in the 21^st Century. Consequently, it is crucial to ask the question, where is African literature headed and where are these scribes that are devoted to the cause of putting to paper their ideologies for the future literate young African persons? It is indeed our responsibility as African literature laureates to store and stack up African heritage and culture in this period of the 21^st century.

            Writing is compared to the history of the trees. Trees were present in the era of dinosaurs and are still there today. I would bet looking out the window you would see a tree or two. During the creation of literature, trees played a significant role in the development of words. Then, the trees were a source of truth, were known as treow, and were 10,000 years old. With these, it is true to claim that learning was a core essential in the development of literature. In the era of Socrates, education was a basic essential in the functioning of a society. There were elites who advised Kings and then there were given honor. In Africa, informal education was a proper means of education and in the traditional days, there were classes. For instance in the Kikuyu tribe, age was a determinant in the level of status one could get. Boys and girls grew separated in groups advancing to later stages of life depending on their ages. For example, with circumcision and initiation rites, girls were initiated between the ages of 12-15 with their male counterparts being circumcised between ages of 16 and 18 with men becoming warriors and women becoming potential wives. It is this retrospect; we realize the traditional African had a robust social order, a component that is crucial for the development of literature and education systems in the modern African setting.

            In today’s African societies, content creation is becoming a trend. In addition, it has become of more an education trend in that online platforms are being used in classroom settings. It is with this approach that the children are able to integrate with technology and science in their later stages of education say institutions of higher learning. Reading is becoming an in-thing amongst people in the street. Before the world was hit by the deadly Covid-19, reading in our streets, homes, and even work places was not that a casual thing. Nonetheless, during this hard time, people across the world are turning to books. Barack Obama released his “A Promised Land,” which sold close to 850,000 copies on its first day. I would bet that literature in Africa has a bright future. Readership in Africa in this age and time should catapult especially with the presence of science and technology.

            Concerning readership, Africa is at an advantage in that there were the learning channels instilled during the time of our ancestors. It was in this time that informal education was quite the order of the day. Nonetheless, the challenge of having numerous languages is significant in the campaign for an educated Africa. However, with the rise of African writers across the continent, it could turn out to be a cohesive discussion and obviously a platform to discuss and expound on the possibilities of having African Literature, similar to the likes of European and Asian literature. In addition, the translation of such indigenous languages could catapult the possibilities of having a wholesome dialogue. As a crayon is the first pen a student uses in their early phase of education, African literature could use such a framework that would see the same student advancing to using pencil then to the use of a pen.

Its my Birthday!

 Guess what, today is my birthday. Am turning 29 years old, what a fete! Look how tall i stand. Well those years have been a blessing to me in very opposite ways. First, i stumbled on a lucrative writing career. It is most of a hard knock life kind of way. But i appreciate the journey. I have met literary giants and attended some of the beneficial events meant for authors only. I could say 29 could not taste any sweeter. Writing today is a piece of me that i cannot live without. Here is my journey in a snippet.

It was in 2018, i was at a hospital with a friend who was expecting his first born. Happy he was he was becoming a father, and there i was dumbstruck at what my next move would be. I had just dropped out of University and was clueless as to what i would do with my so-called empty life. We talked and he was easy, in fact, he was glad his wife was being gotten rid the burden of extensive pregnancy. The topic was still the same, what i would do next. His best piece of advice i remember to date was, " the rod is better than the room'. Nowadays, i prefer the road in the very sense of self-education. I am a writer, and i read! Maybe it was an opposite of me dropping out. Today, am a published author of the magnificent African Powerhouse. The road and the smell of burnt oil are today my companions in this weary road of literary artistry. My friend was blessed with a beautiful daughter.

Later in 2019, i got a friend who introduced me to the famed academic writing franchise. At first, i was skeptical and was not interested. At that time, it was a free offer from the guy. It was until later i had to pay him 3,000 Kshs for the same offer. I do not regret it to date. I now have research skills, talk of taking on the road. It was during that year that i learnt so much on international matters and such the them in my latest release Up to the pandemic, i could say information was quite useful in my daily endeavors. It was during this year, i intended to write a blog named the Powerhouse. The tag stuck with me till i published a title with the same tag. Later, i found a job as a contributor at a local magazine named Bibsbebe Urban Magazine. In fact, i was the major contributor and rose to the ranks of Chief Editor. Here, in this space, i learnt how to use Yoast SEO, a skill i nurture to this day. Nonetheless, everything with a start has an end, and sadly the  magazine, it ended and so was my role, the road is enticing at times. 

It was in the later year, covid had its rope on almost everything worldwide, and the academic writing did not pay as it did. Now, with over 60 articles in hand, what do i do. Writers block hit me for close to an year and i could not write anything leave alone a single sentence. I was surfing on my usual Facebook page when i noticed an American author by the name Daisy Jane. She had just published on Amazon. This gave me an idea, why don't i compile the articles into one book? At this time, my writing was on a cringe. Wonder came when the words hit 15,000 words and i had not even reached half. Amazing, isn't it? The words summed up to 42,000 words, a complete novella! I was perplexed. I went to KDP publishing and submitted my  manuscript. They accepted it and was given an A+ for the content. Sometimes, the road is sweet, i published and the book was live. My next step was to find a local printer who would make me a proud man. 

It is 2022, and i found the publisher, Kairos Book Publishers. I have my book in hand and the journey continues. A happy birthday to myself. A happy 29!

Talk of Brevity, a short story.

 

Yasmin gave a pot full of water to Aisha, who was her neighbour. It was just before dawn, the sun rays shone through the trees. It was such a beautiful morning engrossed with the sensational chirp from the sunbirds that even the girls did not notice that their time was at the river was running out.

"Yasmin, we have to go prepare for school, or else we will be late for class," Aisha said as she balanced her pot on her head.

"Okay, I hear you, Aisha, one minute I fill my pot," Yasmin said.

The two girls are in the same class at Matopeni High School. They were among the top students in their class since they took their first test. A special bond was then created between the two. One evening as they left class they learnt that they were even neighbours and from that walk home, it struck them that they would be friends for a long time.

“Did you finish the Math assignment?” Aisha asked Yasmin.

"Yes, I did it even before I left class yesterday. There is usually a lot of work to do when I get home. Most of the time I finish my assignments before I leave for home." Yasmin said as she stepped up the riverbank. "Let's go home and get ready for class. I cannot wait to sit in Mr. Wachira's Math class." Yasmin said as she adjusted her pot.

The two girls went up the small trail up the main road. People could be seen walking up and down in their daily endeavors. Everyone seemed to be in a frenzy, busy calculating, and planning schedules for the day, it seemed promising Yasmin, and Aisha hurried down the path as the sun shone her rays that burnt through the morning mist and dew. They walked in anticipation of a new day in school. Yasmin strived in school as they struggled to put food on their table, Aisha, on the other hand, was from a well-off family, nevertheless, she took her studies seriously as  her father was a doctor working at the local hospital. Yasmin's father was a soldier in the armed forces since he was a young man. His expertise especially with the sniper rifle has earned him military stars catapulting him to the rank of Major commanding a battalion of soldiers. Yasmin had two younger siblings who she cherished and helped them with their homework in the evening. The girls could now see the grass thatched roofing of their area of residence. They parted ways and they were to go to school in the next five minutes.

Water was a problem in the area of Nyamiso; it was a common problem for both the rich and poor. Yasmin's mother liked her daughter very much, as she did not show any inappropriate behavior whatsoever. Her father had already gone to work, and her mother was waiting for the kids to get ready for school. At the local barracks, they were getting ready to launch an attack on Jihadists from the neighboring country. Yasmin's father as a Major had a duty of navigating the troops through the forests into the war zone. He always prayed that he would not meet his maker as he served his country, he thought of it as a peaceful transition into the sprit space. He climbed into the 4 by 4 cruiser and roared the engine to fire.

“Alright boys, follow protocol discussed and avoid any exchange of fire,” Major Khalid commanded as he waited for the other cruisers to lead the way. He opted to be the last vehicle in the convoy as he suspected something was wrong. He eyed one soldier who seemed off. He was a bit calm as compared to the rest. The mission was a high-risk one and confidential. The soldiers were on high alert and this one seemed quite off. The trucks moved slowly in a single file into the trees and bushes enveloped them, they were leaving Nyamiso and approaching Kasaguyu forest. The forest was right next to the border between the two nations. Chivadi had been facing civil wars since the government was overthrown by the armed forces back in 1987. It was the duty of peacekeepers to secure reconciliation and give power to the required authorities. That is what Major Khalid intended to do. It was his duty to bring peace to the people of Chivadi. Engines purred as they tried to keep it low in case for the sake of spies just in case. The drive was forty-five minutes to the surrounding of the border.

“Are the M-16s loaded?” Major Khalid asked his lieutenant.

“Yes Sir, we added some AK-47s together with some flash bangs, we thought they would come in handy in the ambush.” The lieutenant said.

"That is wonderful. I see at the college they did train you well. The flash bangs are the best in setting up an ambush." Major Khalid said.

It was around 7:42 a.m., the mist was clearing away, and the morning sun was beginning to scorch. Yasmin and Aisha were in class already waiting for their class teacher. Most of the students were seated already as some others played around in the classroom. Mr. Wafula came in as he put his books on the teacher's desk.

"Good morning class?" Mr. Wafula said as he cleared the chalkboard.

“Good morning teacher,” the whole class answered in unison.

The teacher then sat behind his desk and asked the students to write down notes. Mr. Wafula was a middle-aged man who had considerably done well during especially in his young years as a teacher. His signature look was a beard and a checked shirt. He always wore a checked shirt to school every day every term of the entire school calendar. As class was in session, they heard a loud bang outside about a kilometer away. Yasmin felt a chill run down her spine, with the very fact of her father commanding a battalion. She hoped him well and put her thoughts back in class. She had overheard his father mentioning to her mother that he would be gone for a few days. Wait, the border is a couple of miles from the town. Yasmin realized this and her feet began to shake. Could it be the rebels defeating the army? The very army that won the civil war 6 years back. A civil war that was so critical the victims’ names were put on a wall in the city centre. Aisha noticed the distraction on her friend’s face and elbowed her: As the class continued another loud bang, this one louder than the first one but much closer. However, this one came close in less than a mile away. Mr. Wafula rose up and went to the door to check what was going on. Outside, a massive cloud of thick smoke rose in the air. Gunshots were heard, the rumble of the guns could have placed the types as AK-47s’. This roar of the numerous bullets in the air caused a wild stir in the school. Mr. Wafula came back in the classroom heaving up and down shutting the door behind him.

“Everyone under your desks!” Mr. Wafula said now removing his pullover and throwing it to the ground. Some students saw as if their teacher had gone bzzzrkk!

 

 into the room and asked the students to remain quiet and hide under their desks. The teacher left the class heading in the direction of the staffroom. Close to half of the school was at the gate screaming pushing their way out of the gate. Yasmin and Aisha were stuck in a corner speaking in low tones.

“What do you think is happening outside?” Yasmin asked Aisha.

"I do not even want to think of what is happening outside. All I know is that I am safe in this classroom, Mr. Wafula should join us until we get information about what is going on." Aisha said trembling in fear.

 They lived in a small town. From  the school the students could see the  beauty of their community and got to be part of their cultural heritage In short, they guessed the trucks were military trucks  as they were used to seeing soldiers. Yasmin was glad the chaos would subside, and they could finally get a copy of what was going on. Little did she know that the rebels had ambushed the army trucks as they were heading for the border: Little did she know. All of a sudden, gunshots were heard at the gate of the school. Twaa. Twaa. There were screams all over the place, as hell broke loose. It then dawned on the students especially Yasmin and Aisha that something was amiss.

“What is going on outside?” Yasmin asked her friend.

“Probably the worst, with the screams and the gunshots, I doubt those are the army," Aisha concluded.

“If they are not the army, where is the army?” Yasmin asked almost shedding a tear realizing instantly that her father was the Major leading the battalion.

Mr. Wafula could be heard having a conversation outside, but it seemed as if he was on the receiving end. The unshakeable frame that could not be bent whatsoever. However, they could hear him whimpering as if it was the last straw. Twaa! Silence then engraved the compound. No more pleads, no more cries. Heavy boots hugged the cold floor as they kissed the doors wide open. The doors, on the other hand, smacked the walls with such velocity one could tell the agitation of the boot wearer. It seemed as if the classes were empty; the students had scampered to safety as soon as they heard the gunshots at the gate. Only one room was full, one bad decision of Mr. Wafula.

            The door flew open and what came in made the students yelp out in fear. A long-bearded man with an Arafat covering his head stormed into the room. A smile cracked his dry face as he waved outside, a signal to the others. Other roughed up men entered the classroom. Immediately they saw the scared students hiding under their desks, they all burst into a jeer of laughter. Yasmin was holding onto Aisha's hand with such firmness that Aisha had no other option but to do the same. Maybe it would ease the anxiety and the fear gripping them. The men were armed with AK-47 rifles and had magazines strapped on their chests in a crisscross design all the way to the back. They looked scary. One of them raised his rifle and shot in the air. Chaos erupted as everyone tried to get to the door. Yasmin and Aisha too were not left behind, luckily, they were the first to get up and rush to the door. Well, a sad fact is that they were the only ones that made it out of the classroom. The remaining students will have to be a story for another day.

“They will never try to ambush us again. These two lucky girls will become my wives.” One of the rebels said cheekily. From the look of things, he was the one giving out orders. Yasmin and Aisha at the time were sobbing uncontrollably both begging for bullets. They wanted to die as heroes, never to live crawling on their knees but to die like the heroes they learnt in school. That was the main deal for the two girls at that moment. They were shoved in the truck as the rebels shot in the air as a sign of victory. The girls saw Mr. Wafula's lifeless body lying across the footpath leading to the staffrooms; it was a horrific sight for the scared girls. As they left the school compound, Yasmin was running into an aura of hopelessness. She wondered if these ruthless bastards too had killed her father. She let out a breath of despair as she prayed to Allah to keep her father safe, dead, or alive.  

"Where do you think they are taking us, Yasmin?" Aisha asked with a voice so small that the ants would respond.

"Maybe they are taking us across the border; one of them said that we would become his wives," Yasmin said almost gasping for air

. In the truck, they were heavily guarded by the rebel troops. Coincidentally, they had become one of the most prized possessions for the rebels that day. How they lived their lives was a matter of survival: A matter of life and death, as they had taken the oath as they graduated from becoming civilians to becoming soldiers. Such a scenario would be detrimental to the society as these soldiers were not afraid of death. Almost everyone had fled the town centre for fear of death by the gun-wielding rebels. Groups of rowdy youth barricaded some of the roads with stones and barbed wire and were chanting war songs armed with machetes. Such a situation proved the youth to send chilling threats to the rebels at first. Nevertheless, swords and machetes were no match for the AK-47 machine guns the rebels had. The rebels shot live bullets in the direction of the youth scampering them in various directions. This gave the rebels a slim chance to get away as the youth started hurling stones at the truck. The rebels sped off with such speed leaving a cloud of dust behind, almost choking some of the youth who scampered for their dear lives.

In the vehicles, the girls wished they could vanish into thin air just like in the fairy tales. This was not the case, by now they were leaving the village headed for the thick forest. The two girls watched the road disappear in dismay as they left their beloved home, heading to an undisclosed area. A place they had never been before. Yasmin at least had left the town in one of the monthly trips they shared with her beloved father. They got deeper into the bush when they passed the wrecks of the army trucks.

“They thought we were not aware of their ambush…I bet they got served with their own medicine.” One of the rebels said chuckling.

At this moment the girls were now aware of the torment awaiting them, they would become wives to these murderers. Oh! What a terrible thing to befall girls especially of their age. Cases of girls gone missing were common in the village. Rumormongers claimed the hostages left for Chivadi and became sex slaves to the wealthy rebels. Apparently, stories went round they live the luxurious life and were more in touch with young maidens. Kasaguyu forest was so thick that rescue missions were near a joke. The two girls would go through the same fate as the other victims. They got through the forest without much of a disturbance. Everyone was quiet, the pushing of pistons and shock absorbers were the only sounds that creaked every time the truck jumped over rough potholes the sandy road offered. At the border, the vehicles stopped.

The army vans had fallen into a trap as they headed for the border. It seemed as if there was a mole in Major Khalid's battalion. It was a top-secret affair, which was confidential, for the past month. Major Khalid and his sergeant were the only people who were aware of the mission until yesterday night. Furthermore, the mission started at precisely 3:00 a.m. That was the time they were loading the trucks with explosives, guns, fuel, and ammunition. Thirty minutes later, they had fired up their engines and headed for Kasaguyu forest. At that time, the army and the few citizens with gun licenses handled the security of the border towns. Because of the porous borders, the two nations created. Wakanda, on the other hand, was trying to save its people at all costs. The operation Major Khalid led was supposed to capture the rebel leader Abdi Karuum. He had been on the army’s most wanted list for a long time for crimes against humanity. They had missed multiple chances to assassinate him as he too had military skills. 

The three Toyota Landcruisers came to a stop after a 30-minute drive. The girls started shivering, as they could not imagine what was waiting ahead of them. They knew nothing, which only led to more depression on their side. They had never been to this region before, which made them even more frightened. Almost immediately, the back door of the Landcruiser opened, and a rugged man with a large beard reached his hand out in the direction of the girls. Yasmin hesitated at first, but after a few seconds, she reached out too as she rose to her feet. She stepped out of the van and what she saw almost shocked her. Aisha seeing Yasmin step out of the truck unharmed, she too reached out and climbed down the truck. What she also saw amazed her; she thought they in some deserted place then into some dark room. No, that was not the case. They were in a well-built town full of modern infrastructure. One had to wonder how could that be possible: In the middle of the desert? A town stood right there in front of them.

"Start walking; you two are fortunate the boss likes you both. If it weren't for that, I would have taken you in as my wives." The rugged driver said closing the driver's door.

Yasmin led the way. It had been like this for so long. Ever since they met, it has been Yasmin finding solutions and leading the way. She was a born leader, a daughter every father would be proud to have. In school, her company was among the diligent. Always working hard, most of the teachers were fond of her. The men were welcomed warmly as if what had just happened to Yasmin and Aisha to be normal. This angered Yasmin who by now was sure that her father was dead. What of her mother and siblings, were worried sick upon learning of what had happened at school? Aisha was calm now, she had to catch a breath, and some water would do her good. They had been on the road for over eight hours; she wondered how Yasmin was not thirsty.

“Can I get some water please?” Aisha asked the man standing beside her.

“A minute, as I told you earlier you two have become the most important people we have had in a long time. The Wakanda army had previously ambushed the rebels six times. It was a first time the rebels managed to successfully set up an ambush. They were all in a jovial mood as they greeted what seemed to be their family. The girls later learnt that among the rebels, three of them were brothers and understood the warm welcome. An elderly woman pierced Yasmin's gaze with hers as they locked eyes, they seemed to know each other, yet they had never met before. Yasmin looked away and began surveying the area. She was now determined to run away at the slightest chance she got. She was even ready to leave Aisha if she was for the idea of getting married to the rebel Abdi Karuum. He seemed as if he was a hero among the people in that particular area. It was obvious when he saluted some passers-by a couple of times as they were standing outside.

“Shall we get into the house?” The Commander said as soon as he noticed the two young girls attracting attention.

It was a small town. A situation where everyone knew the other and a stranger easily spotted. They all entered the large door and found themselves in a well-decorated room. Yasmin was now scared. How could such people live in such luxury yet they turn into murderers within the flash of a second? She became puzzled and pinched Aisha on the elbow to make sure she also noticed the luxurious items. Maybe she had already opted for the nasty option of marriage. Yasmin had to come up with a plan to escape such atrocities. It was not her cup of tea. She was used to the quiet life, the slow sweet life. They walked across the room and entered into another room where they found a dimly lit corridor. The girls walked down the dark corridor with faith being their only sight. Aisha sensed something was amiss and gave out a yelp and attempting to run in the direction they had come. Within a flash of a second, she received a head-butt from one of the rebels sending her sprawling sideways. Yasmin then rushed to assist her friend realizing that they had been too comfortable around the men. The girls then heard the clanking of a metal door at the end of the corridor. Yasmin's instincts were right; these men could change into brutes any time they felt like. A cold shiver ran through Yasmin's spine. She was now determined more than ever to escape. 

“Push them in till the wedding celebrations tonight. We shall drink and rejoice till dawn.” The master rebel said grinning highlighting some disfigured dental formulae.

The girls stumbled in the cell like a sack of potatoes off a moving lorry and kissed the cold floor as they both yelped in pain. Aisha felt something warm touch her. She shrieked letting out a sound like that of a raccoon. Yasmin undoubtedly guessed they were not alone.

“Who’s there?” Yasmin asked in a shrill voice.

“It’s just us, good to have some company, where you from?” They heard a small voice coming from the far corner.

“We are from the neighboring Wakanda. What about you guys?” Aisha asked curiously wanting to know who else was in the small cell and its environment.  

"We are local girls. Our parents were unable to pay money to the rebels. Thus, they took us as compensation. We have been here since the start of the year waiting for the monies to be paid." The frail girl said.

“And what is your name?” Yasmin asked.

“I am Farida, that is Pazia over there,” she said in her frail voice.

            Yasmin and Aisha looked at the other end in awe. They thought they were only three in the small cell. However, they hoped that the marriage ceremonies would start soon as they could no longer stand the small cell.

"Hey, guys?" Pazia asked in a shrill voice.

“Hey Pazia, “Aisha answered. “ It seems you two have been around for some time now I am so sorry about that.”

“We were abducted from our school by these brutes. Now they want to wed us,” Yasmin said. “In any case, I will agree to that over my dead body. Am sure by now am the only member of our family that is living. I would rather die a heroin and join my family in heaven. “A troubled Yasmin said.

They heard footsteps coming from the corridor, and they all kept quiet, contemplating what would happen if they made noise. Aisha could contemplate that, by now, her head had stopped bleeding, and she covered the wound with a scarf. A roughed up man opened the massive door and yanked Yasmin and Aisha out of the cell.

“It’s time my friends. I suppose you are familiar with the wedding rites in this side of town.” The man said.

Yasmin and Aisha kept quiet as they walked up the dark corridor. They were now conversant with the house. They maneuvered their way around the corridors until they entered a room and found the leader of the rebel group.

“Wait, what happened to this one?” The rebel leader asked in awe.

“She tried to run away sir.” The roughed up man said.

“Oh! Then you did her right. However, I cannot marry damaged goods. Take her back to the cell. “The rebel leader ordered.

The girls could not believe it. Aisha was going back to that small cell. Back to those two frail girls. The rebels too would starve Aisha into a needle. No. Yasmin had to act fast if she was to save her friend. What Yasmin did next put everyone in the room into shock, even the rebel leader gasped for a second: Yasmin ran towards the rough man, snatched away his AK-47 rifle, and put the muzzle on her head.

“Let her remain here with me if at all you want to marry me!” Yasmin said as if thunder was in her throat.

The rebel leader was struck in awe. It had been some time before he had seen such bravery.

“Okay young blood, have it your way. Your friend will remain as you wish. “Abdi said with satisfaction.

Abdi saw some speck in the eyes of Yasmin, a speck women in the area did not have: A speck of bravery and will. He saw a modest wife out of Yasmin, or so he thought. Yasmin could not believe what she had just done. The AK-47 rifle still in her hand, everyone was tense with no idea what would happen next. Funny enough, no one else had a gun in the room. Yasmin was trembling realizing that this was the second they were waiting for since they entered those filthy Landcruisers in Wakanda. She raised the gun in the air and fired a few rounds in the air making everyone scamper for safety. The rebel leader himself had misjudged the girls. Yasmin was indeed a soldier’s daughter, the daughter of a Major. Realizing that time was not in her hands, she had to act fast if they were to escape. Yasmin ordered the rebels to lay on the floor: A taste of their own medicine for once, what a sweet revenge.

“Aisha! Tie their arms and legs as fast as you can.” Yasmin said. “You, Come over here! Yasmin ordered the leader who by now was in a state of confusion and could not believe what was happening.

Yasmin staggered with rage. A rage that came from watching her teacher and fellow students perish under the hand of the man in front of her. Abdi (rebel leader) was trembling, as he knew Yasmin would lose her cool and splash his brains all over the floor. Aisha having finished tying the men rushed to Yasmin's side: Ready to fight after seeing how brave Yasmin was and how she had stepped up a few seconds ago.

"It was you who killed my father, Major Khalid!" Yasmin shouted in fury already cocking the gun ready to end Abdi. Upon hearing Major Khalid, Abdi’s blood froze. That man had troubled him ever since he had joined the rebels. The Major had killed Abdi's father during his tenure as the rebel boss. Now Abdi's blood became hot. He attempted to rush at Yasmin, snatch the gun, and kill Yasmin on the spot for being the Major's daughter, but Yasmin pointed the gun nozzle towards his chest, a clear indication of the thin line between life and death. He would avenge his father's death with more honor.

“Get the keys to any of the Landcruisers. It’s about time we got out of here Aisha.” Yasmin said pushing the nozzle on the back of Abdi.

Aisha took the keys from the pockets of the roughed up man and kicked him on the crotch.

"That is for the head-butt," Aisha said as she hurriedly left leaving the man groaning in pain.

Outside, people had gathered for the wedding ceremony but were dumbstruck after they saw their leader been whisked into the Landcruiser by two small girls, one of them carrying an AK-47 rifle. Aisha opened the driver's door and hopped in. Yasmin and Abdi sat at the back seat; gun still pointed at Abdi, who could still not believe what was going on. Aisha fired up the engine and stepped on the gas pedal leaving an enormous cloud of dust behind.

“You know they are right behind us, don’t you?” Abdi said as he let out a chuckle.

The chuckle earned him a head-butt from Yasmin who was not in the mood of playing any games. She knew he was right. Nevertheless, she only wanted to cross the border. Maybe, by now they would have soldiers guarding the border after the intrusion by the rebels. Aisha stepped on the gas, and they saw the town disappear behind the dust.

“Aisha, make sure we get to the border.” Yasmin encouraged Aisha.

As they approached the dirt road leading to the border, boom! The car was in mid-air. They had stepped on a landmine put there by the Wakanda Army. They had seen the Landcruiser from afar approaching the border and were not taking any chances. The occupants of the vehicle lay hopelessly on the ground as army trucks approached the scene. Yasmin could not recognize the broad shape of his father as he carried her into an awaiting ambulance.

“You will be okay my sweet daughter.” Major Khalid re-assured her daughter.

Yasmin realizing it was indeed her father tried to warn him of the incoming rebels.

“They are coming father.” She whispered.

Major Khalid understood the message.

"Place more landmines on the roads; we are expecting company boys." Major Khalid said.

The truck carrying the Major was the last one, and after seeing what had happened to the other two trucks, they hid in the bushes. Major Khalid upon returning home and learning that his daughter was missing, he went into rage and vowed to slaughter all the rebels. Yasmin instead had proved herself as she had captured the most notorious rebel leader of that time. He was nothing less but proud. Nevertheless, he had a job to do. The girls had been taken to the nearest hospital and Abdi was in the hands of the law. What a day. Major Khalid said to himself. As he was contemplating on the events of the day, he heard another boom. He was lest assured that the day was getting better and better. Finally, they had got rid of ghost town, for good this time. The army marched into the small town and lay claim to it. Yasmin had proved herself a hero. She was gifted with the Elder of Burning Spear Award from the President. Yasmin and Aisha had become role models to girls in their community and nation. They visited secondary schools throughout the following year empowering young girls to embrace education and at the same time assist each other just as they did at their time of peril. Yasmin’s father smiles every time he remembers her only daughter seized the most deadly terrorist in the region of East Africa.

 

END

The Antidote, Hope

 

            Hope is a four-lettered word. What have we left to hope for, in a time where African beats are now silent? A silence that is now being cascaded by wars between Ukraine and Russia, where is the next brink of chaos? At a worldly stance, we all need hope. It was in recent times when the United States (US) President; President Joe Biden withdrew his troops from Afghanistan. Such was seen as a massive catastrophe to the social order of the country. The US stayed in the country for close to twenty years. Imagine generations that have blended and woven within the twenty years. I would assimilate this to the stance of slavery in the ancient Africa. I would picture a typical Kenyan primary school-going child having known no violence in their entire childhood; suddenly see soldiers disrupt its education, what a sad way to dim the future of an Afghan primary school-going child.

Hope is what we have seen today, March 29, 2022 where Congo is expected to join the East African Community (EAC) with a primal aim of trade, social cohesion, and security. The country has waited for such for close to seven to six years. With the brink of pre-covid era, it is quite hopeful for world leaders after confronting their issues through Zoom, Google, and other video streaming platforms, have come together. It is with such a decree that it is indeed true that hope is alive from the four corners of the earth. With the example of Congo, economies of EAC member States namely Uganda, Tanzania, Burundi, Rwanda, South Sudan, and Kenya. It is with the special interest that Lake Tanganyika is in both Congo and Tanzania. Hopefully, they will supply fish to the residents of EAC. With the vastness of forest cover of Congo, then, it would be robust to venture into some deep-rooted camping and hiking. What six years of waiting coming into affirmation next Tuesday, a ray of hope to both Congolese and citizens of other countries within the EAC.

            It was in 2022, where in the month of love, I met love herself. I was dropping my first book “The African Powerhouse” at a local bookstore, and it was February 1^st. As usual, I was hopeful for a successful endeavor at the end of the day, in terms of the book of course, all went well, however, I did not get her number though. Hope conveys the same weight as purpose in that without it, there would be a limited number of hopeful people. I would add that with purpose, there is a rock solid responsibility, and with hope, there is will to carry out that purposeful duty and achieve optimum satisfaction. It is with hope that this damsel finds and sees hope in this disastrous scribe with the purpose of a happy marriage.

             Looking back at African history and descent, social order was critical in the establishments of authority. Hope and patronage were essentials in the achievement of the better things in the then setup. I would imagine young girls going to the river in the morning and fetch firewood in the evening. In turn, the boys were busy herding goats and cows in plains far away from home. I could suppose that there were those who did these duties with a little bit of more expertise than the rest of them. It was through patronage and a ray of hope that enable them to sail through the challenging parts do they enjoy the fruits of true benefaction. It is such social order we see beauty of tribes and it is in this we learn more on being African in the 21^st Century. Hope for sure tastes similar to a grape bursting in one’s mouth. 

            Hope is still a four-letter word despite its heroic appearance in this article. It has seen ambience in love, heritage, and had footprints in the East African Community. It is also with hope that this article is better than most in this competition. Hope is hope!

Love Nest

 

Here we are 2021 end of the year to be exact. There was the Glascow conference the other day and His Excellency Uhuru Kenyatta attended. It is in such a draping that the bold men we see walk through camera flicks after a detailed board meeting, now wearing faded blazers and wrinkled faces. I suppose their glamour is gone, and it might be for good this time. The glossy suits and the waxy hair they wore to the work places before the Corona period are almost collecting dust in closed wardrobes. Work places are now open spaces with staff recollecting and sharing their experiences of the pandemic. More so, bosses have their ears on the floor ready to hear ideas they were used to. Nonetheless, they are friendlier primarily because of the work-from-home style. Maybe they realized they were not the ones running companies, sitted behind enormous desks with a secretary on the front lawn. They witnessed their staff working harder in the comfort of their homes.

The government on the other hand, simulated its functions to fit the pandemic bracket. Looking at our neighbours the Tanzanians, they are dominating markets initially owned by Kenya and Uganda. It was of recent times that the Ugandans, after their General Election, sought to fill the loopholes orchestrated by political tension raised by the two neighboring countries. It is quite unfair to the citizens of this nation to import eggs from Uganda simply because we are stuck in debt. It is fortunate that the country received Covid vaccines in time, and we should honor our President for this incentive. What we need is to harness a love nest, one with the stripes of an African country, and still raise our heritage and wear the colors of our flag with pride.

Africa is known to be populous and full of political mane. It is a sad affair that what we get as foreign aid is part of bilateral relations, which have us get close to 10% of our total input to the wellness of foreign nations. What should we do? I think it is time Kenya appreciated the efforts of current and former leaders in their efforts to sustain the citizens. It is in the United States where grants and aid are easily accessible to its citizens as compared to other developed countries. In this retrospect, handouts should be outdated to Kenyans. It is honorable that the Chinese are coming again into the country to assist us in realizing this dream. Then, the tale of Kenya being at par with the Malaysian economy in the 1990s’ should be in favor of us after the year 2021.

In Kenya today, women are now championing for equal rights in various sectors of the economy. We are seeing women leaders budding, and this is a direction to the right path. It was a laughable scenario in the past for a woman to vie let alone speak in a political gathering. We have had iron women such as the late Wangari Maathai and Martha Karua defy the chains of past regimes to champion for the welfare of the women folk.  It was yesterday 1/11/2022 where a woman was catapulting this campaign of them being public representatives in Parliament and other places of representation. I suppose after the pandemic and global economic instability, women folk are the best option in negotiating on behalf of government on international platforms.

A love nest is what the world at large needs, and it is through our women, that we get a better chance and opportunity to embrace change and increase chances of success to the citizens of Kenya at large. Women for sure are becoming epitomes of success in the society, as for us men, we should think of how Ugandan eggs should not cross our borders.

What Next Africa

 It is almost impossible to measure the damage the pandemic has left, after millions of lives were lost at the onset of the virus. Good grief! Those numbers surged on TV screens across the globe. Everyone was behind doors, literally, a prison on its own. Not leaving the house for a month! I can barely stay in the house without taking a stroll for two days in a row. At the start, Wuhan seemed a town in space. Months turned into days and the race of the clock ticked and tocked. Evenings became cold as neighbours and friends disappeared behind closed doors, quite ironic! Death became a typical phrase to streets in most parts of the country. It was either a neighbour or a close relative that was nabbed by the strong jaws of covid-19. It is a sad revelation to us Africans that those who pretend to give aid to the mother country in the guise of foundations bit their own tongues as death stank in the Western part of the globe. Mellissa Gates claimed that African streets were to be filled with dead bodies. I shake my head to this day as I keep on looking for the imaginary beings that the super-rich purport to have sentenced to dismay.

Africa, what a wonder, we survived this hurricane of a disease. I could have bet that it is within African spirit to fight an enemy. It is with this notion and in fact, a confirmed theory that perhaps one day, Africa could become one, A United States of Africa. With the dynamics of world order and natural happenings, survival for the fittest was the ultimate game changer in this hell of a maze of not dying. Wearing a mask, sanitizing your hands, keeping social distance, and coughing as one covers the mouth were the puppets that held the globe at a standstill. I mean, that could be a rare chance for aliens to visit earth and leave without anyone noticing, except the superrich of course. With everyone working from home, and covering the respiratory system with a mask could be a way out of the orchestrators of the virus way to surge energies across large tracts of land.  I being a Kenyan have seen the benefits of the lockdowns. For one, families have united and cleaned dirty linen they hid in their closets for who knows how long. Better hygiene is now observed and common diseases like cholera, typhoid, and malaria have down surged in the number of cases reported at medical facilities. Malaria found a vaccine; this should continue.

Malaria has devoured children and missionaries during times of pre-colonial era. It was known to kill voyagers in ships not leaving treacherous pirates that ruled the Seven Seas. There being a vaccine for Malaria in 2021 is a revelation for most global stakeholders. One could wonder, is it the curiosity to cure Covid-19 that developed an interest to conduct studies relating to Malaria, or is it that they found an old file while salvaging through old medicinal doctrines they found a lead to a shelved Malaria project? One could really wonder what happens behind those laboratories. It is with a profound sinister line of thought that in deed, the Corona Virus was formulated behind med labs under dimly lit rooms with malice written all over the face of that one scientist who wanted to take the world with them. Post Covid.

Post Covid is post covid as virus is just another English word in the dictionary. The year 2020 is now tagged the year the movie Home Alone could have had the same impact as Obama’s The Promised Land had last year. However, us being typical Africans we adapted to the lifestyle and it became our everyday life; wearing a mask under your nose with a sole purpose of avoiding an arrest. Typical is used intentionally to show also that African is another name in the English dictionary. It is with such that it is a label, driving us into stereotype in the sense that once the word African enters our ears, we rather set our mindsets into extremism thus, throwing our heritage to the toilet. We either go into trance of achieving the American dream or think of becoming this awesome professor teaching philosophy in an Ivy League University, or even embracing root heritage; this I believe, is living in history, an attribute that is not African. However, what mothers, sisters, aunts, and grandmothers have seen in the eyes of their sons, fathers, uncles, and grandfathers during that spited period of the Corona Virus is rich in African heritage. Mothers had sons at home before dusk, hot meals shared round tables, warm beds at night, and fresh bread in the morning.

What of the West? That gap is too huge for them to fill, especially with the broken linkages in generational gaps, the broken linkages in work places, the broken linkages in social settings. I believe the West is at a much advanced level as compared to us Africans. My personal extremist stereotype every time I hear African is a united front, A United States of Africa, but then, I think of becoming its first President, then I think, what of the varied Defense Forces, trouble to say the least if the continent became one. The West already done that, found a Malaria vaccine, and forged the US Army. Jumping from the African Powerhouse to the Reading Cube, I still ask, what is African? At least we know we are stronger in this Post Covid recovery. What else can an African person do apart from survive, adapt, and think of duplicating the West. What can an African person do in this 21^st Century? The quest continues…

Formula 1

 Valentino Rossi was once a champion in the Moto Gp Motorcycle series. In this new scope of thought process, it is humane and thoughtful to become competitive in matters affairs life and its other tags. In my days in the University, I loved formula and math simply because of these obscene rules and regulations that had one going about with numbers calculating and thinking of one correct answer. In class, I preferred this to what am doing right now; writing. It is in the sense that Formula 1 is a concept worth pondering on and peeking. Let me jog your mind a little bit, I chose math as a career subject over English, a subject I comfortably scored an A minus with math me having a B minus. It is in this captivating situation where I expound on the concept of Formula 1.

            Valentino Rossi is a speed freak especially in race events like those held in Dubai, Tokyo, and in New York. Those two wheels of his are the start and finish of his racing experience. It was the other day my moms’ became a driver and it was only yesterday she convinced herself to walk to the market only for her to use taxi on her way back. I suggest we adapt a finger print syndrome in the essence in this discussion of Formula 1. With replica of the herd immunity coerced during the initiation of defense mechanism against the virus, this formula 1 entity could rub off dirt from the earth, dirt like the world was ending, and Armageddon type of dirt. I could picture the synthesis of a technological hub such as Silicon Valley and the tech stuff going around that hub; similar to what NASA does with space? Btw, what happened after man landed in Mars? Any news? If any share the buzz. Ha-ha…

            In school, I disregarded my talent for writing, for my thought of my mathematical whizz, which was obviously off the charts. I this decree, I do strongly advice that a formula is much better than planning, and with reference to my tittle in the book Tha African Powerhouse, “Present Pays”, planning is sort of a hindrance to the obvious rewards and collections life has set in one’s path. I am happy I found my one formula and stuck with it even when the answer was not correct. When Rossi is on a corner, he gets adrenaline from putting his knee closer to the gravel with his fist wrapped round the gas gears at the front. That is a formula of beating a corner when using Rossi’s rulebook; you could see that he practiced this every time he cut a corner, every time. With my homework, it is so obvious that I should have picked one formula, the English formula, the correct answer. Here I am with my knees close to the gravel, rubber burning me cutting my last corner, cheers Valentino Rossi: Formula 1.