Tuesday, 10 December 2013

Little Things to Make This World a Better Place



Gandhi. Photo credit: Google.

Pilgrim, the Higher Truth has thus be revealed to me
in a most profound way. I sat reading Gandhi’s Autobiography 
'The Story of My Experiments with Truth'
and inside the covers, I picked one important legacy he left for the world:
Service.

This world, Pilgrim, cries out for service.
Men and women who can do something for others—
not for money’s sake, not for fame’s sake,
but for the fulfillment of their mission on this Earth.

All around me I see these gallant men and women.
You might not find them on billboards and monuments
You see them everyday, some helping an old man
Crossing the road, some helping out an illiterate read a letter.

And when we are long gone, Pilgrim,
It will not matter what we accumulated in our sojourn here
But the little things we did to make this world a better place.

Note:

I have finished reading Mahatma’s Gandhi Autobiography titled ‘The Story of My Experiments with Truth’.  I hesitate to comment much on the book as I need time to digest what Gandhi’s life means to me. Of course, Gandhi is well known for the ‘Satyagraha’ and as satyagrahi ( or would-be’s), we have important lessons to pick there.

Allow me to say this. I have admired a great deal Gandhi’s service to humanity. He eschewed self aggrandizement. He strove for the others. As an advocate, I admired his truthfulness in his legal career, albeit intermittently. If a client was untrue to him, he would not take up the case. I also remember him pointing out an error to the court, which had the potential harm of them losing the case. This, despite the fact that his Senior in the case thought otherwise.

On humility, Gandhi would travel Third Class in trains and experience what those passengers went through ( Until later, much to his regret, when his health failed him and thus could not). Of course there are numerous other examples from his life. But today, it appears that humility is equated to weakness. Pomp, braggadocio, chest-thumping are seen as important ingredients for upward mobility. I have always remembered, much to my consternation, my clients telling me “you are so soft”, the other party needs somebody who will shout and create so much noise and intimidation. Unfortunately, I have never been this person. I always want to state my position and my convictions calmly and deliberately. Fanfare is not for me.

I intend to experiment on some of Gandhi’s experiments. As for now, I would not want to comment further. But there are important lessons I have drawn from the book.

Tuesday, 26 November 2013

Council of Sages

When I have soaked the endless conversations
Just about any blabber adults will churn out
Accusations and counter-accusations,
Truths, half-truths and outright lies
Words which heal not
Words, like javelin thrown,
Aimed to create heroes and zeroes

When I am drenched in the ramblings
The whys and wherefores
The thou-art-the-problem and thou-art-the-devil

When I have immersed myself in all this
I retreat to my safe haven, a quiet corner,
Get myself a nice book and read
And soon, I am thrust into a different world
The sorrow that sunk me a moment earlier
Is all but a distant, tiny wisp
Around me now, is my “Council of Sages”

With them, I am holding a serious conversation.

Tuesday, 12 November 2013

My Memory Palace

I will build myself my memory palace
Where, in their loci, I will store all I want to remember.

I would want to store facts, like the savants,
Churn out facts, gobble every other factoids there is.

I would know my memory palace well,
Have an image of where I placed my wristband
On a sloppy Saturday midnight.

And I will not write anything.
I will not keep any notebook or diary.

If you were to ask me, perchance,
The fourth line of Shakespeare's Macbeth,
I will never falter
And if you were to ask me to memorise 100,000 digits back and forth
I will.

I am tired of my forgetfulness
( I forget whether tomorrow is going to be your birthday)
And it hurts, and it costs me

All that I want to build for myself, right now
is a memory palace.
To memorize the Black's Law Dictionary ( just for the heck of it)
And see my mental gymnastics do the trick

I want to claim back my memory
And throw away these extensions to my memory
Like the Greek Orators, I want to speak from within me
To retain in as much as I read

C) Salem Lorot 2013/ echoesofthehills

****
I am reading a book titled 'Moonwalking with Einstein', a book on the art of remembering by Joshua Foer. It is an exciting book that I bought off the streets on one lazy Saturday afternoon. Quite some read.

Echoes of the Hills, Where Thou Art?

I think a quick update on what I have been up to will do. You see, when you have been absent from the blogosphere from 4th of July of this year still now, I owe it to my readers to "show cause why" I have been that scarce.

Largely, I have been preoccupied with the demands of my day job as a legal practitioner dealing with Children matters in the courts. Most of the times I have carried work home to finish them there and I really miss the days when I used to churn out one poem every day.

But, even amidst all this, I am very guilty. Guilty for not writing. Guilty for not penning my poems. And there has always been something hitting me every other time. Something odd. And there has been a vacuum within me. My spirit has been restless and I am glad that I can write this.

Let me see if I will write a poem after this.

I am back, my fans.

Sincerely,
echoesofthehills

Thursday, 4 July 2013

GIVE US FOOD OR GIVE US DEATH! GIVE US FOOD OR GIVE US DEATH!


“Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me death!”

― Patrick Henry

~

It would be safe to assume that all the signs, he never heeded.
Even as the petulant twitch on his nose screamed for him to stop and listen.
The skies, perhaps crabbed too, let the fiery rays and their anger show.
Stupefied, birds flew up above, no tweet could be heard.
It was strange. The usual hubbub of these streets,
Were draped in tight mystery, as if this patch of land was tiptoing
On a landmine.

If only he could have read the air that morning, this tale would have ended differently.
Hell hath no fury like street people scorned. The gathered mass soon was in a procession,
Chanting ‘Haki Yetu’ (Our Rights), and shouting “Give us Food or give us death”.
Where they got the energy, as they were starving, will forever remain a mystery.
If we could hazard, we could say that theirs was the drunken stagger of a speared elephant.

They chained themselves and out of their angry mouths spewed forth crystalline vehemence.
Their muscles tense, their coalesced anger dense, the city was under siege.
The poor people, unafraid, were now ready to taste death.
Police in riot gear had received clear instructions: “Lob tear gas canisters to the ingrates!”
For equal measure, in their guns were live bullets to shoot and kill.
Death was in the air.

But if the police thought the angry mass was afraid of death, they were mistaken.
Or we could rather say, if the poor people thought that the police were afraid of killing them, they were mistaken.
The poor chanted, “GIVE US FOOD OR GIVE US DEATH!”
GIVE US FOOD OR GIVE US DEATH
GIVE US FOOD OR GIVE US DEATH.

3,000 bodies lay sprawled, dead.
And now on these streets is a terse message:
This city is drenched in innocent blood shed.
And out of that blood, a revolution was born.
It was many years ago, but their blood was not in vain.


Tuesday, 2 July 2013

All the Children of the World, You are Powerful!


“Look at children. Of course they may quarrel, but generally speaking they do not harbor ill feelings as much or as long as adults do. Most adults have the advantage of education over children, but what is the use of an education if they show a big smile while hiding negative feelings deep inside? Children don’t usually act in such a manner. If they feel angry with someone, they express it, and then it is finished. They can still play with that person the following day.”
― Dalai Lama XIV



All the Children of the World,
You are Powerful!
You are Powerful and Beautiful!

You truly know how to live
Not in the past, not into the future
But savouring the present moment
Living now

Look how great your smiles are!
I swear you are truly rich
Even that kind of smile has eluded kings
Children, teach me how you do it

You are amazing little beings,
You Children!
You have energy, your eyes burn with life
You don’t keep sorrow in your hearts
That is why you can smile through tears

Your questions always make me happy
You ask, you want to know
Never ashamed even for a moment
Now, there! Those are great minds
Minds which ask, unafraid
You teach me each day
To be a better person
So, shine all little children
Play, be children

You all are amazing! 

Saturday, 15 June 2013

Dear African Child...

[Letter written on 15th June 2013 to commemorate the Day of the African Child on 16th June 2013. This day is important in the calendar of all children in Africa. It is a day to let the child talk to us about what problems they face and what solutions they want to see. It is a day to celebrate the African child in all his/her beauty. It is a day where we also walk with our heads bent in shame for the ills that our children face today—early and forced marriages, forced begging, child labour, child sexual exploitation, female genital mutilation, and so on. But it is a day of hope, hope that what we can do today can improve the lives of children in Africa and beyond. Hope that whatever little contribution we can make, we can help transform the lives of children. It is no coincidence, then, that Neil Postman wrote, “Children are the living messages we send to a time we will not see.”  That is how he opens his book, The Disappearance of Childhood, originally published in 1982 by Delacorte Press.]



Today, African Child, I am putting pen to paper. I want to write this as beautifully as I can but as truthfully as it can get because I know that you are a child. You see, as a child, if I am a big mess of myself as an adult, you will not mince your words. You will say that I suck. There! You will say that. So, we spare each other the guarded language and say like it is.

I am not sure if you will read this. When you are lying on pavements and begging on the streets, it makes sense to look for food than such abstract things like education. Many of your friends, the lucky ones I mean, can’t go beyond 8th grade. Not because they are not keen on education but their parents can’t afford the fees.  Even when they can somehow pay, many are forced to eke out a living on the streets: begging, selling groundnuts, being lured to sex by monied sex pests/pedophiles.



And your streets and your homes are not safe. As early as 7 p.m., you are defiled/raped on your way home. At your homes, we, the adults, can be one of your worst enemies. Because your trust and friendships are genuine, we defile you and tell you that if you whisper a word, we will cut your throats. Being children, the horror of what you go through replays in your minds till some neighbor notices that you are withdrawn or are limping. Forgive us, our African Child.

How then, can we explain to you that this is a caring world, a beautiful world, when some of the worst things can happen to you? What solace, what consolation, what encouraging message can we give to tell you that you are such a wonderful African Child in all glory of Africa, the Africa where beautiful wild animals run? Which flute can we blow into when the wind is turbulent with the chaotic tornado keen on disrupting your childhood? Which guidance can we give, when all of your essence, your purity, your innocence, your vitality, has been sucked out, leaving you a hollow shell?





You need not tell me anything now. I can see the pain and sorrow in your eyes. From where I saw radiance and bubbling happiness, all I can see are dimmed sockets sunken in the miseries of the life we have put you into. Where we all heard the sweet hum of your voice, is a haunting silence, a silence that seeks answers from the universe. Truly, when a child stops playing, the world should be worried.

But if it was the urgency that you wanted, either it was not there or it was taking long to register. Because, if in deed, the ‘red alert’ button had been pressed, then your predicament would have been addressed with the seriousness it deserves. But what have we seen? Gerrymandering. Indecisiveness. Aloofness.

O, Poor African Child! I am surprised sometimes at the aloofness we can have. You see, the greatest tragedy in our society today is not the crashing world markets or the nations’ rivalry. No. The greatest tragedy today is a world which is indifferent to the needs of children. A world which cannot exhibit any emotion, no indignation, no anger, no sense of urgency in anything, more so in matters of children.

So, African Child, as I saw you full of energy, singing, reciting poetry and dancing to commemorate this important day, my heart was paining. This should be the life you are living! Childish, playful, in full splendour. I found it hard to imagine that we, the adults, can be the ones to flush this life out, to let it peter out, to kill your happiness, to snuff out your childhood.


So, African Child, on this day, we ask for forgiveness. That you find it in your heart to forgive us for all that we have done to you in the past and today. We ask for forgiveness for what we have failed to do to better your lives. We ask for forgiveness for trampling on your rights. We ask for forgiveness for not letting you not be a child, placing upon you early responsibilities of adulthood.


Your friend,
echoesofthehill

~


Photos:

Taken at Kwale County. The Day of the African Child was celebrated on 14th, being a school day and which day was convenient to the children unlike the 16th which falls on a Sunday. The celebration was conducted at Matuga Primary School. The first two photos are of the procession band and the third is of a Primary School reciting a poem.

Sunday, 2 June 2013

Today I will be true or false*



I am standing before this court
Before a Magistrate, the arbiter in this case,
Behind me are parties in this case
To my left is my client:
A shy, horrified little girl
To my right:
The man who tore into her
Defiling her, sucking her vitality
Leaving her the pale shadow of her former self.

Today, I will be true or false.
I have prepared for this case, the charges are clear,
But to prosecute this case
I need evidence, I need to convince
This court beyond reasonable doubt
Any scintilla of doubt and this criminal is off the hook

Yesterday, I was with this small girl
God knows she has been through much!
At her age, she should be playing with her friends
Not attending courts!
At her age, she should be a child
Not this nightmare she is going through!

The playing field flashes through my mind
I hear children playing
And I see this girl running about too
Something constricts my throat

“Your Honour,” I address the court,
“Look at that child for a moment
Her innocence stolen forever
Her steady frame of mind destabilized forever
There she is in a morbid theatre…”

The Opposing Counsel objects:
“Objection, Your Honour, Counsel is
Pandering to emotions!”

I plough on:
“If I may, if there is something like pandering to
Emotions in this case, my client is there for the full glare
Of the world;
Pray, I need not colour my speech
The horror that my client went through
Is enough to speak of the indignity
Of the vile act, so odious…”

The Magistrate is not writing,
So I change tact
I see this will be one of the most difficult

Cases.


~
Purely fictional, although I am a Children Rights Advocate.
The title is borrowed from one of the speeches, I forget which, in the book "Profiles of Courage" by John. F. Kennedy that I read many years ago.

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”.

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