Wednesday, 17 April 2013

The Tale of the Lost Goat


When she has prepared me millet porridge
And added a few pinches of dried termites
She brings it in my favourite calabash
Her eyes, as shiny as oiled arrows,
Her gait, as enchanting as sugarcanes on a windy field.

Her lorwaa dress will flutter in the morning wind
Her bracelets and necklaces will jingle
This ordered noise will float in our homestead
Till her loud giggle will drown it
When I see the woman of my heart
Sunlight enters my being
I feel like to jump up and praise my bull

In the darkness of the night
I whisper to her that she is the sour milk
Taken during drought
She will giggle and remind me
Of times when I wooed her
Of how often I came to their homestead
“To look for a lost goat”
While in reality
I wanted to catch a glimpse of her

The woman of my heart
Is the reason I walk with a spring in my feet
The reason why I am always happy
Is because of the mother of my children
Her warmth is the ember burning on a rainy night

When I am in the woods
I whistle love songs to the woman of my heart
Trapped inside my ears is the voice of my queen
I see me and my best friend chuckling in the hut
Our seven children inching closer to hearth
Tonight, I will remind my woman to remind me
To buy her a posho mill
So that she can grind all maize in the village
And put herself ahead of the pack of all the women here
I know what she will say—again— (while giggling, thanks for guessing)
That I am still looking for a lost goat.


 C) Lorot Salem 2013

~
For Poets United's Verse First- Wake Up and Love!

Kim Nelson's prompts are always such a creative stimulant. Hit up the link and read other poems posted by my Clansmen and Women at Poets United.







Wednesday, 10 April 2013

A Few Remarks on This and That


On the dusty bowl of earth,
Wind stirs lethargic leaves,
Remonstrating them
Parches of raw earth look tired
Their eyelids closely knit
Cursing the sun

But some few meters away
On the green hills, the sight beholds
Manicured lawns sit idly, bougainvillea
Fences looking pretty, all shy, all trim

Once in a while, some stray wind
Will scuttle past the barren land
Onto the pampered fields
But they wouldn’t go far
Perhaps intimidated by the ‘bossy’ leaves

The lazy bystander fiddles with a flower
Rubbing the petals in his nose
And it is in that reverie that the gate-man
Will stir him, asking,
‘Unafanya nini hapa?’ (What are you doing here?)

~
For a prompt of Poets United's Verse First ~ COLORED

Tuesday, 2 April 2013

Speeches that Changed the World


I have finished reading ‘Speeches That Changed the World’ by Alan J. Whiticker. It  contains a wide array of speeches by Mahatma Gandhi, Martin Luther King Jnr., Lenin, Stalin, Adolf Hitler, John F. Kennedy, Indira Gandhi, Arundati Roy,  Margaret Chase Smith, Mary Church Terrell, Emmeline Pankhurst, and many others.

It is difficult to express the delight I felt reading them—being cheered, being gripped, being moved to tears. The speeches I have read have the finest qualities, delivered during critical periods of human history.

For instance, as I read Mary Church Terrel’s ‘Being Coloured in the Nation’s Capital’, I get the impression of what it meant to be coloured in 1906 in the U.S.

Speaks Terrel:

“As a colored woman I cannot visit the tomb of the Father of this Country, which owes its very existence to the love of freedom in the human heart and which stands for equal opportunity to all, without being forced to sit in the Jim Crow section of an electric car which starts from the very heart of the city—midway between the Capitol and the White House. If I refuse thus to be humiliated, I am cast into jail and forced to pay a fine for violating the Virginia law…”

Then there is Emmeline Pankhurst in her speech ‘Freedom or Death’. This English barrister fought for women’s suffrage. The quote I really liked from her was this:

“…I am here as a soldier who has temporarily left the field of battle in order to explain—it seems strange it should have to be explained—what civil war is like when civil war is waged by women. I am not only here as a soldier temporarily absent from the field of battle;  I am here—and that, I think, is the strangest part of my coming—I am here as a person who, according to the law courts of my country, it has been decided, is of no value to the community at all; and I am adjudged because of my life to be a dangerous person, under sentence of penal servitude in a convict prison. So you see there is some special interest in hearing so unusual a person address you. I dare say, in the minds of many of you—you will perhaps forgive me this personal touch—that I do not look either very like a solider or very like a convict, and yet I am both.”

And how can we forget the terrifying statement of Adolf Hitler in his speech ‘The Jewish Question’ delivered in The Reichstag, Berlin, 30 January 1939:

“Today I will once more be a prophet: If the international Jewish financiers in and outside Europe should succeed in plunging the nations once more into a world war, then the result will not be the Bolshevisation of the earth, and thus the victory of the Jewry, but the annihilation of the Jewish race in Europe!”

On an encouraging tone is the ‘Russel-Einstein Manifesto’ denouncing use of nuclear weapons. But again, with sobering realities of Nuclear consequences.

“It is stated on very good authority that a bomb can now be manufactured which will be 2,500 times as powerful as that which destroyed Hiroshima. Such a bomb, if exploded near the ground or under water, sends radio-active particles into the upper air. They sink gradually and reach the surface of the earth in the form of a deadly dust or rain. It was this dust which infected the Japanese fishermen and their catch of fish. No one knows how widely such lethal radio-active particles might be diffused, but the best authorities are unanimous in saying that a war with H-bombs might possibly put an end to the human race. It is feared that if many H-bombs are used there will be universal death, sudden only for a minority, but for the majority a slow torture of disease and disintegration.”

The Eulogy of Robert F. Kennedy given by his brother, Edward ‘Teddy’ Kennedy, is a moving one. But the words that stick to my mind are:

“This is the way he lived. My brother need not be idealized or enlarged in death beyond what he was in life, to be remembered simply as a good and decent man, who saw wrong and tried to right it, saw suffering and tried to heal it, saw war and tried to stop it”.
“As he said many times, in many parts of this nation, to those he touched and who sought to touch him:
“Some men see things as they are and say why.
I dream things that never were and say why not.”

And there is this chilling quote from John Kerry from his speech “Against the War in Vietnam”:

“The country doesn’t know it yet, but it has created a monster, a monster in the form of millions of men who have been taught to deal and to trade in violence, and who are given the chance to die for the biggest nothing in history; men who have returned with a sense of anger and a sense of betrayal which no one has yet grasped”.

I was greatly inspired by these lines by Jesse Jackson in his 1988 Atlanta, Georgia speech titled ‘Keep Hope Alive’:

“As for Jesse Jackson: "I'm tired of sailing my little boat, far inside the harbor bar. I want to go out where the big ships float, out on the deep where the great ones are. And should my frail craft prove too slight for waves that sweep those billows o'er, I'd rather go down in the stirring fight than drowse to death at the sheltered shore. We've got to go out, my friends, where the big boats are.”

And this one:

“At 3 o'clock on Thanksgiving Day, we couldn't eat turkey because momma was preparing somebody else's turkey at 3 o'clock. We had to play football to entertain ourselves. And then around 6 o'clock she would get off the Alta Vista bus and we would bring up the leftovers and eat our turkey -- leftovers, the carcass, the cranberries -- around 8 o'clock at night. I really do understand.

Every one of these funny labels they put on you, those of you who are watching this broadcast tonight in the projects, on the corners, I understand. Call you outcast, low down, you can't make it, you're nothing, you're from nobody, subclass, underclass; when you see Jesse Jackson, when my name goes in nomination, your name goes in nomination.

I was born in the slum, but the slum was not born in me. And it wasn't born in you, and you can make it.”

Finally, this moving speech by Ryan White, the Indiana Schoolboy who contracted HIV/AIDS in 1984 when he was given a blood transfusion during an operation to remove part of his lung.

“My name is Ryan White. I am sixteen years old. I have hemophilia, and I have AIDS….
This brought on the news media, TV crews, interviews, and numerous public appearances. I became known as the AIDS boy. I received thousands of letters of support from all around the world, all because I wanted to go to school. Mayor Koch, of New York, was the first public figure to give me support. Entertainers, athletes, and stars started giving me support. I met some of the greatest like Elton John, Greg Louganis, Max Headroom, Alyssa Milano (my teen idol), Lyndon King (Los Angeles Raiders), and Charlie Sheen. All of these plus many more became my friends, but I had very few friends at school. How could these people in the public eye not be afraid of me, but my whole town was?”

I think that Ryan’s Speech helped a great deal in fighting stigmatization. Though he died in April 8 1990, aged 18, Alan writes that “his short life made an extraordinary impact”.

Friday, 29 March 2013

Canada, Are You Listening?



I have read a heart-breaking development in Ottawa, Canada which has prompted this heart-rending post + poem from my Koko, Sherry Blue Sky. You might want to read it so that you can understand my consternation too.

I want to give it a voice too.

This is in response to Kim’s prompt this week on #Passion. You might want to visit and read other worthy poems on this prompt at Poets United.

~


Canada, what spell are you under
So odious, so ignominious as not to make you quake?
What detachment has visited you
As not to heed the plaintive breasts of a people disenfranchised?
What brass neck, what chutzpah impels you
To drown the din of reason floating in the air?

Canada, show me the trick
You use to wax your ears from Nishiyuu
Teach me how you do it, Canada
I mean, is that how you give audience
To Theresa Spence, the Attawapiskat Chief?

Is your memory so short, Canada
As not to realize that a march led people to freedom
And that not even the blizzard and the wind
Deterred them?
Have you forgotten the vanguards who braved
The water-horses?
Can you really STOP
What appears to be the Grand March
To seek audience in the great Temple of Truth?

Thus, let it be then
That what is imprinted in people’s hearts is laid bare
In Parliament Hill
Let then the shame, the disparagement reek to high heavens
Let the furrowed faces of the marching people
Let the broken beads of sweat drip
To add salt to the tawdry conscience of a Nation unkind
For if Canada truly can’t hear the din of the gathered mass
At Parliament Hill
Then it should bear the vacuity it has set her people in.

Friday, 22 March 2013

Mummy, Please Wake Up!



You watched it in the news:
Stray bullet kills a mother
But you were reading the newspaper
So you flicked the channel
Looked for something more cheery
Because after all you had a long day

And that mother remained a statistic.

Of course, the Police Spokesman
Regretted the “unfortunate” incident
As armed robbers “had fierce gun battles”

Thus, that mother’s death
Drew a few lamentations here and a smirk there
Because she was a faceless woman.

Until I saw her son.

A cute, tender soul in Class Three.
That day, as her mother breathed her last
Between a Kiosk and raw sewage,
Her son tried to lift her up
Crying, “Mother, wake up, mum, let us go home...”
And as he upped his efforts,
He cried freely, swinging his mother’s lifeless arm.

That boy is an orphan now.

But again, he is a statistic, you know.
And he is faceless.
And somehow that makes us easy.

~
In response to Poets United's prompt Verse First -- REACTIONS



Wednesday, 20 March 2013

FYI


I can see that it has been a while since I posted a poem here. I deeply regret this. I am at the point in life where you are trying to make it in the entry period in a career. So my schedule is really hectic nowadays trying to discover more and more of myself, dreaming big, experimenting, trying to arouse the greatest potentials within me.

And I am silently reading a lot and watching numerous documentaries of my interest. I am at the ‘re-birth’ point.

I have got a couple of writing assignments I am doing for which I need to finish soon.
Here in Kenya life is great. We conducted peaceful elections and we have a President-elect. The election is contested in court and we are awaiting the verdict of the Supreme Court.

I discovered Ven. Bhante Wimala a few days ago through a colleague and I am inspired by the humanitarian efforts he is pursuing in the world. 

I am doing great and wish to thank my readers for being there for me.

Humbly,
  @echoesofthehill (Twitter)

Saturday, 2 March 2013

Message on Kenya's Election on 4th March



One day to go and Kenya will be having her elections. After so much campaign, now Kenya has to decide who the next President will be and all the other leaders.

I will be casting my vote very early in the morning. After listening to the two presidential debates and carefully reflecting on how important my vote will be, for the first time I will be voting.

4th March will be the moment.

Euphoria will not sweep me. The propaganda I have heard floating around will be like a fireside chat to me. And being informed of where I want Kenya to be, I will cast my ballot for a better Kenya.

And I will remain peaceful. After casting my ballot, I will know that whoever wins will be my president and he/she will get my support and respect whether I supported them or not. And to my fellow voters and Kenyans, whether they support the candidates I will choose or not, I will still love them and respect them.

Today, I saw my fellow Kenyans fighting over campaign T-shirts and caps. Four shabbily dressed young men were tugging at one free T-shirt. Then it dawned on me that they put on those T-shirts not because they prefer those candidates per se but because they don’t have the T-shirts to put on. They are that poor!

My attitude towards politics has been this: after elections, you still struggle with the same problems. Over time, I have learnt not to expect much from politicians. Even during campaigns, I have remained aloof, perhaps realizing that I have a mission in this life and that in my own small way I can help build a better Kenya and the world.

To my fellow Kenyans, go and vote on 4th March. After that, help build Kenya. It is always about us, the citizens, not the leaders. We have wasted the first two months in the campaign fever. Let us do the necessary and get to some serious business.

We are EAGLES in this JUBILEE YEAR helping to RESTORE and BUILD KENYA with AMANI, intent on REFORM and DEMOCRACY. That is how I see it, a constitutive whole. 

Vote for your preferred candidate, don’t go about burning your neighbour’s house and remember that we are one big family of God. If you forget this, please don't forget those four young men who were fighting for T-shirts. Most of us are not super-rich and on average we are barely surviving. That should unite us.

With Love,
@echoesofthehill

Monday, 18 February 2013

The Great Story of Bopsy



I am currently reading the Chicken Soup for the Soul by Jack Canfield and Mark Hansen, a book of phenomenal success. I am reading three pages a day (or even less). Today I was struck by one story (found in Page 41 of the book) which I would like to share here (well, in verbatim):

Bopsy
The 26-year-old mother stared down at her son who was dying of terminal leukemia. Although her heart was filled with sadness, she also had a strong feeling of determination. Like any parent she wanted her son to grow up and fulfill all his dreams. Now that was no longer possible. The leukemia would see to that. But she still wanted her son's dreams to come true.
She took her son's hand and asked, "Bopsy, did you ever think about what you wanted to be when you grew up? Did you ever dream and wish about what you would do with your life?"
"Mommy, I always wanted to be a fireman when I grew up."
Mom smiled back and said, "Let's see if we can make your wish come true." Later that day she went to her local fire department in Phoenix, Arizona, where she met Fireman Bob, who had a heart as big as Phoenix. She explained her son's final wish and asked if it might be possible to give her six-year-old son a ride around the block on a fire engine.
Fireman Bob said, "Look, we can do better than that. If you'll have your son ready at seven o'clock Wednesday morning, we'll make him an honorary fireman for the whole day. He can come down to the fire station, eat with us, go out on all the fire calls, the whole nine yards! And, if you'll give us his sizes, we'll get a real fire uniform made for him, with a real fire hat—not a toy one—with the emblem of the Phoenix Fire Department on it, a yellow slicker like we wear and rubber boots. They're all manufactured right here in Phoenix, so we can get them fast."
Three days later Fireman Bob picked up Bopsy, dressed him in his fire uniform and escorted him from his hospital bed to the waiting hook and ladder truck. Bopsy got to sit up on the back of the truck and help steer it back to the fire station. He was in heaven.
There were three fire calls in Phoenix that day and Bopsy got to go out on all three calls. He rode in the different fire engines, the paramedics' van and even the fire chief's car. He was also videotaped for the local news program.
Having his dream come true, with all the love and attention that was lavished upon him, so deeply touched Bopsy that he lived three months longer than any doctor thought possible.
One night all of his vital signs began to drop dramatically and the head nurse, who believed in the Hospice concept that no one should die alone, began to call the family members to the hospital. Then she remembered the day Bopsy had spent as a fireman, so she called the fire chief and asked if it would be possible to send a fireman in uniform to the hospital to be with Bopsy as he made his transition. The chief replied, "We can do better than that. We'll be there in five minutes. Will you please do me a favor? When you hear the sirens screaming and see the lights flashing, will you announce over the PA system that there is not a fire? It's just the fire department coming to see one of its finest members one more time. And will you open the window to his room? Thanks."
About five minutes later a hook and ladder truck arrived at the hospital, extended its ladder up to Bopsy's third floor open window and 14 firemen and two fire-women climbed up the ladder into Bopsy's room. With his mother's permission, they hugged him and held him and told him how much they loved him.
With his dying breath, Bopsy looked up at the fire chief and said, "Chief, am I really a fireman now?"
"Bopsy, you are," the chief said.
With those words, Bopsy smiled and closed his eyes for the last time.
...

My Thoughts:
1.      We can achieve our dreams.
2.      The fulfilment of our dreams makes us happy.
3.      Our dreams re-invigorate and revitalize us.
Thanks Canfield and Hansen for this moving story.
...
You might want to read a totally different article I wrote on cheetahs and hippos.

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