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! 

We Should Learn From Children

Yesterday, the 10^th of June 2012, I sat at the Aga Khan Walk of Nairobi and watched children—and teenagers— skate. I have always loved skating. I remember being introduced by it by my cousin, Sammy Situma, in 2004. I remember, with nostalgia, how I first wore the roller blades and could not walk an inch because I was afraid of falling. But after a few days, I had learnt how to skate. Yesterday, watching children learn the ‘baby steps’ in skating was so enlightening and profound; enlightening because they are the little things we learn from children and profound because there are very important life lessons that these children taught me.

First,

Children are enthusiastic and ready to learn. They wouldn’t mind stretching a hand for help.

Most of us don’t— unfortunately.

They will be keen to learn the ropes, to take that initiative, that step of faith.

For us, again, our feet are frozen in indecision.

And they will exude confidence if given the opportunity. This is the march of life. Just watch the determination and oomph on this little girl’s face. What about the purposefulness burning in her eyes?

And she knows, too, that a friend might fall sometimes and would need help. This is instinctive. Though she is still a learner and is “without resources”, she still has the willingness to help. She does not wait for the instructor to fix things. She does not look on helplessly. She just helps. Now, that is so profound.

But, sometimes, it happens that we don’t need to go it ourselves. She knows that too. It is as if she is whispering to her friend she is holding: ‘Friend, let us walk together. We might be learners but we need each other’. In life, we need friends. We are not lone rangers. We will walk with them in this life.

We need sometimes to pause and observe. We need rest. That way we help our bodies to re-energize and our minds to learn from others. If you come to think about it, life is not about uninterrupted actions but of intermittent breaks that helped us drive inspirations from our innermost selves and careful observation of what surrounds us.

But like humans we are, we fall. We are frail, transient.

We fall,

 again, again, again.

But, fellow pilgrims,

We know that every time we fall, we need to wake up. So, we firmly fix our palms on the tarmac, summon energy within ourselves and rise up. Yes, rise up. That is the spirit we have. We do that cheerfully.

And boy, what a cheer it brings to us when we are in control of things again. But at such times, we need a helping hand because though we might be down we are not out.

We admit that there would be uncertainties in life. We might not be sure what tomorrow holds or whether what we do today will add up to the philosophy we espouse in life. But we stand at this moment in time, all geared up sizing up life with glance of our eyes.

Then we do it, somehow, even if timidly so. But this life, if you come to think about it, fellow pilgrim, is all about timidity. Those who look at life as a butterfly are those who will not chase it away by swat of their arms. The brave and those who chest-thumped, while these attributes are great and laudable, could sometimes lose vital lessons in life of patience and humility.

We do it, our own way. There is no perfect formula in everything we do ourselves. Some are sharp and quick-witted. Others are slow. Some are loud. Others are reserved. We all learn how to do things in our own way. We are all unique.

If I pull your shirt, fellow pilgrim, don’t be offended. 

Sometimes I need to get my balance from you. You have been in this game for sometime now and though my pulling you back might hold you back for a moment, we all grow and become better skaters in this life.

You are our mentors. We are your protégés. We might be young and new in all this but we will be patient to learn from you— your moves, your instructions, your mild rebukes. We will take everything with the bigness of the heart.

And it is after a short while that we will roller-skate like the real pros. Such is life, fellow pilgrim, a skateboard. The spring in our feet and willingness to learn is what sets us apart. After a couple of false starts, much learning and enthusiasm, life rewards us.

Weep Not, Child

Image credit: above

I feel your remorse

The tears welling up in your eyes

For Mother Africa

As you suckle her dry tits

Weep not, Child

Weep not, Child

When your limbs are ripped by grenades

And your eyes are fed with the nakedness of Mother

In greed, in corruption, in dictatorship

Fed with hopelessness

Fed with misery

Fed with power-hunger

You see, Child

If Mother Africa was cruel enough

She would have flapped her tits to the sun

And said, “ I curse you all, let the sun and my tits

Bear me witness: you shall never know peace!”

If Mother Africa was impatient

She would have escaped to other distant lands

Get another husband and move on

If Mother Africa had no hope for us

The sun would burn with less passion

The wind would blow with less pomp

The wildebeest would never cross Mara

The hyena would never laugh

The birds would never chirp

But, such things, child

Mother Africa wouldn’t do

Never will:

Take counsel, then, child

Weep not, child

Wipe your tears

Laugh again

Weep not, child

You have cried for far too long

How long should a child cry?

Your sorrow you’ve poured to the night

A dark, solitary night of dejection

Many a tear you’ve shed to fill lakes

Many a whisper you’ve held back

For fear, for sheer fear

Till when, child?

Till when?

Step out in the sun, child

Feel its warmth burn your skin once again

Go to the rain, child

Feel the drizzle washing away your sorrow

Go to the hills and mountains, child

Feel the breath-taking beauty, inhale the fresh air

Go to the rivers and lakes, child

Feel the ankle-deep waters wash away your dusty feet

Smile again, laugh again, hope again

Weep not, child.

C) Salem Lorot 2011

Through My Own Eyes

          I

           I sat with my child today

           Yet I was depressed:

           His eyes were dimmed

           The shrill in his voice disappeared

           The inquisitiveness subdued

            Shocked I was of the child’s

            Lethargy and lack of oomph

           His eyes I peeped into my own sorrow

           Cries of his friends raped by fathers like me

           Filtered into my ears

           Through my child’s eyes

            I  saw his friends selling groundnuts in the streets

           Deep into the night, I saw them washing dishes

           Early morn, I saw them carrying mountains of books

          On their backs, braving the morning cold

          Sipping sugarless porridge, skipping lunch 

          For life is rough, for fathers like me make it rough

 II

            Thrust upon the cruelty, my child’s remorse

            Alerted me of so many of his friends

            Who watches upon them?

            Who fights their small wars?

            Who protects them from early deaths?

            What generation do we lay for them?

            How do we explain our inconsistencies

            Of paternal affection, yet we defile our 3 months olds

            Of breadwinner title, yet we haul our children to the streets

            To parade their misery on the footsteps of man’s mercy

            Yet, in our lofty speeches, we talk of economic emancipation

            Emancipation amidst paedophiles?

            Emancipation in face of robbed future?

            Emancipation amid the screaming headlines?

 III

            But to appear ‘reformist’, fathers like me

            Throw in piecemeal reforms, call in on televisions

            Call the acts beastly, write to the editors

            With screaming curses, animatedly talk of the vice

            Then when some other sensational news pops—

            Say some love potion in Matuu

            All is forgotten, love is the catch word

            Thus the cycle continues

            Children whipped to death for urinating in beds

            Children stressed with Homeworks till 10 p.m

            Children made robots of learning without play

            Girls raped by fathers like me

            Girls sold to prostitution by us, their fathers

            Children fed on adult entertainment

            But, as lethargic as we are,

            These are mere statistics, some media fodder

            Till our children are the subject

      IV

            I looked through my child’s eyes today

            Yet despite the sad theme in his eyes

            When he smiled, I saw my pride swell

            His sadness is fleeting, not like mine

            Which simmers for years, when he is joyed

            Not even a century of woes bogs me down

            His joy is my joy too

            In some big way, thought I,

            These little joys spark the world

            These buds need to blossom

            If you think about it,

            This is the time, my child’s eyes

            Should brighten the world

            No more remorse

            This is the time.

            C) Lorot Salem 2011