Book: Butterflies of the Nile
Author: Jane Musoke-Nteyafas
Publisher: Cook Communications
Reviewed by Joshua Masinde
SHE writes poetry, short stories and plays. She is distinctly feminine, describing the African woman's beauty with a passion. Such is her description, "In the beginning, God populated the earth with black women and he made them a rich embellishing combination of all colours and shades. They were beautiful rainbow complexions of coffee, cocoa, ebony, chocolate…” she writes on and on, "and the Devil came along and created skin lighteners…"
Butterflies of the Nile by Jane Musoke-Nteyafas, is drawn from a poem by the same title. The poem is an artistic praise of African beauty. To all African women, I dedicate the poem.
Despite the beauty the African women are endowed with, it is strange but uncommon how the natives of Africa, especially the men who live in exotic lands, have alienated many things African and embellish themselves in exotic tastes. Muhwezi, in Prom Night, passes for one of such alienated blokes. He is a Ugandan born, Canadian bred chap who does not appreciate his Ugandan born Canadian girlfriend Aisha. Despite her breathtaking beauty, which is a wish for many men, Muhwezi does not appreciate such African beauty.
Aisha is authentically beautiful. She however, puts on make-up and uses lots of beauty enhancing elements to appease Muhwezi. The chap does not still appreciate. In his drunken stupor, he abuses her instead.
She writes of deep love and affection in Nakimera's Love. Nakimera and Rwomushana, both from Uganda but live abroad, meet in an online chatting site. Though, they live continent apart, they fall deep in love such that Nakimera does not object to his suggestion of going to England to stay with him. Nakimera's Love is a tender love story of the African love, which brings together Nakimera and Rwomushana. Through Nakimera, Rwomushana appreciates how beautiful women from his home country are.
Modernity has brought with it myriad make-ups, which most women use to appear 'beautiful'. The Face presents such a scenario. Katrice an African woman, though beautiful in her natural way, uses a lot of make up to fake artificial beauty, which unfortunately, she cannot attain. She had the body and features, which though she disliked, presented her as more beautiful than one would ever think. After adorning the make-ups, she appears quite ugly and is abandoned by her boyfriend.
However, her second boyfriend dissuades her, just like her mother did sometime back, to stop using make-ups as they exaggerate her looks and make her appear ugly. Once, when she decides to rid herself of all make-ups, her authentic African beauty stuns her boyfriend. He vows to keep by her side forever.
Jane Musoke-Nteyefas is potently feministic, championing the rights and place of women in the modern society. In her simplicity, she writes strongly and passionately of the beauty of African women, love and relationships. The themes run through the plays, poems and short stories, with a touch of biblical allusion, thrown in some stories. She writes to heal he distorted stereotypes and misconceptions attached to African beauty. It is powerfully written, passionately moving, truly sensitive and ecstatically moving.

Smoking by force

EVERYBODY is a smoker. We smoke everyday. It depends on what we smoke, either instinctively, coercively or knowingly. Everywhere you go, you can't fail to confront that waft of smoke, whether thick or thin, however much you try to avoid it. Despite your tastes and preferences, you inhale it, anyway.
Some people smoke many brands in a single occasion or on different occasions, depending on their everyday lifestyle and the situations they happen to be in. As a result, our bodies may be intricately smoke-polluted, just like the environment. It is not just an issue of global warming, a subject of pertinent debate in the world today, but it narrows down to 'human warming'. The many modern diseases might be a testimony to the circumstance of smoking by force. Here is a look at the situations in which we smoke with or without our will.
BARS, RESTAURANTS, BIBANDAS: These are free zones, where there are no limited restrictions on people's enjoyment. Smokers have the most earnest determination to smoke as much as they want. Here, many different brands are smoked with impunity. Someone could even be smoking marijuana and you mistaken it for the normal cigarette. No wonder, the smell is too horrible to bear. . The non-smokers have no choice but to join by asides, in inhaling the stray smoke that keeps wafting their side in an endless stream. The smoke leaves them with serious pangs of headache and polluted stomachs.
SMOKING FRIEND: If you walk with a friend who smokes whenever you are in his company, you are a chimney. He or she is so close and comfortable with you that you seem indifferent even when he or she smokes a whole packet in your company. Occasionally, just to let you feel how pleasantly addictive and bitterly enjoyable the nicotine is, he gushes a mouthful or two of smoke your way. You feel the punchy smell eating its way into your lungs. You smoke, anyway. You don't complain, much as he/she is your friend.
PUBLIC PLACES AND STREETS: The smoking fellow just in front of you. You try to overtake him, so as to get out of the irritating, cancerous smoke, but no way. The pedestrian paths are so narrow and highly populated, from the newspaper and magazine vendors, hawkers, street beggars and open doors that even an inch of you cannot overtake the smoker.
Occasionally, the boda bodas eat more than enough of the pedestrian path and you, in the name of overtaking the smoker right in front. You can't cross the road either. It's packed with vehicles. You persist until the smoker is finally done with his cigar. You pray he doesn't pull out another cigar, a temptation that he suppresses, anyway.
SMOKE GUSHING AUTOMOBILES: From boda bodas, taxis, heavy load trucks to private vehicles. Whether you are in the taxi or on the pedestrian path, the smoke manages to steam your way. Some vehicles emit too much smoke you swear they should be written off forthwith. The smoke leaves you with serious complications like a stinging headache, a polluted stomach and the prospect of cancer.
SMOKE FROM BURNING DIRT OR GARBAGE: You pass near burning garbage. The smoke is so much that it engulfs you as you pass by. Incidentally, the burning garbage is either outside your residence, your office or a few inches from the only route you usually use. As the smoke engulfs you, you smoke by force.
FUEL: Using wood or charcoal as fuel making everybody in the home smoke by force. From the mother, who is cooking, the children warming themselves beside the fire, to the father waiting for food, in the next room or in a corner nearby. There are many smoking families in areas where they use food or charcoal as fuel.
COUPLES WHOSE PARTNERS SMOKE: Wife or husband. One smokes in the presence of the other. The other one does not complain, has complained to no avail or is just trying to persevere, being nice by not interfering or distracting the comfort of the smoking partner.
TEARGAS: You smoke as you shed tears simultaneously. You cough and inhale much of it a as you scamper for safety. It's too much when the crowds are highly charged and the anti-riot police is determined to submerge them in a cloud of the stinging smoke.
BUILDING BURNS, PROPERTY BURNS: We do not mind the smoke. We mind our safety of the young ones and our neighbours. We inhale gushes of smoke while carrying out rescue operations.
A FACTORY IN YOUR NEIGHBOURHOOD: It emits smoke day and night. The whole neighbourhood smokes chemicals and other weird concoctions. This often results in stunted growth in children who grow up in such areas.
So, watch out which places you hang, which routes you use if you wish to avoid smoking the numerous brands on a daily basis.

Joshua Masinde

Venturing out, nocturnally

It ain't all that funny, deciding after half-a-day in the room, doing nought but contemplating, to stroll out and stretch my muscles, rather, strain my muscles (with a friend). Down the lane. Past Wandegeya. Past CMI (Chief Military Intelligence) headquarters. CMI can be equated to the infamous Nyayo House during the Nyayo era in Kenya.
The streets are dimly lit, in neon street lights scattered here and there.
On a bodaboda (the almost nuisanceous motor cycles Kampala is notable with), straight to Uchumi supermarket, located right within the Palatial and Princely setting of Garden City. Nelly, a friend and media colleaque, confided to me the place where Garden City stands was once a swamp, gazzetted as a no-go-zone for any developer. But, the utmost authority in the powers-that-be, having vested interest in the wetland, put up the princely hotel cum shopping mall, an addition to their innumerous investments.
The wetland is strategically located, bordering the city centre, just across the main asphalt road, where a high school once stood. It was demolished and word had it that it was to be sold to a Saudi Prince at a cost of ush.300M. (The government has a policy, since it assumed power more than two decades ago) of attracting investors). The Saudi Prince would build a five star hotel to host the CHOGM (Commonwealth Heads of State and Government Meeting) delegates. However, the hotel was never constructed. Media reports (with the exception of the government media) revealed scandulous consignments that surrounded the land.
Just a thought.
Back to Garden City. Into Uchumi supermarket. Nelly had hoped to buy wine only. He needed it badly, a reason for our nocturnal venture to the supermarket where he confided to me he often got the good wine at better rates. But, all brands are too expensive for an ordinary bloke to afford. Food prices having skyrocketed globally, should be no excuse for the dear price of wine. Is wine food? Why is it too expensive, but with limited quantity? Oil prices are at their peak. What of wine? It ain't supposed to be as exorbitantly priced as we noticed at the supermarket.
Any how, he goes ahead to purchase several other stuff, after sorting out a relatively cheaper brand of wine. I get juice and blue band, which he pays for (a very generous chap I ever met).
It's quarter to ten. We walk to a restaurant for drinks. After we are done with fanta and coke, the former, which I prefer, we walk out. At the entrance, as we stroll out, we spot a journalist who works for a leading media house. 'Ebazanye,' Nelly reminds me. I saw him in the past, and I've seen him often at his desk at The New Vision. "He has brought his chick here for fun," Nelly and I conclude as we ooze out of the cozy palatial supermarket and the entire Garden City.
The venue is fantabulous.
Just a memory.

Book launch in honour of Yvonne Namaganda

THE Minister of State for Higher Education and Sports Hon. Charles Bakkabulindi on Tuesday launched a book in honour of the late Budo junior pupil, Yvonne Namaganda at Kitante High School in Kamwokya.
Speaking at the function, the Minister, who was represented by Mr. Omagor-Loican Martin, Commissioner Special Needs Education, Guidance and Counseling said the book, ‘Understanding Student Leadership’ describes leadership as the process of influencing others towards achievement of a common goal.
“As student leaders, you must note that the influence referred to here is not towards negative aspects like school strikes, burning of schools, dodging classes and others,” the Minister said.
“I commend the authors and Mrs. Rose Izizinga for paying tribute and dedicating their book to Yvonne Namaganda, a selfless young leader who laid down her life in service of others and I urge young leaders to emulate her,” the Minister added.
The Minister further commended the authors of the book, Allen K. Baguma and Alex R. Mujuni in calling upon school administrators to endeavour to empower young people most especially the student leaders by promoting virtues of good governance.
“This is quite welcome especially at such a time when the country and Africa in general is being faced with enormous challenges like poverty, disease, ignorance, war, hunger and HIV/AIDS.”
Speaking at the same function, the head teacher of Kitante High School, Ms Rose Izizinga, in paying tribute to Yvonne Namaganda, noted that student leaders face the dilemma of leadership while studying and doing what is right.
“I thank the authors for seeing it fit to pay tribute to Yvonne Namaganda, the young leader that died so that others could live and who discharged her duty to the end,” Ms. Rose Izizinga said.
Nakityo Betty, the Town Clerk of Mubende Town Council and grandmother to the late Yvonne Namaganda stated that the late granddaughter was a class prefect and a good sports personality.
“As a class prefect, she used to make sure the class was kept clean and in good order,” she said. “However, leadership has its own costs.”
Hon. Florence Bavunya Ngalubo, Minister for Youth and Employment in Mengo government comforted the family of the late Yvonne Namaganda at the book launch.
During the book launch, a copy of ‘Understanding Student Leadership’ was auctioned at ushs. 300,000. The proceeds, together with a souvenir, were handed over to the family of the late Yvonne Namaganda.
Joshua Masinde

No more years at Makerere

THE university senate formulated a regulation in a meeting held in July 14th to guide students on withdrawal from studies and to forewarn those who overstay their stipulated years at the institution.
In a letter circulated by the Academic registrar, Mr. Amos Olal-Odur, a student can apply to his/her respective Board of Studies for permission to withdraw from studies at any time of the semester. The reasons for withdrawal from studies should be given in the letter of application.
“Permission to withdraw shall be granted by the Faculty/School/Institute Board only on compassionate grounds or in cases of illness or financial constraints, serious social or domestic difficulties or exceptional professional commitment which can be demonstrated to have adversely affected the candidate.”
Resumption of studies will also require the student to follow the same procedure of application. However, he or she “shall indicate that the circumstances that made him/her withdraw can no longer affect his/her studies.”
The student will only be allowed Permission for withdrawal a maximum of two withdrawals on an Academic Programme and each withdrawal shall not exceed a period of one academic year.
The regulations also affect the students who overstay their academic studies at the university. Students will no longer be allowed to overstay their welcome unnecessarily as this creates a backlog and congestion at the university which already has more than thirty thousand students to manage.
“A student who has overstayed on an Academic Programme by more than two years beyond the period of candidature stipulated in the Programme shall be discontinued from his/her studies at the University,” states the letter.
Joshua Masinde

Ocwyino on his life and writing

Julius Ocwyino is a man who passes for any ordinary fellow, until you get to know he is the author of Fate of the Banished. He is a forty seven year old, seemingly quiet man, who had a happy childhood and loved occasional fights with his childhood friends.
His father, Kelemente Ochen, worked in the Prisons Service in different parts of the country. In 1961, while Kelemente was still stationed in Masaka district, Julius Ocwyino was born.
Living in different parts of the country exposed Ocwyino to various cultures quite early enough. Such exposure gave him an opportunity to appreciate them. This is the reason why he learnt to speak Acholi first, and not Lang'o his mother tongue.
"Fate of the Banished itself is not about Lang'o but different parts of the country," Ocwyino points out.
Such rich diversity in terms of thematic concerns and messages portrayed in Fate of the Banished is what contributed to its consideration as an A-level set book this year, 2008. For this opportunity, he has a reason to smile.
Fate of the Banished being crowned as a set book, so far marks one of his biggest achievements, though more new challenging situations keep coming up.
But as a writer, the monetary value gained from books is relative. Basically, the ten percent royalty that the author receives from sales of a book isn't all that handsome. However, cases like invitations to important events or occasions like Writer-in-residence, Book fairs and to attend conferences of international organizations like UNESCO, UNICEF present a good opportunity in terms of monetary gain.
Ocwyino was a Writer-in-residence in Cumbria in Northern England in 2003.
"The sponsors were British Council and Cumbria Arts Council." The invitation lasted for only two weeks.
Nevertheless, sales from his copy Fate of the Banished have increased, something which will no doubt fatten his royalties.
Kelemente, his father, who wasn't a writer, wasn't highly educated because education was not highly encouraged, then. He passed away in 1994 while aged about 70 years.
"He was still very fit," Ocwyino says fondly of him. His mother, who is a housewife, is about 70 years old.
Ocwinyo is a family man, who has one wife and four children, three of who are boys. He lives in Kisasi, where he plies to and fro work everyday.
"Writing is easy," so said one writer. It is easy as getting a blank piece of paper and gazing at it until droplets of blood form on your forehead. Being as it may, nothing really prompted Ocwyino to start writing.
"I just found myself writing," he remarks, after a brief reflection. "My first book was a play called Tangled Strings." He wrote it in 1986, though it is still unpublished. Before that, he wrote poems. Some of them were published in the Uganda Poetry Anthology in 2000.
He wrote Fate of the Banished in 1993. It took him about two months, November and December to complete writing it. He still prefers to write in long hand, especially when writing creative works. However, a part from writing poems and novels, he does not fancy writing the short story.
"I wrote only one but it wasn't published," Ocwyino remarks, adding that he has forgotten the title of the short story.
Why can't he publish them now that he is not only a celebrated writer but also a book editor with Fountain Publishers? He says he likes to see them the way they are. To him, it cannot make a difference whether or not they are published.
At his Fountain Publishers' office, located at Makerere University, his work mostly involves editing textbooks and creative works for both children and adults and from primary school to university. He also executes a lot of administrative work like soliciting books from authors.
"That is why there are occasions when there are not a lot of creative works to edit."
For a man whose values rotate on hard work and honesty, his role models are as diverse. He considers Chinua Achebe, Wole Soyinka, Albert Camus, William Faulkner and Jean Paul Sartre as his literary role models. Nelson Mandela is his other role model, considering his integrity and perseverance during the apartheid era in South Africa.
Ocwyino, who likes being quiet, travels to his rural home in Teboke once or twice a year, because of distance and his busy schedule. He enjoys photography although, "I don't have a camera yet," and "walking… a lot of walking. That is why I am so trim," he observes.
Occasionally, he takes of some time, especially in the Sunday afternoons to walk from Kisasi to Kiwatule, along the Northern by-pass and back.
Of all the events in his life, he considers the death of his elder brother in 1977 as a result of a heart condition that was not diagnosed early enough, as the most unfortunate event in his life. His brother was still a student in Old Kampala Secondary School.
Apart from Fate of the Banished (1997), Ocwyino has also published The Unfulfilled Dream (2002), and Footprints of the Outsider. Born in 1961 in Teboke village in Apac District, Ocwyino studied at Aboke Junior Seminary and Lango College. He later joined Institute of Teacher Education, Kyambogo, where he earned a Diploma in Education. Later, he went to Makerere University, where he received a Bachelor of Education. He taught at various educational institutions before becoming an editor for Fountain Publishers, Kampala.

Joshua Masinde

Referencing in CVs matters a lot

A good curriculum vitae (CV) should tell the prospective employer what you’ve done rather what you aspire to do. However, the way you present what you’ve done or your achievements, whether academic or career related, matters a lot.
Dr. Merry Cippe advises that it is better to offer a reference, say of schools or the academic institutions you have gone to rather than listing them. This is very useful more especially if you have applied for job overseas. The prospective employer might not know the history or reputation of the institutions you went to. Given that they don’t have time to find out more about the institutions you went to, it would be beneficial to you if you did so in you CV. Give a brief description of that institution, for example, Makerere University, the oldest and biggest university in East Africa. “Put a reference point around things,” she emphasizes.
Dr. Merry also points out the importance of putting down the best references for yourself on the CV. She says it would do you harm if you put a referee who dislikes you, even when it is your immediate boss. “But, desist from putting pastors as your references.”
In case your reference cannot be easily available on phone, or it might take too long to contact him or her, you should request a recommendation from him or her as a reference point and then attach to your CV. This makes work easier for your prospective employer. This is better than a CV without references, which CV often ends up in the dust bin.
In case you give a reference to some of the best things you like, say a particular book or movie, it should not say something negative about you. For instance, if you say your favourite animal is a hyena, this might suggest that you are greedy.
Joshua Masinde

Qualified but no job

THE reason why most people are qualified but don’t get jobs is because they don’t know how to answer interview questions and to write appealing curriculum vitae (CVs). This is the reason why many Ugandan and other doctors from Africa, are unemployed in the United Kingdom, India and other Western countries.
Dr. Ceppie Merry, the head of Clinical Pharmacology Department at Mulago Medical School attributes this partly to the inappropriate CVs most of them often present in search of jobs. She says most of them have one CV for every job they apply for, even when much of what is on the CV does not reflect what the job requires of them. “You would not have one CV you hand out for every job,” she says. “Employers get many CVs and don’t have time to read through them.”
However, the reason why employers look at CVs is not to hire someone. “When we look at a CV, we look for reasons not to hire you.”
She emphasizes that the format of the CV can break or make you. A CV with different font types, font sizes and the like will earn it a place in the dust bin just like an untidy CV. This happens often with doctors in Nigeria.
If someone boasts of their computer skills, it will be reflected in the formatting of the CV. If you put down your hobbies, they should be in relation to your skill and be ready to defend them.
CVs without referees will not help a job seeker either. Referees are very important. “They need to be persons you have worked with, especially recently,” Dr. Ceppie Advises. “Your referee should be someone who likes you.” She says it is risky to hand out a person’s name and contact details as your reference without informing them.
Joshua Masinde.

Ugandan doctors in UK unemployed

New Vision (Kampala)
Sunday, 6 July, 2008
Joshua Masinde
Many Ugandan and Nigerian doctors in the United Kingdom and India are unemployed despite being qualified and the numerous job opportunities there.
Dr. Ceppie Merry, the head of Clinical Pharmacology Department at Mulago Medical School, said this was because they do not know how to answer interview questions and write curriculum vitae (CVs).
“You get a job by knowing how to present yourself and how to answer interview questions, besides your qualifications,” she said.
Most doctors, she added, are not updated about the job market overseas.
Ceppie, who also teaches at Trinity College in Dublin, was addressing medical students on career management at Mulago Medical School on Friday.
She said the advances in technology have also led to the fear that many doctors would be unemployed in 10 years.
“Tele-medicine will be available in every village. This might render many doctors jobless,” Ceppie pointed out. She advised the medics to stay up-to-date and look for opportunities in the health and medical world.

Population rise bad for security, says don

New Vision (Kampala)

Friday, July 4, 2008

By Joshua Masinde

THE rapid increase in population is a threat to security, the chairman of the National Bio-security Committee has said.

Prof. John Opuda-Asibo noted that people were not aware that biological threats like global warming and environmental degradation were a threat to security.

“People think that only physical insecurities like wars and the gun are a threat to their lives.”

He said the biological threats were caused by increase in population.

Opuda-Asibo, who was on Monday speaking at a seminar in Kampala, also blamed the increase in diseases on the rising population. Bio-security comprises the policies and measures taken to protect people from biological harm.

It encompasses the prevention and mitigation from pests and diseases.

Prof. John David Kabaasa, the dean of the faculty of veterinary medicine of Makerere University, said a rapid rise in population would cause food insecurity and natural calamities.

“In 2000, the urban population was 47% of the world population.

“Now it is 60%. We are faced with many threats like high temperatures, melting of Rwenzori and Kilimanjaro mountain caps, more mosquitoes and tse tse flies.

“While we are also driving towards industrialisation and globalisation, floods are coming in.”

Kabaasa suggested that nutrition and environmental protection be included on the school syllabus.

Dr. Lawrence Mugisha, the operations director of Ngamba Island, a premier gorilla tourism destination camp, noted that in a crowded world where people travelled a lot, the emergence of complex diseases was common.

“Human activities are the most potent factors driving the emergence of diseases.”

Uganda: Artistes' Body Demands Change in Copyright Law

New Vision (Kampala)
8 June 2008Posted to the web 9 June 2008
Joshua Masinde: Kampala
The Copyright and Neighbouring Act 2006 should be amended to make it more effective and all-inclusive, according to the Uganda Performing Arts Association.
The general secretary, James Wasula, pointed out that the law, which covers musicians, writers, poets, was weak because cases of piracy, infringement, unauthorised reproduction of copyrighted works was still rampant in the country.
He was speaking on Friday during the annual meeting of the Uganda Library and Information Association in Kampala.
"Permission must be gained for the reproduction of copyrighted material," Wasula stated, adding that although, the role of a library was to pass out information, the manner in which the information was accessed by different users raised key issues sensitive to the copyright policy.
"Reproduction of the copyrighted material is not limited to photocopying or reprinting. You have to pay to reproduce it," said Wasula. He also observed that lending out a book was not illegal but it interfered with its sales.
The artists recommended the Creative Commons as part of the amendments to the copyright law.
"The Creative Commons supports the desire to learn, get recognition and help others," observed Joyce Bukirwa, a lecturer at the East African School of Library and Information Science at Makerere University.
"That is why we have the free encyclopaedia online."
The Creative Commons will allow access to works, like music, books, journals and drama productions.
"Publishers will lose interest in material which will be available for free. Also, a musician may not be ready to join you to produce work which is going to be obtained freely," Bukirwa pointed out.

What a damn!

I've been up and down for some days (over a week) . My head has almost blown off. My oscilliation between the Main Gate (The Ivory Tower) and Barclays Bank@Wandegeya has been one of my bad nightmares. I can't explain why The Barclays Guys@the Wandegeya station can't style up. Traditionally, after depositing a cheque, a customer is customarilly supposed to wait for a period four days before it matures. But, hell hath no fury for an incensed young lad. A wait of as more than a week ain't worth their name.

Their 'new' computer which hang@the slightest opportunity. Their slow, reluctant, remorseless, disgusting, annoying servive to customers. 'Their' relaxed, unconcerned outlook toward their 'platinum' customers. What a damn.

These are some of the expressions I overhead, (besides being myself, unordinarilly and unwittingly incenced with their relaxedness and lagginess@work) :

'This fellow is shit man!' a well dressed man's remark after being told to go to the next counter for services that could be done by the fellow@the counter.

'My account (despite having enough cash for a few months salary) has been closed three times," a lady in her thirties expressing her annoyance. Her face, adorned with fury could tell it all.

'This is stress,' another one decried. She brisked out of the banking hall.

Their unpredictable on/off severs. Who is their service providers? Are they really World Class bankers when all&sundry are grumbling@their services? Is it pride?

Transactions are often slow (sometimes done) without the passion to work.

A particular lady refused to serve me. Reason?

"You had said I earlier intentionally refused to serve you when the server was off." Pure nonsense. Does she even know the concept of vital public whom she needs to woo instead of proudingly claiming she wouldn't serve for lack of sense in her head?

"You should know how to treat your customers?" I told her. Without us, you would be on Unemployment Street.

MY DREAM FOR RUSSIA

Old dreams die hard. But, I’ve never believed that dreamers are high achievers. They could be, but other factors do play a role to make them true.

The story of ‘An African (Nigerian) in Russia’ inspired me way back in high school to dream of making a pilgrimage to Russia, the land of winter. My Geography then in Senior three inspired me the more to wish to feel how real winter felt like. Russia is just close to Greenland, the land of the midnight sun. Greenland is close to the Arctic, but my mind then, stubbornly conceived Arctic is one of the edges of the world.

My European History in A-level reinforced the same old dream that I would make it to Russia. The Summer Palace in St. Petersburg with its magnificent mausoleums, spiced with unique historical artefacts, prominent of which is Lenin’s in St. Petersburg Palace Square.

But then, when I kept reading the story of ‘An African in Russia’, I told my classmates about it and my dream to Russia. At that, I even specified the locations I would yearn to set my feet upon. Minsk, Moscow and St. Petersburg (formerly, Leningrad) came top on my priority list. Again, my passion for Literature kept my dream alive.

I loved reading different literature about Russia: The Moscow Campaign, The Bolshevik Revolution, Russia in the two world wars and of course, The Government Inspector by Nikolai Gogol. There’s also the Summer Literary Seminars, often held in St. Petersburg. A local journalist wrote inspiring literary stories about the event any time he attended the seminar each year.

Now, won’t my dream come true if I pick journalism as my career choice? I often wondered. That was the time when one’s passion to pursue a certain course but prestige guided one to choose a career. Most of my classmates, just like me, were conscious of pursuing ‘heavy’ prestigious courses, without considering a drop of passion in their expectations. But, my passionate dream to visit Russia inspired me to study journalism, some years later.

In high school then, impatient wishes and dreams of touring the world came in handy. Another classmate would tell me how he would wish to go to Japan. Another would say, “As soon as I finish my senior four, I would head straight to former Prussia (Germany). My brother lives there. He even has a German wife.”

Nevertheless, with the story of ‘An African in Russia’ as my immediate inspiration, I appeared to have a dream for my other vehement inspiration. I even inspired another friend, whom everybody in class thought was totally confused, to fall in love with the word ‘Minsk’-a town in Russia. He even headlined his autograph ‘Minsk’ before giving it to us to sign our best wishes for him since our time in high school was coming to an end.

All friends in class jokingly called me ‘Russia’. I felt no slight offence after all, this would be ‘my next destination after school (DV),’ I told them in the fullness of my heart. I spruced up my confidence and inspiration of going to Russia by applying for some courses (not Journalism but medicine) that were advertised in the press. I highly disliked medicine related courses. But, with my dream to go to Russia, here was I applying for the courses I loathed. That would surely put me on the road to Russia, I thought longingly.

Time came when we had had to part from one another. It was inevitable. We had finished our final examinations. Most of us were only waiting for our dreams to come true, however hard to attain they appeared to be.

A few friends had got feedback concerning the courses they had applied for in their respective countries of interest. Whatever was sent back to them were mere prospectuses, glossed with magnificent College structures. But, the tuition aside, let alone other expenses say for visa, travel, accommodation was enough to shatter my dream. Mine was broken. From a humble background, I could not even dare tell my parents how much money the course I had applied for in Russia would cost them.

For some time, out of school, I still see most of my school cronies treading on both village paths and town roads in an endeavour to make ends meet. Their dreams too, seem to have died a long time ago.
“My dream for Russia….” RIP.

Joshua Masinde

A funeral week

The past week was a funeral one. The long awaited exam results for last semester were released. The delay was worth a tonne of complaints. A letter (or two) found its way to the editor. A meeting with the Head of Department was convened. Reason? "We want results." Expectations of good grades were high.
Now, the results were released. Many students were pregnant with the hope for the best. Unfortunately, the notice board became suddenly repulsive. The results were disgusting...stinking...reeking. "These are not our grades," many a student complained.
Faces smelling of grief prevailed. The dismal results on the notice board drew unto itself repulsion. From a mere glance, they were unappealing. Approximately forty retakes in first year is a sad affair. Over sixty retakes in second year elicited shock.
A few laughed.
"So and so has not been spared the dark fate," Justuu remarked. But, he had not been spared either.
Far from the disgusting results, the grievers distanced themselves. Far from the maddening crowd, they back-strode. Far from the dark corridors, "We Build For The Future."

Joshua Masinde

Village football, in good old days

Sweet, nostalgic memories die hard. Old as they may be, they are often a precious souvenir for ages. The memories of the village setting, with its relaxed, serene and refreshing atmosphere signify a world of their own.

One of the most popular past times for the young men in the village was playing football. While the girls went to the river to draw water, the boys invited their counterparts from a neighbouring village for a soccer match in a swiftly marked crooked terrain.

The most exciting of matches would come into play in the face of two rival camps. Each camp would boast of its skilled commanders, who in the name of chance or good fortune, stood out as the best ball dribblers and top scorers. They lacked a contemporary as far as taking control of their teams from the start of the game up to the end until they either won or lost a match. Losing in a match was intolerable. If this happened, the commander would change the line-up as soon as possible.

The commanders had the prerogative of carrying the balls neatly knit from nylon papers. The balls were often referred to as lifundo in western province. The commanders also had the privilege of choosing the first eleven players for their sides. Their decisions were rarely disputed.

They were better players, save goal-keeping. They feared being scored since that would portray their Achilles heel. Nevertheless, as the game would progress, they would swap positions until the game would come to an end. In the process, they would point out the weaknesses of the holders of different positions but show how they could play better in such positions.

When they caused a penalty either accidentally or at will, they would dispute it strongly in order to have it cancelled.

“Haramu hailipi,” the opponents would shout.

Many a time, when the penalty would be declared valid, the field commander would take the risk of substituting his goal keeper for the moment. Fortunately in case they could save the penalty, they would boast of their incomparable proficiency in not only goal keeping but also defending, middle-playing, striking, lines-manning, refereeing, marking the field and coaching.

Lumonya was one such commander. Though, tiny as he appeared, he had the stamina that would shake even the hugest of defenders both in his own team and in the rival team. For his Ronaldinho skills on the field, his fame surpassed the whole village. He would literally dribble the ball from morning to noon, without erring. He would play any game at any time, anywhere without tiring, until the cows would come home. It required a commander of similar pedigree from a far away village to give him a run for more skill.

Lumonya had a football squad of his own. The members of the squad ranged from the very mature and tough muscled youths to the skinny ones still in their elementary classes. He coached them separately, ushered them in the field to play and monitored their progress. Every game would present a good opportunity for Lumonya to choose fine players to face their perennial hardcore rivals from the next village. Whoever displayed a good albeit rough game would often be absorbed in the line-up.

The top scorers enjoyed some privileges too. They were automatically assured to play in successive games, until they could get injured or fall sick. Moreover, they would be involved in making some key decisions, like which rival teams to play against.

Whenever Lumonya would feign sickness, there would be no game on that occasion. Most members of his squad would simply call on him to wish him a get well tribute. A game would only take place if they managed to convince him to accompany them to the field. They would do all they could to convince Lumonya watch them play. His mere presence morale boosted them a great deal.

For his all round soccer proficiency, Lumonya was a darling of the girls as well. Most of them admired him clandestinely. They wished he would give them a look of admiration whenever they flirted in his presence.

Till now, Lumonya, who had hoped to play for AFC Leopards, Gor Mahia FC or Tusker FC, has not since attained his dream. He is now old enough with a family to take care of. But, the memories of his heydays as a soccer hero still linger in his mind with nostalgia.

Joshua Masinde.

Growing up as a child

Life can be a thorn of roses, especially when growing up in the house of a stringent and disciplinarian father. It is worse when he is a conservative and a perfectionist. I can’t remember any time when I felt totally secure without harbouring the fear for punishment even on the minor errors committed.
The disciplinarian was always on our neck. Growing up as a child, I was reserved. Strains of the same reserved nature still trail me today in my twenties. As a reserved child, father never really understood whether I was happy of or not, whether I had something I needed or not. So, even though I needed anything, I could not pass my request directly to him. I merely swallowed my wishes and let the agony burn in me in silence. The same attributes also characterised my younger brothers.
But, mother would always endeavour to listen to us. She was a vital intercession between us the kids and dad. However, there are times when out of our inborn fear for dad, we would even dread to see face to face. We would always hide away whenever he was around.
Though reserved and shy we were, father always expected the best out of us. For instance, being himself a teacher, he expected us to be top performers in class. It is for this reason that he always lectured us on how bright he was at school.
“I was always top of my class,” he would say
He expected us to participate in numerous co-curricula activities like dance, drama, the choir and sports. He personally played football in high school and college and was highly respected. But for having made it to a teacher training college, he could possibly have joined one of the established football clubs in the country.
However, that was too much expectation out of us. For failing to instil confidence in us from an early age, we could not do anything that could easily make him a proud father from the outset. The fact that confidence lacked in us, it was too hard for us to be outgoing or to venture into extra-curricula activities for that matter.
Nevertheless, his conservative nature gave him hope. He still had the idea that our outgoingness and confidence would ‘naturally’ come out at the right time, since he never ‘lacked’ such attributes.
As fate would have it, we never used to perform excellently in class. We were ever criticised on such poor academic showing. Whenever we endeavoured to do our best, he would not offer us a tap on the back. He would rather say on a serious note, “You could have done better than that.” Poor we.
The major problem with an over disciplinarian cum conservative father is that he will always look at your views as insignificant to him. He never easily accommodated our views since he always portrayed himself as the sole claimer of knowledge. The best he can do is to turn you into an automaton. He has a time frame for every stage of life you’ll pass through. His duty is to ensure the remote keeps working as you grow into the various stages of life he would wish you to undergo.
But, as we grew older, we tended to resist such autocracy though, mildly. When we began to have our way in many situations, he would regard that as defiance of authority. It would be worth it if we asked for permission to every little or petty issue we would wish to partake of.
Initially, he regarded the choice of our future career as his preserve. We were ‘remote controlled automatons’ so how could we define our future career without his involvement? Advice could serve better, but not coercion. He regarded the latter with prior importance since we would easily comply to every one of his dictate courtesy of the fear he instilled in us.
As a teacher and as a conservative, he believed we could make good teachers just like him. He therefore tried hard to push us in his way of belief and perception of things.
“As a teacher, you will always be marketable,” he always informed us.
What would happen if we told him we wouldn’t wish to take on the noble profession? In most cases, someone usually aspires to do something in the way of ones role model. But, was he our role model? He never instilled the confidence and spirit of noble teachers in us.
In growing up as a child, I came to realise, many years later that one of the best gifts a parent can instil in their offspring is confidence. But, right from a tender age, this was lacking in us. We perceived almost everything in stringent colours. If you become bold enough and tell your senior about a mistake they have made or are about to commit, you are scoffed. Often times, you are punished. How can confidence grow in such a tender heart and mind?
But at least, he managed to see to it that my elder brother ended up in a teacher training college. He would have wished his eldest son to go to the very teacher’s college he went to in the early eighties. Such a control of course came to pass when my elder brother was far into the voting age. Would he swallow the dictates and controls any more?
One of the worst shocks seized dad when his eldest son swooped churches without his consent. Dad was mad at him. But my brother would not withdraw his decision.
“He should know that I am a grown up,” that’s what my brother would tell me. After many years of exercising no independent decision on his own, it was high time he defied authority and acted on his own.
Father has come to realise that things have changed and he needs to act more liberally.
I might not be alone in this fate of growing up as a child. I remember one of my friends telling me that he never has anything important to tell his father. The two can’t easily hold a talk with each other. In fact, he professes, “I only talk to my father when we are quarrelling.” To him, it is not absurd. He grew up knowing that as a man, he was supposed to be tough.
Steve on the other hand was born a left handed guy. However, his late father, being a disciplinarian and conservative as he was, made sure that Steve used his ‘right’ hand instead.
“It was hard,” Steve confesses. The father even instructed the teachers at school to make sure Steve used his ‘right’ hand to write. At home, whenever Steve would pick food with his left hand, his father would bang that hand. Eventually, though painfully, Steve adjusted. He now writes with his ‘right’ hand though the left one is stronger. He can throw a stone far when he uses his left hand, but he is not good at writing with it.
23 year Isaac Abilu however has a different experience. The affection between him and his father is evident. He is ever communicating with him on almost a daily basis. In their communication, such kind words like ‘dear son’, ‘dear dad’ are not elusive. He attributes this to gender in the family structure. He has five sisters. He is the only boy and that is why his father banks so much affection on him.
I don’t exactly understand whether my childhood was hidden somewhere in the face of affection. In growing up under the roof of a conservative and disciplinarian guardian, I understand he wanted to curve us into better citizens of the world.
This would only happen in the face of stringent laws and observation of such laws to the letter. Perhaps, the reserved status which grew inside became demystified when I ventured into writing at the age of fifteen. It was at that age that I strongly felt I wanted to say something, which couldn’t come out exactly as I wanted.
Partial relief exuded into my selfhood when I took pen and paper and began to communicate my alien thoughts in a tangible form. Here, it seems, is where my life rotates.
Dad might have been right when he said we could make better teachers. Chinua Achebe once said that a writer is a teacher who needs to re-educate his people. Perhaps, he was wrong since it is not a matter of chalk and blackboard.
In growing up as a child, it hasn’t been an easy experience though. I wonder how things would be if I was close to my father from the outset.

Joshua Masinde.

The (un)lost dream of love

I had a crush. It was sort of real. An authentic one, it was. I was the shy type (I have never been too close to any lady, apart from my mother. Moreover all my siblings save the second last, are boys­).
Did I know it was all coming? It was impulsive instead. Initially, I only had dreams. This time round, it was real. I spotted her. She was real, found somewhere in the dreams I ever had. It was kind of sweet weirdness.
I couldn’t hold back and let the dream to have this babe kill me. Where do I begin? I was in dilemma. The mechanics and genes of the body got to work impulsively. We bumped into each other. It seemed natural.
I was overwhelmed. For lack of something concrete to say, the mechanics of the body would do the work.
Beauty lies in the beholder’s eye. She’s one of the most beautiful lady I ever set my eyes on. An angel. My perfect dream. She inspired numerous passionate, lovely and innocent feelings in me. She was my dream. But, how could I capture it? And keep it in my heart. I have had an attractive stint in the lonely backyards. Till when?
If I find the one to inspire my heart, I will give in to her. It came to pass. I had seen her, after crossing the Nile.
My dream. It will come to pass. I besiege you, Lord, thou art in heaven. She will be (sweet) mine forever.
She’s a lovable type. A smiling angel. Eyes sparkling after a stare into my eyes. For heavens sake, she’s looking into my heart. I need loving…everlasting loving. I need one to hold, to cherish, to love and to honour for the rest of my life.
One day, two days, a week, two weeks, still together. But, nothing much to get the wheels rolling. Tension abound. Reason? Most masculine eyes on her. I am a humble chap. I am a broke bloke. She’ s loaded. Perception sounds louder than doubt. I have not told her anything, though.
But, matters of the heart…lonely, lonely heart push me in a tight corner. I cannot take it any longer. I drop the bombshell…. “Dear Angel…..een. I liked you even before we knew each other. I am too lonely…. ‘be mine so we can’ share a future of love and happiness together…” Wow. The message is gone. It defied the cold night to reach her in the lovely warmth of her bed. Relief. But, tension. The response! I don’t know. It might turn on a new page. Will I suddenly fall from the sweet soft leaves of our infant relationship friendship to the cold ashes in the dustbin? Damn it. I must struggle on.
Risk taking is a better option. The bombshell had struck the heart I desired, like a sweet sword of flame. But, the effect was quite undesired. What the hell is this?
Next day, she sauntered toward me.
“I need some time with you.” Tension…
“Outside,” she hinted. Far from the crowd. A lecture is in the offing, I felt it coming. My heart beats sympathise with me. They turn into drum beats instead. I am off balance, but still admiring her ‘Angel’ frame. I wish I could have it for a mutual meal every day-a symbiotic one. It will come to pass. I perceive it.
The brief stint confuses me. I am thrown into a deep of ‘loneliness.’
My heart is stubborn on her. Will I easily let go? No. My much desired affiliation dream with her hangs in balance. I have not talked much to her neither has she to me. This pricks my conscience. It is funny how the secrete attraction inflicts emotional pain. But, the silence betokens something positive.
The only grand communication going on is between the eyes. I survive on optical nutrition. I can’t have enough of her though. Damn me. Her charm and beauty have bewitched me. I am going to run crazy. I am now careful not to run into another crush. Reason. I am damn sure there’s gonna be a comeback between us. Similarly, I don’t want to harbour more wounds to the ones I seem to ‘nurse.’
Instead, I will treat any lady with suspicion. I won’t easily date any of them. My Angel should come back. She will come back. I am waiting still in the coldness of loneliness and hope.
Come back. I still need. More than ever.

Yours truly......

Joshua Masinde

The Prospect of East African Political Federation encrypted in the myth of reality

The fate of the East African Political Federation hangs in the confusion of “fears of the unknown rather than anything concrete.” Hon. Maj. Gen. Mugisha Muntu said on Friday 11th at a conference in Makerere University.
Despite the gains which have so far been accrued like the establishment of the Customs Union, confusion still looms on whether there should be a fast tracking of a Political Federation. Talks and consultations have been on-going in three East African countries on the way forward. Should there be a gradualist process which foresees the consultation and establishment of the Common Market, Monetary Union, Economic Federation and later Political Federation.
With the Customs Union protocol already in its early stages of implementation, the discussions on the Common market protocol are going on. The timeline for the consultations is two years. This process, as opposed to the Customs Union, which involved Uganda, Kenya and Tanzania will also bring on board Rwanda and Burundi which were newly admitted to the EAC.
The people of East Africa would wish to get to know how they’ll benefit from this integration process. Whereas it’s “still hard to get work permits in some member countries, borders should be opened,” Hon. Mugisha articulated.
While Hon Mugisha put forward the suggestion that all the integration processes should be done within the umbrella of a Political Federation, other people disprove this. Consultations carried out in Tanzania indicate that 25% of those consulted favour the fast tracking of a Political Federation. In Uganda and Kenya, 56% and 65% support the fast tracking process respectively.
Mr. Bweseli Akabway, who chaired the committee for the fast tracking process in Uganda, revealed the findings from Uganda, Kenya and Tanzania show an eagerness with which more than 70% of the populations consulted, wish to see the dawn of the East African Political federation.
Specific observations as political, economic and social recommendations were notably diverse in the three member countries.
“In Tanzania, people need to be sensitised about domestic land tenure system,” Akabway stated. Similarly, there is the need to build their (Tanzania’s) capacity to improve competitiveness in trade and industrial sector.
Recommendations from Uganda indicated the need for member countries to open up their labour market and representation in leadership. The issue of Buganda federation also needs to be addressed to remove the bottlenecks it is likely to project.
Recommendations from the people consulted in Kenya show the need for not only the drafting of a federal constitution, which should be adopted through referendum encompassing the people of East Africa, but also the procedure of universal suffrage and rotational voting for the federation president and the legislators.
On Economic recommendations, Mr. Akabway enumerated that “the people of East Africa would like to see more tangible benefits from the integration process.”
Social recommendations foresee the rigorous promotion of Kiswahili among member states, especially Uganda and harmonisation of the education curriculum from schools to university.
However, there is still debate on how this process should be conducted.
Mr. Brian Bwesigye from the School of Law expressed the need for a grass-roots based approach in the on-going consultations for the integration process. The leaders tend to betray. This explains why the prospects for the East African Federation were in 1977. It was due to the differences between the deceased presidents, Idi Amin of Uganda, Julius Nyerere of Tanzania and Jomo Kenyatta of Kenya.
“This elitism disease is killing us,” Mr Bwesigye decried. He dismissed particular confusion on the way forward for the integration process as a confusion of the selfish minded leaders. “Which to start first? Are we doing Political or Economic integration?”
There should be a clear cut process that involves religious, cultural and other grass-roots leaders as well. The process should be devolved from the elitist cocoon. But, in the face of some rigid leaders some of who have traversed the political divide from the 1960s, political will might pose a greater challenge than the little mayhems already foreseen.

Joshua Masinde.

Naipaul, not done with the pen yet

When one hears of Sir Vidiadhar Surajprasad Naipaul, popularly referred to as V. S. Naipaul, the thoughts of a man masked in controversy, criticism and racial chauvinism come to mind. He is as much controversial, sadly humorous, sharply satirical and conservative in his writings and discourses now as he was about five decades ago.

Having written a lot (and as per many critics, distastefully) about Africa and the third world, he still could not resist the temptation to make another pilgrimage to Africa (Uganda) and particularly visit the famed River Nile in Jinja. This, he did a day before honouring a visit to Makerere University, where he undertook a writing fellowship in 1966. Then, he rejected many honours, which kept boomeranging in different forms. Was it perhaps due to the gratification he beheld in the earlier scholarship he was awarded to study at Oxford university?

Nevertheless, in 1965, when the Farfield Foundation asked him to take up a fellowship, he obliged and went to Makerere University in Uganda. His reason for taking up the fellowship was too little out of the ordinary, not for the value he should have attached to it: he was having trouble writing a book. The fellowship gave him an opportunity to take a break from the depression he was having, have a look at Uganda and to write his book.

Later, he toured East Africa, the Democratic Republic of Congo, the Ivory Coast. He credits himself to have written a lot about these areas and the third world; writings he terms as the history of the vanquished.

During his early pilgrimage to Africa, he thought of writing a last book about the continent. But, as a writer, he felt the need to keep on writing.

"A writer does not have to write one book," he remarks.

But there’s always the mortal fear to which he attached his wish to write; "Where the next book (material) is coming from."

However, what he considers as bad and should be discouraged is lending oneself to the copy-cat syndrome. "If I could do that one too," a wish that most writers fantasise about inhibits creativity. The urge to wish to write as one’s favourite author is normal but should be avoided.

His sort of writing has drawn unprecedented criticism from different quarters of the globe. He doesn’t mind criticism, especially from such critics who dismiss him as unsympathetic and racist in his writing and utterances, the famed one of which he admitted not envisioning a monkey (sic) reading his books.

Like the proverbial ostrich that buried its head in the sand, he is indifferent to censure for one reason: he doesn’t write about the affairs of the heart but about the world. He finds it hard to deal with social writing, especially in line with manners, emotions, love. To him, "they don’t exist". Nonetheless, he insinuates that one doesn’t write about experiences alone, but also about situations and intuitions. He now considers writing a lot more.

His style of writing is considered unique and singular. The driving force for such unique style was neither a strategy nor a plan. It was instinctive and inherent. When he left university in 1954, he was desperate to get started. Humour was almost his character. He’d been worried but made jokes very easily. He could make jokes without worrying.

Later, as he continued writing, the humour required a lot of space. The offspring was Miguel Street, 1959. With its remarkable and unique characters, it presents the story of great ambitions that remain unfulfilled. It is penned in the first person narration.

In An Area of Darkness, a book that has similarly drawn considerable critique, he presents a stark condemnation of India, his land of lineage. He analyses it with considerable distaste and later with 'grudging affection'.

Despite the varied criticism, he fully accepts his books specifically because of the difficulties he faced in writing them, especially An Area of Darkness. The British have specifically lauded him for contributing to British literature, despite the cosmopolitan identity of his writings. This, he finds fulfilling and inspiring.

He is great he who has won the Nobel prize for Literature, but not V. S. Naipaul. He does not see himself as a hero. "If I do, I’d be extraordinarily foolish." In essence, the most important thing he would like to be remembered about is the wish to be known as a compassionate writer who wrote about the History of the oppressed.

Joshua Masinde

The sledge hammer

End of the road?

Ever felt the vile emotional fix when your 'masterpiece' manuscript has been rejected? The pain that comes of it is often inexplicable. Muddled in emotional fury, incomprehensible to even the most serene feelings, you feel like the world has drowned on you and society has rejected you.

Rejection of a manuscript does not mean the work is condemned as worthless or a sham had it been let to go off the press. No. The emotional attachment is just too strong to make you think so.

Ever wished to confide your most pressing feelings to someone and (s)he refused to listen! That is how you feel when you receive that notification, 'We regret we are unable to consider publishing your manuscript... and some other bitter words thrown in here and there. More often, the manuscript is rejected without formal rejection slips or suggestion on how you could improve your work.

What a damn backward step!

Different publishers espouse specific genres which they would be more willing to assess and luckily for the up-coming author, consider it for publication, subject to the given corrections, which you will have to live up to.

Once the manuscript has been rejected, the author, just like the proverbial hunchback animal struggling to ascend a sharp hill, feels they have been consigned to the bondage of rejection. The bitter-sweet words that follow the rejection lines, 'good luck,' 'wish you the best in your publishing endeavours,' 'try other publishers' seem like an addition of a lethal insult to a wound. It's one of the never-ending miseries that cripple the poor chap, trying to struggle out of obscurity by having their masterpiece(s) published. Woe unto them, even celebrated witers like Chinua Achebe and V. S Naipaul and some of their ilk, had to wait a little longer, before their books could be published.

Joshua Masinde

Never as usual

'It won't be business as usual...' In the face of political turmoil and civil instability, business is never as usual. Life's normalcy, often comes to a stanstill. Fear grips everyone from every point. Disorder is always the foot soldiers, training its hostility and defiance on poor chaps, caught on the run. The intensity of terror escalates like in no other period when peace reigned supreme.
Business is never as usual. Life is never the same. A whole new world of turmoil sets in like a blazing fire rolling into a bale of cotton.
Patriotic citizens face the ill fortune of being refugees in their own land. It is a sad history, which the vanquished never live to relive, in a better way.

And like William Butler Yeats put in his nostalgic poem

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the
world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of
innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are
full of passionate intensity.

There could least be other ways to describe this.

And in this, there could be a celebration of the history of the vanquished.

Joshua Masinde

Recollections of a turbulent mind (part II)

It came a time when a friend thought it wise to resign from social reality. He concluded he'd be better off without the company of the numerous sadists who surrounded him. Any time they met to discuss issues, everyone of them expressed their prejudices aggressively, expecting to be given an ear. But, none was listening. Reason? They'd let their differences guide their way of reasoning.
Now that everyone was opposed to his stereotypes, which everyone else was churning out, he felt disillusioned. A sledgehammer of silence fell upon the poor chap. Silence was a weapon to keep his cool and his temper.
But, an individual belongs to society. That individual, who consigns themselves to an existential state, would be better off inexistent. But that we are human beings, so are we prejudiced. Settling the scores on a rational basis, unguided by uncontrolled emotions and sharp stereotypes, is cheaper than enacting a tragic scene.
The wise bury the hatchet. They dread to bear the straw that broke the camel's back.

Recollections of a turbulent mind (part I)

I looked toward the East and, hell! There was no sunrise. The beautiful country was up in flames. Things had fallen apart. The centre was flames. Everybody felt the horrible pinch of the dirty game....

In a globalised world, human tragedy does not exist in isolation. No country, state or nation can claim to be in sole control of violence, bloodletting or genocide. As a member of the global community, intervention measures, many a time, serve as a convenient remedy to tragic events or situations that could otherwise turn tragic....

Human tragedy!? in a civilised world? It's something I never thought could happen just like that! It happens only in a nightmare.
...but there comes a time when the volcano of human emotions and fury erupts. Here's when reality is worse than fiction.
...such was the time... a time when the excesses of power inflamed the passions of the men on the streets, whose craving for change was long overdue.

Given long-standing frustration and disillusionment, there's always a way to vent it. The patient type would bury their heads in the sand and hope for better things...deo volente. The impatient change lovers will always find a way out at the most convenient time.
Such was the picture...

......indiscriminate bloodletting reigned supreme...
......there was weeping and great lamentation.....
......the earth became the theatre of the wretched....

Nevertheless, human tragedy is not perennial. There comes a time when the citizens would come to their senses, lay down their tools of destruction and violence and pull the curtains of peace to their consciences. They'd preach reconciliation and the need to co-exist once again as kindreds.....
........."And they will have to beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning shears. Nation will not lift up sword against Nation, neither will they learn war anymore."

Joshua Masinde.