How I Escaped Death by a Whisker

Part 1

I would have been dead last year around June. I would have been shot by Nairobi Carjackers. Bullets would have torn through my skull, or my heart or my chest. But I would have died. I would have been reduced to a mere statistic of a Carjacker’s bullet.

My close friend Tiyan and I had visited someone that ill-fated Sunday. It was past 10 a.m. that we boarded a Nissan Matatu bound for Park Place, our student residence area. We were comfortably seated and two more ‘passengers’ stepped in and the Matatu sped off, hurtling along the Haile Selassie Highway. The Nissan screeched to a stop and pulled aside opposite the Kenya Polytechnic. Two more ‘passengers’ squeezed in. I was just partly asleep, just thinking of how my day in court tomorrow will be as a law intern in Judicial Attachment at the Nairobi Law Courts. Tiyan was seated two seats away, may be thinking about his classes tomorrow or reviewing the day, I can’t tell.

What happened was quick, dramatic and precise. The driver and the conductor were yanked and squeezed in-between the seats. Two rough-looking, youthful men took control of the Nissan and two others kept an eye on us. I looked around and an eerie feeling registered. I looked at Tiyan, he glanced back and I immediately knew that we had been carjacked! We would be dead this night!

Tiyan’s neighbor was  still asleep. The poor chap was drunk and no doubt knew that the destination was Rongai.

“Sasa msikize, hatuogopi kuua. Tunakuua. Tunataka simu na pesa. Simu na pesa ama ukufe! Simu na pesa ama ukufe!”

I was immediately behind him. I glanced at this man. He had no mask, no hood. He had hardly reached 35. To him, life could be dispensed. Life was at his beck.  By one killer bullet his orders could be met. I was afraid of this man. Very afraid.

So I removed my wallet and phone. In my wallet I had around 600 shillings and a few coins. My phone was one of those old pioneer Sony Ericsson models that came with an aerial. I could happily give it to anyone as a gift and never think twice. With my colleagues, we could joke that if the phone accidentally slipped into my passenger seat, a fellow passenger could rudely tell me ‘Hey, friend, I think you are leaving behind your phone..please have it’. But I still needed my phone, for communication, you know.

I was the first to comply with the orders.

“Hatutaki wallet zenu washenzi, toa pesa!” The Not-Afraid-to-Kill-Man growled.

I removed the 600 shillings and gave them out together with the phone. But I had to remove my sim-card while he monitored me. The other passengers followed suit. I thought to myself: What if I die tonight wouldn’t it be such a waste after reading for the past more than 16 years and almost reaping the benefits? How will people receive news of my death? Would they find my body anyway?

All the passengers complied. Upon reaching the Haile Selassie Roundabout, we sped the Ngong route instead of the Rongai one. Our drunk fellow wakes up, notices that the Matatu is following an apparently different route. He noisily asks Tiyan about this and causes a commotion. Tiyan whispers to him: “Man, ni kubaya!” But he doesn’t listen. The goons tell him: “We! Tutakupiga risasi! Tutakuua saa hii”. He receives so many slaps and blows. I pity him. That is the much I can offer for now.

Now I was resigned to fate and God. I laughed inside me thinking of how life is so temporary, so transient, so shaky. During the day I was hopping around with life; at night I am lying dead somewhere-I-don’t-know. This life!

One thug makes a call. He is talking over his handset: “Sikiza, tunakuja na hawa mafala mtutegee hapo” We are headed for Ngong or Ngong Forest. And the lives of about 12 passengers were at the mercy of four armed crooks. One wrong move and we are dead meat. We had given out money, phones. What more did these ingrates want from us?

The driver or the conductor made a ‘suspicious move’ and in a quick succession one thug removed something, a weapon, may be a pistol and jabbed it into his head. I felt everyone cringed. The thug intoned: “Hii si toy, kumanina, nitakushoot..hii bizna hatukuanza jana fala na usidhani we ni m-clever sana”. The pistol was cocked and I heard one collective sigh. The driver (I established much later) didn’t move an inch and that saved us, at least at that time.

 The Not-Afraid-to-Kill-Man then looks around and bursts:
“Wanawake ni wangapi kwa hii gari? Oooooooh, naona ni wawili”.

He abruptly stops at that. This gets me thinking: RAPE! Tororot, the God of the Rising Sun, not rape. We have an old woman, old enough to be my grandma. We also have a lady but again I think how heart-wrenching, traumatizing it can get to her young life. Oh no. This will be too sad to bear. Or we passengers being forced to rape them. I hated that moment, I hated this people, I hated the whole situation.

We had been forced to lower our heads all this while but on approaching a police roadblock, the Nairobbers adviced us to ‘kaa vizuri’ like ordinary passengers. I felt like to scream across the window for the police to hear and rescue us but I had no voice what with the parched throat and tension. So we comfortably passed the cops.

It was a bad night for me. The Not-Afraid-to-Kill-Man suddenly turned and barked to me:

“We! Pesa na simu yako, toa ama ukufe saa hizi, hii si mchezo!”

In the humblest voice and pose that man can sink into, I say:
“Boss, ndo hii wallet nilikuwa wa kwanza kukupatia doo na simu Ericsson”. He doesn’t take this.
He says:
“Usicheze na akili yangu, wapi simu”

Then a blow that could have measured 4.5 on the richter scale lands on my nose once twice thrice as I say ‘boss, sikudanganyi ni ukweli’. I realize that I need to save my nose else it will be fractured by this some nose-deconstructor-or-something. ( By the way, for a whole 5 days I walked with a swollen nose..I felt bad that week). I feel like to shout to this shenanigan: Shoot me, coward, shoot me…Shatter my brains now..End this show..Go ahead, coward. But another voice tells me: Salem, these people can actually kill you even when you don’t dare them. You will be the loser. You have something to live for. They have nothing but misery. Their lives suck. Temper your anger!

The ruffian with a pistol-or-something tells us:

“ Hata sisi tuna watoto wanataka kula na kuenda shule. Kibaki alisema ataleta kazi lakini hakuna. Msijali. Hii ndio kazi na tuheshimiane.”

His voice never betrays any emotions or hard feelings. He appears to have sobriety of thought. But I really pray that he maintains this and never do anything stupid. If he kills both me and Tiyan, he has killed the whole village.

Any time from now, we might be dead. And time was running fast....

THE PADLOCK AND THE KEY

A NARRATIVE PIECE

Every time in the village of Chebengi in the foothills of Shabaha, a house was always broken into, looted clean and the burglar vanished into thin air right under the noses of the villagers. The peace that used to prevail in this region was disturbed. Meanwhile, everybody was given a strident warning never to leave his/her house unlocked but the looting went on unmarred; people got hacked to death; houses got razed and sadness was written on the face of every villager. A baraza was called.

All the residents of Chebengi and the neighbourhood Orolwo and Karon attended. Men and women. Old and young alike. Even Fundi attended. You don’t know Fundi. You don’t know why I am remembering him with efficient tenacity of the memory.

Fundi is a key-cutter. He knows everything about keys. He might tell you that a rusty padlock is bad for the key. He has heard numerous stories of how sparkling clean keys caught up with rust and lost their usefulness. As he might tell you, there’s one padlock for every key and vice versa. Anyway, Fundi is a key expert. Let’s leave it at that.

So everyone was gathered under a big oron tree. A guest in that baraza would have thought that the meeting was a solemn massacre gathering. This only happened when warriors sent for raiding got killed in droves. It was rare. And rare too was this meeting.

Chief Sopon stood up and raised his baton, demanding attention. The murmurs died down instantaneously. It was rumoured that if he hit his baton on someone’s head one could go mad in that very moment. Or never know peace. But, it was believed, one thing was for sure: The man ceased to be normal. So everyone became deadstill.

“Supay kokwo!” The chief roared.

“Mmmmmmh!” His listeners yelled back. Then followed loud clapping that stretched for whopping one minute. The chief raised his baton once again and order was restored. He hated with passion sycophancy and populist inclinations. Moreover, the people gave the meeting a happy coating like during Relief Food Handouts. He hated that too.

Then, dramatically, he addressed the people like this:

“My people, your stubbornness will kill you—all of you. We’ll not talk of people of Chebengi but shrubs of Chebengi, shrubs of Karon, shrubs of Orolwo. You’ll all die. Long ago, things were different. There were no burglars. There were no key-cutters. There were no padlocks and keys in this area. Men would leave the doors of their homesteads, their houses, their bedrooms and no burglar would dare walk into them.

“I say this with a sad heart. Today, even as I speak now, there are burglars. There’re key-cutters. If someone has been listening to what I’ve been saying every home must be having a padlock and a key for men can’t leave the doors of their homesteads, their houses, their bedrooms open. Even then burglars have master keys. The crude ones with axes, pangas and machetes break the door and elbow in. When it reaches this point all I can say is, God help us.

“But who listens to me anymore? Some of you have branded me the name PADLOCK AND THE KEY. It is not a bad name if you all did what THE PADLOCK AND THE KEY MAN says.”

The chief was almost overcome by tears. He blew his nose and looked at the people. He shook his head and this time he choked with emotion and two balls of tears rolled involuntarily. His baton slipped and fell on the fell on the sandy ground. The crowd gasped and the meeting ended. As dramatically as his speech.

Fundi didn’t budge. He stood still, dead still. Apart from key-cutting what did the good chief want him to do? He shrugged and went to his shop. The chief needed to give him alternatives, viable alternatives; he thought.

Everyone dispersed with something in their hearts

But nothing changed.

The death toll in Chebengi doubled up

The padlocks were opened with master keys

And a lot of keys got rusty, very rusty.

People were at cross-roads. Only burglars opened houses or broke into them. Only burglars killed, robbed and destroyed. Where were these burglars? Don’t look at me with those suspecting eyes; I don’t know. The Chebengians don’t know. And you, too, don’t know it, either.

May be the burglars lived among them. I am just guessing.

A lot of barazas were summoned and the Chebengians attended them. They coined slogans like Pamoja Tuangamize Ujangili. So many conferences, meetings and barazas were called. People attended them. Resolutions were made, declarations made, appropriate course of actions arrived at but insecurity didn’t change a bit.

The death toll in Chebengi doubled up

The padlocks were opened with master keys

And a lot of keys got rusty, very rusty

Chief Sopon, after years and years of crying that went unheeded, died. He died of starvation. He went on a hunger strike of one week believing that Chebengians would stick to his padlock and key golden rule. Poor chief, his conviction on the people of Chebengi resulted in his death—the death of a martyr.

But even in his death, nothing changed

The death toll in Chebengi doubled up

The padlocks were opened with master keys

And a lot of keys got rusty, very rusty

The people of Chebengi talked in closed doors of the revenge of their dead chief. How else could one explain the sudden rise of dead people in Chebengi if not by pointing an accusing finger on their disgruntled chief? It’s him, it’s him, they whispered knowingly. Why should he return to swallow the very people he had fought for while alive? To curb the insecurity, they came up with the idea of Home Guard Police Reserve to man Chebengi area at night. The Home Guard patrolled every door and every homestead. The crime wave depreciated but only for a while. It was not uncommon for one to bump into a Home Guard fumbling with another man’s padlock. People of Chebengi despised them and all the women held a demonstration.

They cried with one voice saying: While our men are at work and burglars are busy devising their wicked plans to execute at night, the Home Guards now possess master keys which they use to open their padlocks in broad daylight!

It was on that sultry afternoon when women gathered under the Oron tree. They complained that unlike their husband’s keys which opened and never got rusty the thief’s keys were rusty and dusty. And since padlocks were as rare as the keys themselves a rusty padlock or key spelt doom, sheer doom.

One woman bent with age and suffering stood up and raised her eyes to the gathering of women and men. Fundi was there. He had been whisked out of his shop and brought into the meeting.

“Women of Chebengi,” started the woman, “and men, I salute you all.”

“When my man was posted to Kitui he went away with the key and on the doors of the main house and the bedroom he left a padlock just dangling. The padlock remained locked until my man came and unlocked it. But his key was rusty, very rusty. My padlock got rusty in the process.

“I had never thought even in my wildest imagination that Baba Totoo’s keys could get rusty. Every time burglars came and tried to open my padlock with their master keys they failed. And gave up.

“Now, my padlock is rusty and his key is rusty too. The doors of the homestead, the main house and the bedroom are ajar. All and sundry can walk in. Burglars can stroll in. Fundi told me that one cannot have a new key if the padlock is rusty. In any case, it would be a matter of time before the new key gets rusty too. I am always wide awake at night. Burglars may sweep my homestead clean. They  may kill my children, my man and I. Everyone gathered here, as therule of the thumb, there must be one key for one padlock. Let it not be said that I didn’t tell you.”

And so, like Chief Sopon, Mama Totoo’s speech ended in a frightful note. Everyone walked with something in their hearts. Six months later the sad news of Mama Totoo’s death spread in the length and breadth of Chebengi village. Burglars had come into her homestead. Stab, stab, stab. The children were butchered and Baba Totoo slaughtered then nailed four times in the skull. The grass-thatched homestead was torched down. Nothing was salvaged. Everything went up in flames. Everyone became sad. Even Fundi cried.

But nothing changed

The death toll in Chebengi doubled up

The padlocks were opened with master keys

And a lot of keys got rusty, very rusty.

A lot of unfounded stories abounded in Chebengi village. Stories of how the Whiteman invented the padlock and the key and the rust. The rumour mills spun stories like the collusion of Hardware dealers and whitemen to force the people of Chebengi to buy padlocks and keys. In their own view, this was a conspiracy of the highest order. Subsequently, locking doors with padlocks got burglars thinking: What’s this important thing being locked? Am I missing on something?

Another theory held that a white burglar with a master key opened one padlock of one African woman. His key was rusty and so the woman’s padlock got rusty also. When her man came and tried to unlock the padlock with his key the man’s key got rusty. The man was a burglar and for every padlock he unlocked each caught up with rust. And so that’s how rust came into being in Chebengi. But as I said a while ago, the precise origin of the rust puzzles the people of Chebengi to date. Nevertheless, burglary continued unabated. Insecurity remained the stumbling block in Chebengians’ way to lasting peace, calm and prosperity. Indeed it was.

You still remember the death of Chief Sopon then that of Mama Totoo and Baba Totoo and the children. The only nurse in Chebengi, Dokta Aspirin, died after resisting burglary for years. A woman burglar called him out of his house; luring him to his chilling death. People said that the woman forced him to unlock her padlock or else he would meet his Maker. Dokta Aspirian’s keys opened the padlock and got rusty. The door of his house was open to any burglar. They came, pillaged the house then killed him.

Then Pastor Ezekiel died. And followed the D.O of Chebengi and Pusia, the M.P. for Chebengi. Top-cream people died of insecurity. And other clod-hoppers died too. Burglars then went to schools and gave select few students master keys. Rusty master keys. Rust y master keys opened a lot of unrusty padlocks. Many students died and many parents cried. How could burglars invade schools and kill so many students with potentials, gleaming future? Nobody understood it but students died in droves and droves. People cursed and cast their eyes on the unfolding catastrophe.

But nothing changed

The death toll in Chebengi doubled up

The padlocks were opened with master keys

And a lot of keys got rusty, very rusty

Time passed and RUSTY PADLOCK AND KEY was declared a national disaster. Thousands and thousands of resolutions were made. Centres were built like REFORMED BURGLARS COUNSELLING ( R.B.C) and VOLUNTARY RUST TESTING (V.R.T). A lot of ointments to be applied on rusty padlocks and keys were imported. They helped but not much. Moreover, to a far-flung marginalized Chebengi the ointments remained but a pipe-dream.

Meanwhile, conferences continued to be organized. Millions got wasted in empty rhetoric while insecurity sky-rocketed. Especially in Chebengi.

The poor Chebengians hated the truth. If you told them that burglary was in their midst you had to be ready to be told off in the harshest terms. If you told them that a rusty padlock or key dwelt among them you were given strong names. If you told them that burglars would rob them if they didn’t lock their doors they responded without batting an eyelid: How come we don’t know what you can foretell the future? They’re a strange lot, the Chebengians. Perhaps when one soul remained on their land would they have thought their position but as for then nobody faced the reality. They only hoped that one day burglars will get rich of their spoils and get saved; the rust will just go away out of its own volition and the sedate and calm atmosphere of Chebengi will come back. But it was a far-wrought dream—a dream which they normally shrugged off in the escalating insecurity.

The Muslim Chebengians prayed to their Allah.

The Christian Chebengians prayed to their Almighty God.

The Traditionalist Chebengians appeased their ancestors with profuse libations and incantantions.

The Atheist Chebengians believed that the Force of Nature would be in control.

 But nothing changed

The death toll in Chebengi doubled up

The padlocks were opened with master keys

And a lot of keys got rusty, very rusty

The collective mind of the people of Chebengi was in a daze. They were perplexed. They always lamented why their God found it fit to place rust in a delicate position like in the padlock and key. How could their Good God allow burglars with master keys open their padlocks then infect them with rust? And why did He bring rust in the first place? And why did He give them padlocks and keys?

Many saw it as a whip by God. If in deed God had given them each one padlock or key it meant that one padlock was for one key and vice versa. If they adhered to this then burglary wouldn’t have been there. Neither would there have been rust too. Insecurity would be out of question in Chebengi and beyond.

But it was Fundi who needed to address all these issues. He knew everything about keys and padlocks. He held the life of Chebengians by his palms. He could make or break Chebengians solely by the decision he would stick to. If he continues key-cutting burglary won’t stop. If  he quits key-cutting Chebengians would live happily as before without rust, without master keys, without burglary. He and he alone held the very breath of Chebengians. He faced a tough decision.

Emissaries spread the word of the big baraza to be held under the big oron tree. Many were informed and a teeming mass of people converged under the tree. Many men and women had been killed by burglars and a lot of orphaned children lingered around, forlon and lost. A handful of crawling children cried feebly may be because of hunger. 

Fundi cleared his throat and commenced:

“I called you people because so many have lost their lives to burglary. Padlocks got rusty and lost their essence. Keys caught up with rust and ceased to unlock padlocks. Any home with rusty padlock or key became open to burglars. Being a key-cutter I made a lot of keys and master keys to open padlock, any padlock. I am responsible for all the deaths that have resulted from all burglary in Chebengi. I wish I could reverse the deaths but I can’t. Only God can. I am quitting key-cutting but let me say this before I sit down. One, men, you have one key and just because you’ve got keys you can’t unlock  every padlock you set your eyes on. Some padlocks are rusty,, very rusty. Your keys will catch up with rust and burglars will take the advantage. Two, women, you have one padlock and just because you’ve got padlocks you can’t be unlocked by every key your padlock fits in. Some keys are rusty, very rusty. Your padlocks will catch up with rust and burglars will take the advantage”.

“You people of Chebengi,” continued the Fundi, “it’s time you faced thre truth.”

“Burglars live with us, they dine with us, they laugh with us. They may be the closest relatives or friends. The more innocent you assume one is the riskier they are. People with rusty padlocks and keys live among us. We shouldn’t chase them but I am not saying they should infect us. If you change your notion, burglary will stop forever.”

The change in Chebengi became visible after one month. Watchmen with nail-studded rungus guarded every door of every homestead. Padlocks were protected and kept under 24-hour surveillance against rusty keys. Since Fundi had stopped cutting master keys, master keys were never made in Chebengi and the neighbourhood.

Things changed

The death toll in Chebengi declined

The padlocks weren’t opened with master keys

The rust in keys vanished as miraculously as it came.

To this day, when you visit Chebengians and ask them about this story they remember it with surprising accuracy. They had seen the dark side of the padlock and the key and they beam with life on the brighter side of the padlock and the key. But they can’t forget the painful lesson they had to learn as burglary took them captive for years and years.

C) Lorot Salem 2010

The Evolution of the Nairobi Pedestrian

1990

Pedestrian beside the road. Looks left and right and then left again before crossing. The road has to be absolutely clear from both sides for him to cross…running!

2000

Pedestrian beside the road. Looks left and right before crossing. He crosses the road not running but hurriedly nonetheless.

2010

Pedestrian doesn’t look left or right anymore. He only makes sure that he stands in the middle of the road and cosily crosses over.

Look at it this way, Lorot Son of the Hills

Then I heard a voice:

“Lorot Son of the Hills, you should not despair, you should not lose hope. For in despairing and losing hope, you cease being a man, a citizen of the earth. Look around you, just look around you. In the morning, even before the sun rises in the East, we hear the birds singing to welcome a new day. The wildlife in the bushes, the fishes in the waters, the beasts on land and those hidden under the earth all symbolize the message of hope, of living.

“Look at it this way, Lorot Son of the Hills. Why are you alive up to now? Why are you breathing? For if this life was all about hopelessness, of despair, of sorry stories then you are not fit to live. And if it be true that the sorrows that come into our lives are supposed to strop us, bootstrap us, incense us to achieve more, then you should not be afraid of them.

“The reason why you have not died up to now is a clear manifestation of beautiful things ahead. The reason why you have clung on all this while is an evidence of what is to unfold in the future. The reason why you wake up every morning with a spring in your feet, a smile on your face and vivacity in all that you do reveals the higher reason of why you are here. For you are here for a reason. 

“Lorot Son of the Hills, you are a citizen of the earth. You are a son of the hills. You have the spirit of a tiger, the determination of a mule, the fighting agility of German Shepherd, the humility of a dove, the soft touch of a Japanese Spitz. In all these compounded elements, Lorot Son of the Hills, you have all that it takes as a true son of the hill. 

“Therefore, you should not despair, Son of the Hills, you should not despair. For this world is full of heroic tales; of people who overcame insurmountable difficulties and came out strong, of men and women who went through hell and fire and lived to tell a story, of sons and daughters of the hills who toil each day and can afford a smile on their faces. Now Lorot Son of the Hills, if these people, these men and women, these sons and daughters overcame all this, why shouldn’t you?

“Why shouldn’t you, Lorot Son of the Hills? Don’t you know that calamities are they not to befall trees but humans? Don’t you know that there is no difficulty, no burden, no yoke that will break us, and only are they there to make us? Don’t you know that man has the ability to rise up as many times as he falls and that ultimately rising up again and again and again will ultimately define him?

“So, Lorot Son of the Hills, why should you despair? Why should you lose hope? If it be true that you are a citizen of the earth, a son of the hill, why should you give up? Bite your lips, Son of the Hills, tie up your shoe-laces, roll up your sleeves, carry you head high, maintain your cheer, look up to God.

“If you feel down, forlon, lost, dejected, just remember this: They should make you strong, not break you. You are here for a reason. You are here for a reason. Be that reason, Lorot Son of the Hills.”

To the Men and Women of the Cloth

Lorot Son of the Hills, we send you to the Comboni Missionaries spread all over the World. These men and women of God have abandoned their earthly possessions, passion of the flesh, things they would have loved to do to be with the sons and daughters of the hills. To them do we send you Lorot Son of the Hills.

Go and tell them this: 

That they should continue the Lord’s work in the spirit they are doing it despite all that is occurring around them. They should continue to tender the Lord’s Vineyard with love even when fellow men counter them with ridicule and ill-will. That they are the parents of the orphans and the husbands of widows on behalf of our Good Lord. That their names may not be written in the hearts of men and on stones but they are written in the lives of men and women they serve.

Tell them not to despair. Tell them that their Good Lord in the heavens is pleased with their works. Tell them men may be unkind, but the Good Lord is always kind; that men are forgetful and bear short memories, but the Good Lord knows everything without limit; that men are trapped in their own selfish desires, but the Good Lord is pure and encourages us to be so. 

Go and tell them Lorot Son of the Hills that we say thank you.

Cogito, ergo sum. I think, therefore I am

( The undelivered Speech to Kacheliba Secondary School students written sometimes in 2008. I realized that elements of bad weather and rats might deprive me of this piece so I let it be here)

The Principal, the deputy, teachers and students…I feel excited to stand before you today. I am animated, enthusiastic and thrilled to address you today. More than seven years ago, I sat for my K.C.S.E in this school. I sat in the same classes you are sitting in today and faced almost the same challenges that you are facing today.

I remember a classmate friend of mine straight from primary who was outside the head teacher’s office. An English teacher asked him whether he had come to “borrow the school” to which our chap responded that he had. Our English teacher asked him: Friend, since you are “borrowing the school” when do you intend to return it? My classmate stood there confused and confounded, baffled and befuddled. Such was his faze and flummox. Undeterred, he indicated that he will “return the school” when he finishes.

I also remember being a “mono” and being invited for valentines with a Form two girl. On that day, I was “wed” to this girl. Flowers were exchanged and marriage vows said. Being a mono was tough but it had its fun and amusement, mirth and pleasure.

What comes into my mind now is my English teacher. You are fresh from Class Eight and he talks of things as puzzled, perplexed, entangled, ensnared, bewildered, flummoxed. Why couldn’t he just say confused? I once borrowed from him an English textbook. While returning it he asked: Was it valuable or invaluable? To which I dutifully answered it was not invaluable but very valuable. My English teacher just laughed. Little did I know that those were synonyms!

Students, I have a quote for you today from John Kendrick Bangs in “My Silent Servants”. It says:

If…I find [a man] enriching his mind with constant drafts upon the treasures of song, or feeding his soul upon the spiritual meat of the great masters of letters, or delving deep into the veins of the mines of philosophy, he seems to me to have become a promising initiate into the goodly company of the immortals.

Let me repeat that:

If…I find [a man] enriching his mind with constant drafts upon the treasures of song, or feeding his soul upon the spiritual meat of the great masters of letters, or delving deep into the veins of the mines of philosophy, he seems to me to have become a promising initiate into the goodly company of the immortals.

How many times do you enrich your mind? How frequent do you feed your soul? How many times do you commune with the immortals in books? How many books have you read? Apart from the textbooks you read for your exams which other books have you read for the fun of it or just to expand your knowledge?

It is never too late. 

Here’s a proverb in “The World is Flat” by Thomas Friedman:

Every morning in Africa, a gazelle wakes up, it knows it must run faster than the fastest lion or it will be killed. Every morning a lion wakes up, it knows it must outrun the slowest gazelle or it will starve to death. It doesn’t matter whether you are a gazelle or a lion, when the sun comes up, you better start running.

Students of Kacheliba, the sun is up and you better start running. Let me tell you my story. In 2002, I sat for my K.C.S.E and got a grade B failing to join public university by two points. I felt sad, dejected, humiliated and disconsolate. My dreams were lofty, my plans grand and ambition soaring into the skies. These dreams, these plans, these ambitions were worthless, futile, profitless, vain. I had always dreamt of becoming two things in life: A lawyer or a journalist. With my failure of joining a public university, my first option was pipe dream, an exercise in futility. After finishing form four I taught Kacheliba Girls Primary for almost a year before going to Nairobi for my packages in Computer .

I came back home and went to St. Comboni Amakuriat Secondary school to teach Computer and Kiswahili. Four years later, yet I had not joined a University nor enrolled for some journalism course. I received an admission letter from Kenya Institute of Mass Communication (KIMC) to study print journalism. I declined partly because I didn’t have the requisite fees and that  my heart was still fixed on a career on law. Somebody told me that if we talk frequently about our dreams and aspirations then we, at the end of the day will achieve those dreams.

I always believed that “I must keep on rowing, not until I reach port but until I reach my grave”. I always hoped that even after having spent four years at home after completion of my fourth form, God, in his mysterious ways could have fixed things for me to do law.

Right now I am at the Catholic University of Eastern Africa pursuing law. I am in my third year. My story could be a part of your story too, a story about patience and perseverance, a story about fortitude and long-suffering and stoicism. I am not any different from you. Let us get more practical now.

Number  1, you are a fool. 

That is why you are here. Start from there. Search for knowledge. Stretch your mind to the limit. Be humble. Respect your teachers even when they might have iron hands. Read books as if you are chasing after somebody whom you are afraid of losing.

Number 2, know where you are going. 

What do you want to become in the next 10 or 15 years? Do you believe that you are such a person? What is it that you need to do daily to become such a person? How do you improve yourself? Remember if you don’t know where you are going any road can lead you there. Don’t fall a victim.

Number 3, let your poverty be your incentive, your bait, your impetus, your motivation, your enticement.  

When you wake up to a thin sugarless millet porridge, when you take a morsel for food and sleep on mud bed, when you go back home to find your family having migrated far away where there’s green grass..all these should be the building blocks to your academic success. Get positively angry with your poverty.

Number 4, never be a victim of narrow learning. 

Read for your exams. Do it. Pass your exams. But if after finishing your exams you only know the molarity concept and scramble and partition of Africa you are not learned. Be an intellectual. You see, Ali Mazrui once said that an intellectual is a person who is fascinated by ideas. Ngugi said that an intellectual is a person who  knows something about everything and everything about something. Develop a curiosity within you, an inquisitivenss, constructive nosiness about something about everything. Learn history. Learn arts. Learn science. Read novels. Observe nature. Create within you child-like curiosity about everything. Never stop to ask why.

Read books, students. I am not any different from you. But I read books. After finishing form four I embarked on a journey into the world of books. I realized the wisdom of one Jesse Lee Bennett who said:

Books are the compasses and telescopes and sextants and charts which other men have prepared to help us navigate the dangerous seas of human life.

So I immersed myself into books. I read Kiriamiti’s My life in crime and son of fate. I read Ngugi’s Petals of Blood and Grain of Wheat and River Between. I read Chinua Achebe’s Arrow of God and Things Fall Apart. I read Katama Mkangi’s Walenisi and Buriani and Masaibu ya Ndugu Jero and Mashetani. I then read John Grisham’s legal thrillers like A Time to Kill and Runaway Jury and the Brethren. I read Ben Carson’s Think Big and my life was never  the same again. If you have not read that book please find time to read it and if you will still doubt your abilities come back to me so that I can trade my lungs for yours. I then read my Bible and other religious books like the Q’uran and Bhagavad-Gita and Upanishad. I read philosophy and science and arts. I discovered that, like Gjertrud Schnackenberg:

In my room

Among cities of books

Stacked in towers

Each book is a room

Students, make it happen. History abounds with tales of experts who were convinced that the ideas, plans, and projects of others could never be achieved. However, accomplishment came to those who said, “I can make it happen.” I got these stories from somewhere.

The Italian sculptor Agostino d’Antonio worked diligently on a large piece of marble. Unable to produce his desired masterpiece, he lamented, “I can do nothing with it.” Other sculptors also worked this difficult piece of marble, but to no avail. Michelangelo discovered the stone and visualized the possibilities in it. His “I can-make-it-happen” attitude resulted in one of the world’s masterpieces- David.

The experts of Spain concluded that Columbus’s plans to discover a new and shorter route to the West Indies was virtually impossible. Queen Isabella and King Ferdinand ignored the report of the experts. “I can make it happen.” Columbus persisted. And he did. Everyone knew the world was flat, but not Columbus. The Nina, the Pinta, the Santa Maria, along with Columbus and his small band of followers, sailed to “impossible” new lands and thriving resources.

Even the great Thomas Alva Edison discouraged his friend, Henry Ford, from pursuing his fledgling idea of a motorcar. Convinced of the worthlessness of the idea, Edison invited Ford to come and work for him. Ford remained committed and tirelessly pursued his dream. Although his first attempt resulted in a vehicle without reverse gear. Henry Ford knew he could make it happen. And of course, he did.

“Forget it,” the experts advised Madame Curie. They agreed radium was a scientifically impossible idea. However, Marie Curie insisted, “I can make it happen”

“Let’s not forget our friends Orville and Wilbur Wright. Journalists, friends, armed forces, specialists, and even their father laughed at the idea of an aeroplane. “What a silly and insane way to spend money. Leave flying to the birds,” they jeered. “Sorry,” the Wright brothers responded. “We have a dream and we can make it happen.” As a result, a place called Kitty Hawk, North Carolina, became the setting for the launching of their “ridiculous” idea.

Make it happen, students. Make it happen for your studies. Make it happen for your Chemistry and Mathematics and English. Make it happen for your grades. Make it happen for your academic success. Make it happen! Make it happen! I also have another story for you. 

The Brooklyn Bridge that spans the river tying Manhattan Island to Brooklyn is truly a miracle bridge. In 1863, a creative engineer named John Roebling was inspired by an idea for this spectacular bridge. However, bridge-building experts throughout the world told him to forget it; it could not be done.

Roebling convinced his son, Washington, who was a young up and coming engineer, that the bridge could be built. The two of them developed the concepts of how it could be accomplished and how the obstacles could be overcome. With unharnessed excitement and inspiration, they hired their crew and began to build their dream bridge.

The project was only a few months under construction when a tragic accident on the site took the life of John Roebling and severely injured his son, Washington. Washington was left with permanent brain damage and was unable to talk or walk. Everyone felt that the project would have to be scrapped since the Roeblings were the only ones who knew how the bridge could be built.

Even though Washington was unable to move or talk, his mind was as sharp as ever, and he still had a burning desire to complete the bridge. An idea hit him as he lay in his hospital bed, and he developed a code for communication. All he could move was one finger, so he touched the arm of his wife with that finger tapping out the code to communicate to her what to tell the engineers who were building the bridge. For thirteen years, Washington tapped out his instructions with his fingers until the spectacular Brooklyn Bridge was finally completed.

That is the story of determination. That is the story of John Roeblings and Washington. That is the painful story of perseverance. You have a bridge of your own to build: the bridge of your academic success. Fortunately, you don’t need to tap any code to communicate. You walk freely unlike Washington who was bedridden. We need more John Roeblings in this school. We need more Washingtons who finish what they have started no matter the tragedies and vagaries of life. We need Roeblings and Washingtons who don’t follow the crowd, who follow their convictions and beliefs and strengths.

You can make it happen. If you think you can, then you can. If you think you can’t, then you can’t. It’s all in the mind. If you believe that you can ride a bicycle on a tight rope tied between two tall buildings then let me be honest yes, you can ride it. I believe that an injection is the most painful torture than can be inflicted upon me by the hands of man. You cannot say the same about the medicine tablets that I comfortably swallow. Give me any tablet with or without water any time and I will swallow them as if they are Patco. I knew of somebody who on the sight of tablets developed fright over them.

It is all in the mind. As a man thinketh so is he. Descartes said:

Cogito, ergo sum. I think, therefore I am.

If you think you are a winner and a non-quitter then the world will be shaped according to your desires. If you think that there is a curse of failure which follows your lineage and family tree than who am I, son of the hills, to intercede in your generational curses. Beware of what you consciously think about every day because it will follow up with you sooner rather than later.

I had already told you about what Thomas Friedman said:

That…

Every morning in Africa, a gazelle wakes up, it knows it must run faster than the fastest lion or it will be killed. Every morning a lion wakes up, it knows it must outrun the slowest gazelle or it will starve to death. It doesn’t matter whether you are a gazelle or a lion, when the sun comes up, you better start running.

Start running. It doesn’t matter whether you are a gazelle or a lion. Remember that rule number one, you are a fool; rule number two know where you are going, rule number three let poverty be your incentive; and rule number four never be a victim of narrow learning. Don’t forget those rules. Be fascinated with ideas. Read books. Make it happen. Remember that Columbus made it happen even though the crowd thought that the world was flat, circumnavigation was possible. Henry Ford made it happen with the Ford motors. Orville and Wilbur Wright, the so-called Wright Brothers made it happen. They made flying happen.

You too can make it happen. Believe that you can make it happen. And when you believe that you can make it happen there is no limit as to how far you can reach. You can be anything in this world. Think that you can. Cogito, ergo sum. I think, therefore I am.

Thank you for lending me your ears. God bless Kacheliba, God bless Kenya, God bless this world. Thank you.