Legal Writing and Drafting #1

Let us be on the same page: when I photocopied the legal writing and drafting exercises and flipped through the question, I knew I was Mr. Munene’s dead meat. I looked through. Generic transitions. Dovetailing. Active voice. Passive voice. Concrete subjects. Action verbs. Subject verb distance. Sentence length. Emphasis. Single word emphasisers. Changing word order. Breaking pattern.

For almost thirty minutes I looked at exercise one and all I thought about transitions was political. That is, the way a country moves from despotism to dependency. So I asked myself: How does generic come in? Isn’t it misplaced? As for dovetailing, the least said the better. I read that dovetailing is the overlap of language between two sentences that creates a bridge between those two sentences. Doesn’t make sense. In my mind’s eye, I could see a white dove. That was fine. But tail? I was lost. I further read that dovetails are often created by moving the connecting idea to the end of the first sentence and the beginning of the second sentence, repeating key words, using pronouns to refer back to nouns an earlier sentence, and using “hook words” (this, that, these, such) and a summarizing noun. That is a lot of stuff in one sentence. Where is conciseness? Where is elegance? Where is brevity? What about feathers? I mean we are talking about a dove, right? This is my take: sentences should be able to intrinsically bond. If they cannot consult each other, insisting on quarrelling at the top of their lungs then why bother to “connect” them, for crying out loud? So, in my wisdom, I flipped through the question, saying, “Fighting, huh? When you are finished, please remember to turn off the lights”.

I also had a problem with active voice and passive voice. I told the members of my group that when I shout, then my voice is active; if I whisper, then my voice is passive. Makes perfect sense, right? But some loudmouth tells me this: An active voice is ordered in the manner of Subject, Verb, Object. A Passive voice is the reverse because you start with an Object, Verb then Subject. 

The same loudmouth goes further to say: In an active voice, the Subject is acting whereas in a passive voice the Subject is being acted upon.

Not to be lost, I remind her that in all the sentences there is not even one subject which has been mentioned. No Criminal Litigation. No Conveyancing. No Legal Drafting. An object could be a chair, a marker, a book, a mwakenya. At least, it should be tangible. The other members looked at me as if they doubted my entry qualifications. In consolation, my conscience is clear about the fact that I voiced my reservations on the way they handle questions. You see, some of these questions are very tricky and require a sharp mind to know what active and passive voices are in the first place.

I was tired at some point while handling the questions. Out of my creativity, I decided to google some of the questions. I started with concrete subjects because when I perused through the questions I did not see challenging subjects like Legal Writing and Drafting especially. 

In the search toolbar I typed: "Mark the subject and verb in the following sentences with an “S” and “V” and then revise the sentence to have a concrete subject. In some cases, you will have to create your own concrete subject.

1.       It could be argued by the defense that Mr. Smith was out of the state at the time of the robbery.”

Folks, needless to say, I got no relevant answers. I thought to myself: If google has been defeated, who am I, Lorot Son of the Hills, to know the answers. I wrote somewhere: To see Mr. Munene immediately. Why? Because he is the problem!

Perpetual Panic

"Some old men who know little Baganda will wake from their sleep, laughing, saying: This thing this boy of ours is carrying is a witch. How can it carry the song of Museveni, the one Museveni, who says a word and we hide ourselves inside the caves of Mt. Kadam? Our son, if you have learnt the trick of stealing Museveni’s song into that thing then what we wait for is for you to bring him here so that we sing with him and praise our bulls..."

To avoid the scorching sun of the land behind the hills, I usually opt to sit under a tree shade probably that of a Tamarind tree. People behind the hills call the tree Oron. This big oron tree has the capacity of accommodating more than 50 people. Old men will perch their heads on their traditional stools and comfortably catch an afternoon nap. Others will prop their heads on a walking stick delicately balanced between two traditional stools. Lorot Son of the Hills™ would comfortably lie somewhere, half-asleep half-awake, listening to the folklore of old men and gleaning their well-knitted arguments.

Today I will not talk about what they discuss under that tree. I will focus on some stray thought that has gripped my mind. It is nothing big really.

In my self-induced sleepy state, I saw this young man with a broken chip of glass smoothening a walking stick we call lökûp. He was never in a hurry, never in any self-inflicted haste. He could blow off the stick-dusts. He appeared never to be worried about the flying time. I asked myself: Lorot Son of the Hills™, does this man have deadlines? Is this man a slave of time? When the sun sets in the evening, does he look back and scream: So much to do, so little time to accomplish them? Does he worry about diplomas, degrees, masters and PHDs? 

He never appeared so. In his state, he had reached his “self-actualization”. He had found his inner peace. Under that Oron tree, I looked inwardly into myself, of my academic papers, of my race with time, of my jittery nature, of my state of “perpetual panic”. What will be my self-actualization? Where will I find inner peace? Hadn’t I been told in Form Four that I will come to realize that the more I read the more I will discover that I don’t know? Hadn’t I sadly surmised that the race will always be of “perpetual panic”? 

Looking at the contentment of that man under the tree (as against my feeling of “I need to do one more thing”), feeling the relaxed mode he had assumed of life (as against mine of “haste, waste no time”), I envied the man smoothening the walking stick. But then again, I thought to myself: True, the man is contented. True, the man appears to have inner peace. But, what would be the thrill to this man upon discovering the hidden knowledge between book covers, of Google, of his-story, of explanations to many questions that remain unanswered in his mind? How would he feel seated there with grizzly old men peeling off one gem of knowledge after another before his audience? How would this man be like when he finally receives the revelation that the world is more than smoothening lökûp?

With such knowledge, perhaps the man will read Daily Nation over the internet, or most probably The Daily Monitor. Under that oron tree, he might say: Kinsmen, in akanta (for that’s how the people behind the hills call Uganda), Museveni has decided to sing to get more votes ( in reference to Do You Want Another Rap?). To thrill them, he might go to YouTube and play them the song from his laptop. Some old man who knows little Baganda will wake from his sleep, laughing, saying: 

This thing this boy of ours is carrying is a witch. How can it carry the song of Museveni, the one Museveni, who says a word and we hide ourselves inside the caves of Mt. Kadam? Our son, if you have learnt the trick of stealing Museveni’s song into that thing then what we wait for is for you to bring him here so that we sing with him and praise our bulls. When I had strength, my son, I could stand like a bull with crossed horns, placing my palms on my temple and praise my bull with all the adjectives a warrior could use. Then I could leap into the air as if my feet had wings. I swear by this snuff bottle, my agemates still say I used to sing as if I had been possessed by the spirit of my bull.

If Jesus Was to be born in Kenya #2

1 O’clock news K.B.C. News on 25th December:

Taarifa ya kuzaliwa kwa Yesu hapa nchini yazua hali ya sintofahamu na mshikemshike kwa viongozi na raia. Tulipokuwa tunachapisha habari hizi ili kuwaletea, ilikuwa bado haijabainika kwa kweli ikiwa mtoto huyo ni Yesu au la. Serikali imeamuru mtoto huyo afanyiwe uchunguzi wa DNA ili kubaini ikiwa DNA yake ni ile iliyoko kwenye biblia.

Translation:
News trickling in in our newsdesk have it that the birth of Jesus continue to elicit confusion and jittery feeling to the leadership and Kenyans as a whole. By the time we were going to press, it had not been confirmed whether this baby is the real Jesus. The Government has swung into action and directed that the child should undergo a DNA test.

One random citizen asked on this will say that Mary is an attention-seeking woman. He will point out that this is another version of the Deya Saga but with a female character in place.

By around 2 P.m. of 25th, curious Kenyans will rush to the place where Mary Mother of Jesus is said to be. Characteristic of our Government Spokesman, he will suggest the Moktar Daddah Street to be Jesus Street and a national monument to be erected. While generously saying ‘Najivunia kuwa Mkenya, Najivunia Yesu kuzaliwa Kenya’, he will call upon the President to declare Jesus Street a tourist attraction.

Visitors will flock Kenya. Ads will be placed on the telly. Sample this:

Apart from the wildebeest migration and the Maasai, Jesus Street is now open to members of the public which is our Bethlehem. Come visit and see where Mary Mother of Jesus actually delivered Jesus.
Kenyans who are business-savvy will line up the Moktar Daddah Street with every religious item that is worth selling: crosses, rosaries, bibles, t-shirts with religious writings, holy water, holy oils, holy piece of handkerchief that Mary Mother of Jesus actually used to wipe her brow, the soil upon which Mary sat on before delivering Jesus, the shawl that actually tied up Jesus.

Somewhere in the pages of the Classifieds one businessman will place the ad that the City Inspectorate Van that carried Mary and Jesus is up for sale at 45 Million.

And somewhere in a village, the news will spread of this development. One man, intoxicated by liquor, will spring to his feet, take a swig and declare:

Joseph, Son of Arimathea, comes from our Clan, the big buffalo clan of the Suk. His great great grandfather could take 12 gourds of sour milk while standing. Arimathea was a great man. This Joseph is our son although his blood got mixed a little to make him a carpenter but he still remains a great warrior in his blood. He could kill an antelope with only one arrow. He once tore a lion’s mouth into two.
See, friends, the Suk come from the eye of the sun, k’ongasis. We come from Israel, the land where our great grandfather, Arimathea, hails from….

The growth of the baby Jesus will be monitored closely by the Establishment. Inside State House, the cronies of the president will whisper:

Your Excellency, my breath is not worthy of your ears but allow me to say this. This child who is said to be a king is growing up fast and is gathering a huge following. He is not calling any political rally, he is only 12 but he is on every one’s lips. Direct the arrest of Joseph and Mary before things run out of hand.

There will be opposition even among religious leaders. It will not be uncommon to hear a religious scholar intone: I have studied Theology for 17 years now and based on that this is not Jesus but another ordinary baby and ordinary distressed woman trying to bring up an extra-ordinary story. Jesus? Which Jesus?

Then Lorot Son of the Hills will approach Jesus Son of Man and say: Jesus, I am Lorot Son of the Hills, you were born in the streets and I was born on the way. This is Kenya. There are some positions you might easily fit in like the Governor, Senator or the President. And if you get it, don’t forget me Jesus. I will be your campaign manager, for free. I will write your speeches, weave moving political poetry, mobilize Kenyans to follow you. It will be a door-to-door campaign. We need to create a Fund, Jesus, for our political rallies. You see, these parables things won’t work without something small. You will make it. You are the news, Jesus.

But Jesus will look at me graciously and say: Verily, verily I tell you Lorot Son of the Hills, the Son of Man never came to this world to seek the glory of man. I am Prince of Peace, the Anointed One, a Wonderful Counselor. I seek spiritual kingdom, not a political leadership…

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year my readers.

If Jesus was to be born in Kenya #1

And so it came to pass that baby Jesus was born in Kenya. Mary Mother of Jesus was in great pains and was looking around for a place but the response she was getting was ‘vyumba vyote vimejaa’ ‘all houses are full’. Ironically, where Joseph and Mary went were surrounded by perimeter walls and written mbwa kali, bibi mkali. There was general consensus that such a king was part of political witch hunt, a well-calculated plan to deceive Kenyans in order to take reins of leadership. A commission of Inquiry was thus formed: A Commission of Inquiry into the Circumstances of the Birth of Jesus. Questions were floated, like the need for many Baby Jesuses to be born to have a regional balance and that the date of its birth be subjected to a Referendum.

In Parliament, one angry and distraught MP rose up to speak:

“Mr. Speaker, there is an important national matter. It is about a baby named Jesus born less than 48 hours ago at Pumwani. Word is going round that he is King. Mr. Speaker, I find this a comic relief between the issues of the Hague Six and Implementation Committees of the Constitution. What baffles my mind is that the country somehow believes this make-believe story, Mr. Speaker.  Mr. Speaker, I seek your indulgence on this matter. This is hogwash. Let this nonsense be stopped, Mr. Speaker.”

As this voice drones off in the August House, baby Jesus and Mother Mary are braving the sharp, searing glances of passersby and receiving coins thrown meters away. But the City Council askaris haul them into their white stuffy  wire-meshed  City Inspectorate Van. The askari will tell Mary Mother of Jesus: Jitetee Mama, hii mambo tumalizie hapa. Uko na ngapi? Offence yako ni serious kwa by-laws za kanjo. Kwanza, pretending to be the mother of Jesus. Second, littering the city. Causing distraction. Fine yenyewe si less than 10 k. Ongea Mama, ongea.

But Mary Mother of Jesus will say something like: God you will not be mocked, I glorify you. The kanjo will say something to the effect that he can’t be threatened by those calling upon the name of God for no reason.

Meanwhile, a Press Conference will be called by one disturbed politician who will look into the camera and while pointing into the skies say:

Can’t you see this is a plot by the international community? Can’t you see that this Jew Baby has been made to be delivered here to impose on us their leadership? No. We are a Sovereign State….We have had enough of our own internal tensions during the post-election violence. We don’t want foreign ones, the ones we have here are enough…

One consoling thing is that all this will be forgotten by the beginning of the year 2011. There will be no more captivating headlines like ‘Baby Jesus Born in Kenya: Fact or Fiction?’ The findings of the Commission of Inquiry, like others, will gather dust in bookshelves and soon Kenyans will think of other more important things like County Government Structures, Who will be who 2012 or who is the father of Ocampo and whether he has a Luo lineage.

In Capital Talk, Joseph and Mary will be interviewed by Jeff Koinange. Vintage Jeff will introduce the show:

What a show, what guests! Joseph and Mary. Yes. You heard it right. Joseph and Mary of our Bibles are on the bench tonight. Good grief! It is smokiiiiiiinnnn. Now Joseph, how does it feel getting the attention while, let’s face it, you are a carpenter? I mean you are the one trending, you are taking twitter, facebook  by storm, you are the hottest topic In the news, man….

If Jesus was to be born in Kenya #1

And so it came to pass that baby Jesus was born in Kenya. Mary Mother of Jesus was in great pains and was looking around for a place but the response she was getting was ‘vyumba vyote vimejaa’ ‘all houses are full’. Ironically, where Joseph and Mary went were surrounded by perimeter walls and written mbwa kali, bibi mkali. There was general consensus that such a king was part of political witch hunt, a well-calculated plan to deceive Kenyans in order to take reins of leadership. A commission of Inquiry was thus formed: A Commission of Inquiry into the Circumstances of the Birth of Jesus. Questions were floated, like the need for many Baby Jesuses to be born to have a regional balance and that the date of its birth be subjected to a Referendum.

In Parliament, one angry and distraught MP rose up to speak:

“Mr. Speaker, there is an important national matter. It is about a baby named Jesus born less than 48 hours ago at Pumwani. Word is going round that he is King. Mr. Speaker, I find this a comic relief between the issues of the Hague Six and Implementation Committees of the Constitution. What baffles my mind is that the country somehow believes this make-believe story, Mr. Speaker.  Mr. Speaker, I seek your indulgence on this matter. This is hogwash. Let this nonsense be stopped, Mr. Speaker.”

As this voice drones off in the August House, baby Jesus and Mother Mary are braving the sharp, searing glances of passersby and receiving coins thrown meters away. But the City Council askaris haul them into their white stuffy  wire-meshed  City Inspectorate Van. The askari will tell Mary Mother of Jesus: Jitetee Mama, hii mambo tumalizie hapa. Uko na ngapi? Offence yako ni serious kwa by-laws za kanjo. Kwanza, pretending to be the mother of Jesus. Second, littering the city. Causing distraction. Fine yenyewe si less than 10 k. Ongea Mama, ongea.

But Mary Mother of Jesus will say something like: God you will not be mocked, I glorify you. The kanjo will say something to the effect that he can’t be threatened by those calling upon the name of God for no reason.

Meanwhile, a Press Conference will be called by one disturbed politician who will look into the camera and while pointing into the skies say:

Can’t you see this is a plot by the international community? Can’t you see that this Jew Baby has been made to be delivered here to impose on us their leadership? No. We are a Sovereign State….We have had enough of our own internal tensions during the post-election violence. We don’t want foreign ones, the ones we have here are enough…

One consoling thing is that all this will be forgotten by the beginning of the year 2011. There will be no more captivating headlines like ‘Baby Jesus Born in Kenya: Fact or Fiction?’ The findings of the Commission of Inquiry, like others, will gather dust in bookshelves and soon Kenyans will think of other more important things like County Government Structures, Who will be who 2012 or who is the father of Ocampo and whether he has a Luo lineage.

In Capital Talk, Joseph and Mary will be interviewed by Jeff Koinange. Vintage Jeff will introduce the show:

What a show, what guests! Joseph and Mary. Yes. You heard it right. Joseph and Mary of our Bibles are on the bench tonight. Good grief! It is smokiiiiiiinnnn. Now Joseph, how does it feel getting the attention while, let’s face it, you are a carpenter? I mean you are the one trending, you are taking twitter, facebook  by storm, you are the hottest topic In the news, man….

Humour In An Envelope: Contest Entry to Storymoja

Honey,

I have given this letter to Boi to give it to you when you go to the river today. When you get it read it very fast and hide it so that your parents do not see it. I will send Boi to tell you where we will meet during Market Day on Sunday. Please don’t come with your small brother Zebedayo because I am not sure to buy him a piece of sugarcane this time round. Promise?

Zainab, how can I express this love for you? River Suam flows daily, Kacheliba Hill is always there, every Sunday is Market Day in Kacheliba, my love for you is forever. When I came to Form One, you with your friends sang for me Valentine Songs and you were wedded to me. We marched behind the classrooms during games time. When I tried to kiss you, you pushed away your face and everyone laughed. Zainab, do you remember this? Your friends laughed at me. I felt bad. You told me that you don’t love monos.

Now you are in Form Four and I am in Form Three. I promise that when we finish Form Four we will run away and marry each other. Your parents and Zebedayo will not disturb us anymore. Don’t worry about what you will get in Form Four. I will sell all the rabbits in our home and we will use that money to start our life. Even if we take water and we are happy what is the problem?

I want to tell you that I will not forsake you. Don’t listen to the gossips from people that I have other girls. These people want us to leave each other. First, hoooo they said I am with Moraa.  Moraa follows me everywhere from the class to the field to Y.C.S to symposium. Am I her shadow? I am sure she was the one who wrote as a visee  in Y.C.S that “May Salem go and kiss Moraa”. What did she get? Nothing. Now, people are saying that the Head girl is my girlfriend. Because I am the Sanitary Prefect we work together but I don’t love her. Mungu Moja! It is Lomertapem who came up with the story because he wants you and can even say Kacheliba Hill has moved away to win your love. We quarreled with him yesterday about this and even today when he comes this way I go that way. Binadamu ni binadamu.

I will  love you Zainab till Pokots become friends with Karamoja. I keep that photo you gave me under my pillow. I look at your dimples, macho yako ya gololi, shingo la upanga and your smile that can make a teacher on duty also smile. Everytime I read Bahati my mind tells me that you are Bahati, a very fantastic, bombastic, Zainabstic girl. Only God knows how I love you, Zainab.

My father will send me to Makutano tomorrow to buy millet. I will buy you one loaf of United bread and give it to Boi. I tell you this because I don’t know if Boi brings all the things I give him. Let us meet on Sunday near the shop of Mzee Lokwangura after lunch.

Wako wa kufa na kupona,

S.L.D.

Ps.  Dedix:  What’s Love by Ja-rule and Ashanti ( Number 1 in the Top Ten General Service K.B.C)

Dear Salem,

I was beaten yesterday. My father found that letter and asked who S.L.D. is. He saw your picture and said that he will go to the Headmaster on Monday. I am sick today. He read that part you were saying that you will sell your rabbits and said, “Zainab, huyu mtoto wa maskini hohe hahe auzaye visungura utam’peleka wapi kuoana naye?” “Zainab, where will you go with this son of a poor man selling rabbits?” My dad was very angry yesterday. He said he will no longer pay for my fees and that I will stay at home.

I don’t know what to do, Salem. I am afraid to see you on Sunday.  I will not even come to the River every evening. I will not be sent to the posho mill. My brothers have been told to keep me watch. I still love you, Salem.  I told my father that I love you very much even if you are poor. I told him true love is not scared of poverty. Then he said that you are not a Muslim. What will I tell him because I am muslim but nimekuzimia?

Lovelistically,

Mrs. Salem

Ps. Don’t send Boi with the bread. My father will kill me. Dedix:  Boomba Train by E-Sir ( KETAU Express, imeshikilia namba moja three weeks running kwa Chatshow)

Boi hands me this letter. I hate that part of “Zainab, huyu mtoto wa maskini hohe hahe auzaye visungura utam’peleka wapi kuoana naye?”. My father should have at least afforded something more than this. Any way, the old man is not to be blamed. Boi tells me, “Salem, Zainab is not ok, she has bruises all over”. My anger constricts my throat. I thank Boi and let him go with a 10 bob coin as “messenger fees”.

I write this letter.

Zainab,

When I read your letter I saw vimulimuli (stars). I thought about it yesterday and I have decided that I will meet your father and ask him why he hates me as if I have killed someone. He made me feel as if I was a simultaneous equation or a matrix resting on an adjectival clause. I am missing you videadly sana and I don’t know when we shall meet again. 

I will come to your place at night and clap my hand to imitate cows when they drop their dungs. I will do so two to three times then wake up and come I meet you. I don’t know if I will pass those CATS of next week because I can’t read, I can’t sleep, I can’t think.

If you want me to slimu to become Muslim I am ready in order to marry you. I will sell the rabbits today and if you agree we can run away tomorrow to Bendera. Do you want us to be beaten at school with all those eyes? Just like that?

Burn this letter immediately after reading it and do as I say. I have changed my name from Salem to Salim for you. I swear by the Q’uran that I love you.

Your husband,

Salim Abubakar Athman ( I am serious)

Ps. Dedix: Taarab zozote zile za Coast ( kwa raha zetu)

On the next day, Zainab’s small brother, Hussein, hands me a small note.

It reads:

Salim Abubakar Athman,

Shukran kwa kuslimu.  Zainab haendi Bendera ng’o. Ikiwa ulihisi kama simultaneous equation ama matrix imejitundika kwenye hivo vi-adjectival clause za akili zako nipate mimi nikutie adabu. Hivi tangu lini ukaapa kwa Korani wewe mwana-visungura? Mkome Zainab nakuonya! (Translation: Thanks for conversion. Zainab isn’t going to Bendera. If you are feeling like simultaneous equation or a matrix I will teach you a lesson. Leave Zainab alone, I warn you.)

Babake Zainab,

Mzee Bakari